I was there when it started, and...

7 Years ago, I was a fresh engineering grad, one of my uncles was an investor in what was then the hottest talk-of-town new telecom venture; everything was hyped, from the uninspiring typical name it was given, the choice of technology it ran, to the "miracle" financing it secured and the tasteless celebrity who -dis- graced the launch party, the story of XPress telecom got far deeper concatenation with me beyond my family affiliation and employment in it and here are some excerpts.

It's worth noting that today; the company will be formally shutting down its regular service; shrinking back from its kingdome wide coverage to Amman & Aqaba and limiting its offering to its unique Push-to-talk (Walkie-talkie) service until further notice, but we'll come back to that later...

The uniqueness of my story stems from the various perspectives, exposures & involvements i had; i was a launch employee (launch ad here); my family was the major investor in it; my cousin (whom i look highly too) was its chief for the most part of its heydays and later I became a minority shareholder and found myself returning as a consultant helping in minding the shop; keeping the ship intact until a salvage was attained.

I'm not sure how articulate I can be in giving my account; but one thing i know for a fact that very few can appreciate the intimacy many of XPress employees had (and some still) years after they left the company; where they invested years of effort, dedication & hard work to make it a success story. Each of us have powerful memories, hopes & aspirations that was one way or another nurtured in XPress. In a sense, its far greater in magnitude than the loss of the shareholders investments & assets.

I for one was a field engineer at the time, relentlessly executing my duties (and overlapping with the duties of others to their discontent), the network which stood once at 160 sites (tower) strong; i knew them by heart beyond technical numbering and parameters; they had names, neighbors, they had stories & for the most part; I left a little of me in each and every bolt, knob, wire & equipment I was part of.

I vividly recall the ecstatic build-up towards the launch, the custom made handset gifted to his majesty, the very first call we made 4am in the morning; I have it captured on video; sneaking my name into a BS press release, last minute provision of coverage in Aqaba during the official launch ceremony after 36 hours of straight work; memories rushing at the rate 12 gigabytes a minute as i type... so you can imagine why things seems surreal today; as i use the network knowing that the last call might not be too far!

Its rather hard for everyone to appreciate or empathize with the sort of feelings that's going through me now, barely I am able to comprehend it, but no doubt its a mix; if not totally charged & volatile.

Years later and until few months back, i became the person I am; doing telecom consultancies and what have you; I looked back at the deteriorating situation of XPress and couldn't stand it; it took a triggering point and a help of a trustful friend to bold-up and approach the board of the company to help in whatever way possible to have a turnaround or at least allowing it to die gracefully like it started with dignity.

4 months i spent in this part-time assignment, I was in a unique position to retroactively witness how it came to this; stood over the ruins of a glorified past; a pile of dozens unused fleet cars; a pale headquarters that stood witness to the company's predicaments and a network (my true love affair) in dire situation were unthinkable sacrifices were made to keep the whole thing going... surviving one day at time!

Today; I find myself taking an active part in putting this child to a quasi rest; mostly in a graceful order but not without unnecessary bad-PR splashes; but it was far better than the inevitable nosedive crash that was around the corner, at least this is how i justify things reassuring myself...

It's not the end of the XPress story as yet; it may live to chirp off another day, until then it'll step aside into the shadows and hope for the best.

P.S: I post this as a "time capsule" for me; not the usual bulletproofed blog-worthy reading material, i post it unedited and in its original flow

The early signs of fatherhood

Last summer, my wife got pregnant with our first baby, my reception of the event was as crude as it can get, crudeness apparently became a practice really; yes I was happy about it, I didn't necessarily applaud the occasion, I was mostly overwhelmed with the feeling of yet another no-turning-back moment, like the death of my father, my marriage and some other events and decisions that I've made.

Honestly, the death of my father is where every event seems to be referred back to, like the date of birth of Christ may peace & blessing be upon him with the annotation of Anno Domini (AD) that postfixes any date, I note things to have happened either before or after his death. To come and think about it; I tend to romanticize the things that fall in the former category, and somehow cast the intrusive shadow of his absence onto the events that falls in the latter.

But another development partially disrupted this practice of mine, in fact not only did it change the way I tend to remember things, its impact was so overwhelming that I can only explain it by it being a divine intervention, and this is the story:

Back in October, during a failed returning-home-for-good attempt of mine, my wife visited her doctor for the regular check, and called telling me the baby was a girl...

no suspense or surreal turn of events here, just an overwhelming (I'll be over using this word from now on) surge of joy; laterally my mind couldn't keep up with my heart as to why I was so much happy about my knowledge of my coming baby's sex.

Until now, I'm clueless to what happened from that moment onward, I'm oozing with happiness for what God have blessed us with and anticipating every moment until she joins us, as my disruptive and fun-spoiling mind-set got incapacitated in front of this new state of mind, I can only think that God instilled in me those feelings because I know that I'm incapable of not being crude or taking things for what they're worth at face-value.

Even the perpetual gap left by my father's departure seemed suddenly ancient history in front of the momentous event of my girl's nearing arrival, yes I do dwell upon the idea of what would it be like if he was around, and what name he would've favored (though he wouldn't have favored any, he was subtle with his personal opinions), but such thoughts were lacking the tear-drops squeezing & distressful emotions they come with, his departure was sad, but the soon to join baby girl is a happy event without any if(s).

Suddenly I started rationalizing one of my uncle's exaggerated obsession with his eldest daughter beyond anyone's comprehension, now -I think- I know what will it be like to father & feel proud of a wonderful daughter.

Before, I used to view my older friends with kids to be somewhat unfortunate to have chosen/dragged-into the unstoppable contemporary cycle of life; where one is rushed to pass his high-school, get a university degree, build a career, get married, have kids and grow a sizable belly and numbness while at it, never did I appreciate the heavenly feelings & tranquility they must've felt every time they were around their kids.

Until recently, I've constantly mistaken their obvious happiness when in the company of their kids to be merely a getting-used-to subconscious routine that they got themselves into in order to accept the fact that they're responsible for bringing those poor little things to this cruel world, and they're responsible for their welfare indefinitely.

But that's no longer; Since the moment I knew she was a girl, I never seize to carefully examine all father-son (or daughter) interactions that I happen to witness, including all the boring accounts of my friends on what their 2 year old son (or daughter) did or spoke!

I did always consider kids to be cute, all kids that is, no one was particularly special, for me it was like as if all the kids in the block were cool B-boys who knew how to break-dance, it no longer catches my attention if someone just made a 360 spin upside down, would it now? a far fetched metaphor I guess...

But after this sudden enlightenment, my friend's daughter was no longer annoying when she kept interrupting us in our get-together; displaying her latest (horrible; I must add) singing abilities, she was no longer the 6 year old in the midst of what's better known as "سن الزناخه" when she slowly turns from someone who's 1st words are much anticipated with cheers and celebrations (usually quoted after) and turns into an unstoppable word sprinter; now she's just the chatty little girl, "I like…".

As I turn a new page in my professional life; I find myself extremely motivated by all of this, in the midst of my fears and weariness of leaving a very good and rewarding career to start a new venture in a field abandoned by most of who invested in it, in a country everyone is relentlessly trying to exit; I find myself irrationally charge-boosted with zealous belief in what I'm about to do, and I still fail to spot the link, but it doesn't really matters no more.

As a closing note; I pray to the sustainer of the seven heaven, to make it easy for my beloved wife (and all the pregnant women out there) and make their delivery a silk smooth one, my imaginative mind can't withstand or comprehend how this must be physically and emotionally intense… May Allah be your keeper.

"No body queues in Jordan"; but I do!

During a spontaneously arranged trip I had with my wife (Yes, I got married few weeks back) to Aqaba, I had an unfortunate incident at the Movenpick hotel while I was checking-out from it, the incident reminded me of how “third-world”* we can be right in the midst of our thinking rather than our surrounding.

A quick back rounder, this leg of the trip was never planned, my wife and I were roaming all over southern Jordan, as we reached rum and spent the day cruising over there, we decided that we were too tired to drive back to Wadi Mosa and headed down to Aqaba, at this point, we were looking a bit rusty & showered with sand.

We spent the night over at the hotel, showered and cleaned up, it was extremely busy, I think they were running at 99% occupancy.

Next day at the reception desk, I stood there waiting for my turn to check-out with my rusty looking beard, wearing army-like shirt and cargo pants and a wide tourist hat my wife grabbed from Petra, minus the sand and the sweaty smell.

A group of mothers and their kids were checking-in, it took the hotel personnel around 15 minutes to get them settled in, I was patiently waiting there, chit-chatting with my wife, going about my usual habit of eyeing people around, trying to figure out where are they from, what are they doing here & if there’s anything unusual about them.

Enter the apparently half-Jordanian-half English-guy (have he not spoken, I wouldn’t have figured out this about him), he stood at an uncomfortable distance between me and the desk I was waiting my turn at, with a bit of anxiousness as he seemed to wanted to check-out from the busy hotel like I did.

I did not mind the guy at start, he was not aggressive with his distance from the desk, but he seemed a bit shy of it, as if he knew he was about to do something that he’s not accustomed to, I didn’t make any pre-emptive moves like blocking his way or nicely asking him to step into the queue (comprised of myself behind the loud mothers & their annoyingly trespassing kids), under the assumption that the lad seems to be from somewhere were people tend to queue naturally at busy junctures.

The mothers and their kids left the check-in desk, the guy made his move & spoke in an i-speak-it-fluently-but-I-prefer-not-to heavy Arabic that he want to check out, the rude hotel attendant smiled in his face (one could argue because of his handsome Caucasian looks) and told him just a minute please. I turned to the guy and nicely told him in Arabic that he took my turn and that I was waiting behind the group.

The guy ignored me first time around as he waited for the attendant to return. So I repeated my request in English and he answered me without looking to me that he is “at a hurry and he have a large group”, now I had it… “listen ya Mr. Busy with a big group, I came here and lined myself in a queue, you better stand in the line too”.

The attendant came and started processing his check-out, I reiterated that I came there before him, and with a poker face she said “but it’s not a problem”, I told her “no it is a problem, this is disrespectful to me and she should respect the line in front of her”, upon my challenge she put aside his credit card and papers & started processing mine without even an apology.

I looked back at the guy and spoke to him in English, now I have his attention as it seems, and tried to understand why he acted in such a way, I wish I didn’t do that, I wish I stood there quietly, left him full of himself and his blunt feelings of superiority thinking of me and our country the way he did, for he answered me in a very arrogant manner:

“Listen, here in Jordan there are no queues, back in England people queue, but here they don’t, I did what everyone here is doing, utter chaos”

I swear by the one who raised the seven heavens with no pillars that I was infuriated to the point that I was going to grab him by the head and smack his forehead against the wall for the offensive gibberish he uttered.

“No my friend" i replied "people do queue over here, I’m queuing as I speak, you on the other hand, choose to ignore the queue & jump it while feeling comfortable of being uncivilized because you are not in England”…

He apologetically tried to explain his position but to no avail, I kept reiterating that he jumped the queue and that there was no excuse for that and not to mention how insulting it was to blame it on “being in Jordan”…

I left the scene feeling victorious but with a bit of disgust, first because of the blunt reception attendant who unprofessionally attended the good looking Euro guy who just skipped the line and passed on the rusty-looking “sheikh” thinking to herself that it’s “not a problem”.

Second because of the mentality of the guy who seemed to be from a well-educated & well-off background that should have salvaged him from being at fault of circumstantial uncivilized misconduct.

* I typically do not entertain such imposed terminology, but unfortunately I couldn’t find a better descriptive word that captures the meaning deceivingly embedded in such terms.

They met before we did

When my Aunt (my father's sister) met my fiancée's grandmother (her father's mother) for the first time during our engagement "party", there was an elusive sense of familiarity between them that was thrusting through both minds.

They both went home & started scratching their heads to aggregate their rusty memories with the underlying question; "Where do I know this woman from?"

My aunt had an advantage that all her old photos where archived neatly in albums by her daughter, (i think) corresponding to probable consecutive dates.

So she started flicking through the photos relentlessly, imagine the challenge: matching a decades-old face with what’s left of it today after she aged!

Despite the fact that my fiancée's grandmother is a distinctly looking reddish brunette (is that the word?), she's even nicknamed (by her self) " تيتا الحمرا " (The red Grandma).

My aunt search came to an end when she found the picture that captured herself, Grandma & another Lebanese woman during a social gathering sat on Sofa at my Aunt's old house in Al-Muhajirin old district of Amman.

She phoned me up oozing with excitement, telling me that she now remembers my fiancée’s grandma, though they only had a single encounter with each other (at which the picture was taken back in the fifties), they both left a deep impact upon each other that only needed a little catalyst for it to surface onto the present.

My fiancée & I bought a frame in which we placed a duplicate of the picture, and we presented it to grandma, it goes without saying that this made her day, being the person she is who's obsessed with old photos and the memories it bears!

The trigger was powerful enough for her to vividly remember my aunt the photo & the event itself; to such details as to the colour of the psychedelic-looking sofa they were setting on, the story behind the light jacket (that belonged to my Aunt) she was wearing “for the purpose of the photo only” (to cover her bare arms), the occasion at which the picture was taken at and a quick biography of the Lebanese woman who was also in the picture... That was amusingly entertaining.

Further, she mentioned that at the same gathering, my late father’s x-wife was present as a little kid, who was also a good friend of my father-in-law as they used to play together when they were young!

The astonishment from such junctures in our social fabric; can never wear-off! You’ll always be dazzled by how people are related or know each other.

On a side note, I hate pictures; I literally hate to document memories by taking pictures that "captures" them, I like my memories crudely raw & floating in my mind the way I want to remember them!

If they were worth remembering, they'll probably stick (whether good or bad), I hate the surrealistic surge that photos brings to my consciousness with an overwhelming force.

I don't recall staring at any of my late father's photos for more than few seconds ever since he passed away! It just sounds unnatural really when compared to say, how aroma trigger certain memories, or the sight of someone who looks awfully familiar to a dead relative.

Fragment (consider revising)*

This turn-off statement that the MS grammar checker makes almost every time I finish typing a sentence is partially responsible for the recent lack of posts here at my blog, despite the many drafts I have jotted in the past month with no will to neither proof-reading them or to hit the publish button!

Why should I consider revising a perfectly sensible & meaningful long sentence that I wrote on MS Word? I barely put up with the constant nagging of MS Word with its grammatical mishaps detection & its unrelated spelling corrective suggestions, for I like to write in lengths as I ponder upon a subject, I like to dwell upon it & not merely write about it without confining myself with being concise!

Yet the issue lay deeper than the inability to write properly as I’ve been always criticized for my far fetched analogies, incomparable –you guessed it- comparisons & mostly flawed premises, but never did I gave into critics of such nature!

But ever since I started sharing my thoughts through online discussion forums – & more recently, my blog- I became more self-conscious of how I present the thoughts I bare.

For the most part, I do recognize that my head oozes with thoughts, ideas, insights, rants, observations & an opinion about almost everything that I come across, but then comes the road block of actually structuring it to a properly meaningful read!

I do usually start with jotting down a title that captures the genera of the thought in mind, a pointer if you like so I can materialize it into a publishable piece at a later stage, but then comes the dwelling part, at which point I face a multitude of obstacles, one of which is my linguistic fragmental deficiency, followed by the tendency to off-road beyond even the comprehension of myself.

Besides that, I do sense an underlying fear of how it’ll be read, how coherent & well-written it’ll be perceived, a possible theatrical fourth-wall anxiousness as it may be…

At one point, the throughput of thoughts just overwhelms my ability to compose them into words or even capturing them in the first place, its like thoughts are setting there, desperately circling inside my mind & as they eye an opportunity to be vented out (at times where I actually set down & write, talk or else) they come rushing over each other chaotically to a point of total stagnation!

It’s not a matter of lack of interest in my surrounding or the incidents I encounter; neither is it the case that I no longer spot the unusual in the midst of normalcy! It’s definitely none of that…

I like to think of it as such periods in one’s life when one become self-conscious about say his weight & contemplate the importance of exercising as his weight increases but never actually take the plunge & start, the impedance against starting grows by the day to the point of giving up on one’s self.

Similarly, a thought can be somewhat entertaining & catalyzing for a while in one’s mind on its own without it being communicated, but it’ll eventually –& gradually- fade to make space for fresher thoughts at the front of our mind! Unless it’s materialized its value will degrade into nonexistent…

Related post : Linguistic clumsiness!

* a possible copyright infringement; just in case, courtesy of MS & the novelty of using it as a title goes to my cousin Hamada.

If only they both met…

I had two momentous turning points in my life in a spam of less than two years; my father’s death & my engagement to a wonderful woman I love dearly!

Death is generally a tabooed reality, it’s surreal eventuality is not the sort of subject that the average person would like to be constantly reminded of, alas... even when death occurs in the family, we tend to rush ourselves out of its bitter occurrence by any erratic means! Regardless of the emotional scar this may leave, or worse still, the emotional need that never get fulfilled or addressed for we have got it all but too wrong…

The fact that my father is dead doesn’t trouble me any longer per-se; what troubles most is the fact that I’m actually getting used to the reality of him being dead! I’m moving forward with my life with his legacy but not with him in person.

I seek comfort by vividly reminiscing his character, his wisdom, his sense of humor, his charismatic presence, his zealous attention to details and his overall comprehensive and –you guess it- alternative perspective on life. Mind you, a bit of romanticisms doesn’t do me any harm here, after all; its death we’re dealing with...

Instead of sinking myself to the traumatic wishful thoughts of him being still around, I like to think of what he would’ve done if he was in this or that position, what advise he might’ve given me over a certain incident, or what would he say about this person if he was to know him, the latter is bitter and touchy indeed:

My father never met my fiancée; I was introduced to her, got to know her and engaged to her after a year of his death, the year that separated both events was not really enough for me to comprehend the full impact of his death in my life. Yes it was -and still- business as usual when it comes to my daily proceedings, yet my mind was -and relatively still- preoccupied with all sorts of thoughts and concerns that ranged from the utmost imbecilic rationales to the most complicated of welfare matters... I felt vaguely unsettled at the time.

However, responsible manhood is about tackling the reoccurrence of unprecedented turning points in one’s life, and I accept that challenge, but part of me still found it bitter to accept that my father never knew my wife-to-be, and she will never have the chance to know him in person either, while they both comprised the entity I call family!

I like to believe that I knew my father well enough to know what he would’ve thought of my fiancée, not that his opinion would’ve influenced my own to the extend of negating it, but rather; it’s the underlying sense of acknowledgment from one’s parents that I was seeking by envisaging what my late father’s opinion would’ve been if he knew her!

On the other hand, my beloved fiancée, despite her young years (No, she’s not 14 most sheikhs don’t do that believe it or not!); she compassionately sensed the psychological gap or disconnect –if you like- whenever my father was spoken about or his legacy was extolled!

She passionately started building her own perception of him, not through still imagery portraying him or old home videos, but rather; she compiled all stories and accounts she heard of him, drawing relationships and apprehending the various aspects of his presence in each one’s life…

Her sincere attempt to fully capture my father’s legacy as she fathom the space he occupied in our lives meant that she understood this aspect of my past, hence better appreciating our -her and mine- present and brilliant future together.

I try to envisage myself getting to terms with the new reality I’m surrounded with, yet I cannot conceive it without my fiancée being part of it, partially because of her genuine appreciation and treasuring of my father’s lineage although she never met him, and for that I’m thankful to Allah and to her...

Linguistic clumsiness!

I credit this title to Hatem AbuNimeh who coined the term almost 3 years ago while scrutinizing the lack of “theme” in my writings.

Tololy’s latest experimentation got me thinking; how big of a role does the linguistic skill exhibited in a given writing affect the crude thought or idea it conveys?

Take for instance the comment (3rd from top) posted by an anonymous reader in response to my “I saw a woman... “ entry, the commentator certainly had a sincere & valid prospective to express, and was trying to illustrate a sound & interesting stance, but his writing style failed him miserably! At best it would take someone with either extreme-interest or prudent patience to forgive the shortcomings, filter out discrepancies and appreciate the good and insightful thinking put forward.

A thought or an idea should by definition be crystal clear in the mind of its beholder, unless narcotics are involved; a sane individual shouldn’t have a problem understanding his own thoughts once established as the thinking process wrap-up! The beauty however is to be able to capture these thoughts into meaningful words that is common with others depending on the level of one’s involvement:

A teenage girl with a pink diary wouldn’t have a problems writing in broken lingo and in ridiculous lengths –without loosing focus- about her daily affairs and childishly-intimate thoughts to an audience solely comprised of “Dear Diary”. In vast contrast with a columnist who works for a widely circulated newspaper, where his writing should deliver a quality product that fits a certain criteria and reflects a predefined image or policy in order not to loose his audience and keep his pay-roll… rolling.

And not far from the columnist, comes the established writer or novelist –beside the commercial ones- whose writings is usually judged in the realms of literature and fine-art! The responsibility towards one's writing and its value & integrity varies among these cases. (even myself is now yelling at me with a scorching “obviously!”)

The stew of maintaining the interest of the reader and –hopefully sheer- entertainment with a distinct flawless style while eruditely delivering on a precise idea –or better still, a multiple of parallel ideas- seems to be too hard of a gourmet to cook & simmer, as it requires a balancing act between: avoiding a typical & dull writing style against delving into the use of uncommon –yet eloquent- terminology and complex paradigms & linguistic you-know-what-I-am-talking-about illustrations & structures. To further sustain the attentiveness and focus of the reader while perpetuating the thoughts and ideas in an infallible manner and consistent cadence while avoiding repetition and unnecessary off-road elaborations and backgrounders!

Alas… I fail miserably in the above, to the point that I find it hard to believe that any of my gibberish writing can be someone’s muse for a day or so! Unless he/she was also oozing with extreme anticipating interest or a prudent and pious patience!

I conclude that the writing style significantly impacts the thought being communicated to the reader; however it cannot possibly shadow the sincerity and good thinking –when present-! A dreadfully written article may still have fruits of wisdom in its centrum , the fact that it'll be hard for the average reader to appreciate and grasp -yet alone to stimulate- wouldn’t render it unread as it may will be the sought-after mind-boggling read for some passionate like-minded readers!