Zhuangzi Dream

I went to bed just before midnight and within minutes I was fast asleep. I had a very vivid dream that I remember every minute detail of it:
I saw my birth and all my life, the joy of being, the misery of being.

I saw the moment I was nine years old crying my soul out for leaving my birth place. I saw the fear I was wearing while sitting in the smoke filled waiting room of the security service, waiting for my name to be called out for interrogation.
I saw that dark, short, cold November day, my first day in England. I saw my wedding day, the birth of my children, the death of my mother..
I saw it all, and it was clear as if it was just happening. The emotions I felt was there, I felt the pain as I did the first time, the smiles, the laughter and the tears, I felt it all.

And in my dream, I became exhausted of being, of existence, of life and I went to get some rest, some sleep.

And now, I am wondering: am I now awake living my life, or am l still asleep, in my dream, dreaming of what I think is my life...

Ahmad Baker

Zhuangzi is a classic Chinese philosopher

Death of an unknown man

Short story : Ahmad Baker

-you are late!

-I am not, I said I will be here around 10..

- It is almost quarter to eleven, so you are 45 minutes late

-Or, it is 10:40, and therefore I am on time!

-you are in the Eleventh o’clock territory, you can’t be in that territory and say you are around 10

 

I knew I could not win this argument with him, I could never win any argument with him. But winning arguments was his skill, trying and annoying him was mine!

 

-10:40 is related to 10, anything that is related to 10 is around 10, I am not late!

-when the Titanic sank she was about three quarters of the distance from England, they did not say it sank in England!

I looked at his eyes as they started to shine; his wrinkled cheeks moved backward like a huge curtains in a royal theatre displaying the final act of the argument: his smile declaring winning.

-why you are here so early anyway, You are never on time!

-well, time is something I have in abundance these days..

-you said you were busy writing a book!

I could see the curtains moving back closing that smile;

-I am working on it

His voice lost a bit of its strength and the hesitation was audible

-you have been saying this for a while

It sounds like there is one argument I can win with him, his ability to produce anything other than talk, and I enjoy that!

-it is not as easy as you think, it takes a lot of work and preparation. Also I have to process my thoughts and clear them so I can focus on what I put on paper!

He clearly was not convinced with what he was saying, but I had him cornered and I wanted to push harder;

-Do you have a timescale?

-you cannot limit imagination and the wonders of the brain by time and space, ideas have to come at its own pace, not your own choice!

- I do not think that what produces greatness: waiting! Picaso said that inspiration comes once you are working, or something similar..

- Did not realise that you are a fan of Picaso

Clearly his attempt to ridicule me and change the topic means I am winning, I cannot let him off

-I am not, nor it is the point. My point is you cannot wait for inspiration, you are always talking about your great ideas and how you are going to put it in a book, but so far you have not moved an inch forward!

-I have, I reject your claim, I do not think you know what I have been doing

As he started explaining to me his work and passion, I was looking at his face stretching and shrinking, his eyes retracted and his hair looked as it started to grow  back on his bold tanned head. His hands were moving in an operatic way and his eyebrows were following the melody. His fingers were stained with ink, cigarettes and dirt, his nails overgrown and the tips were black. My eyes travelled over his coat which looked very old, it was dirty and the stains on his shirt were apparent.  He had the appearance of a homeless man, but he was not.
He used to tell me how wonderful his life is, was, and how he had it all. Now all I see is the leftover of that man, shattered pieces thrown into a remaining of a coat. I wanted to feel sorry for him, he deserves some sympathy, but he does not want it, what he needs most is someone to push him out of his misery and lead him back to normality.

-.. normalising and stabilising is not what I need in my book, it has to be odd, it has to be challenging, to me to write it and to everyone who is going to read, and to everyone who will follow it.

 

He was still going on, lecturing me about his ideals and what I should be doing in my life, which he considered a failure..

-   I do not believe that

 

I said, in sharp, deep and  clear voice. I continued:

-          I do not believe you, I do not think you believe yourself in any of this and I do not think you have the willing or ability to write it down!

I looked at him, he was empty, his face frozen, his hands dropped down on the table, and for a second I thought he died. He died, but momentarily, you could not see any signs of life in him, not sure was it the shock of the truth, or the shock of the truth coming from me.. 

-Stop telling me, actually stop telling yourself that you can do it! Declare failure, surrender, and start something meaningful, something has a value, something can makes your life worth living

-no.. The darker the moment the closer the dawn! He said, as if he was leading an army to the battle. 

I heard this many times, I had enough of this misery and I have plenty of it in my life

-you have passed dawn, sunrise and the entire day, or even days.

-I will prove you wrong, as I always do, I always prevail, not just because I am good but because I do not stop

I don't believe you, and you don't believe yourself. I mumbled to myself..

-I am still here and I can hear you. 
He said, and in an angry voice he continued
-you know what I am going to do now: I am going home to start writing

He stormed out, my eyes followed him leaving the cafe and disappearing into the crowd. I didn't feel that I won, didn’t feel relieved that he left, I felt empty. Seconds later I heard the noise of car breaking, the deep sighs and the shock people outside displayed could be felt inside the cafe. 
-is he alright
-call an ambulance
-this is terrible
-I think he's dead
-ohh my God

The crowd outside was increasing and the noise was a mixture of shock and sympathy. I chose to stay put, sunken in my chair and staring at my coffee and asking myself: did I kill him? could it be him lying on the floor across the road and dying:
His book that he never wrote, his ideas, thoughts and all what he believed is him are trapped inside his dead head? Or maybe he is looking at a dying man on the road like the rest of the crowd and finding more ideas for his writing, or more reasons for not starting, remembering my words and wishing it was me, or him, lying dead...

I looked at the time and I was late...

 November 2017

Whipps Cross 100

Whipps Cross  is not the old buildings, not the new buildings, not the long corridors, not the strange plant names, it is not any of that. Whipps Cross is some of that and much more, it is the look on people’s faces when you mention the name; Whipps Cross: my grandfather was born there, my mother died there, I did my training there, and many more stories I have heard from friends, colleagues,  patients and families so many times and I never felt bored.

 

These long corridors, big nightingale wards, stairs, balconies, chapel, restaurant and shop have seen so much and if they could talk they will tell us about the people who have gone through this building over the past 100 year. How Whipps Cross touched people’s lives during their at most need and changed it forever. How the memory of being at Whipps has changed them, and changed Whipps.

 

Cathy told me how she met her husband at Whipps, Emma told that she was born at Whipps, now work at Whipps and will die at Whipps, Mary told me about the lady who gave birth to twins in the hospital car park, Percy told me how he raised funds for hospital for so many years, John told me how he lost his wife at Whipps at the same ward he was a patient in, Theresa told me about how they used to smoke on the wards and share the “drinks” with patients on Christmas … many more stories, stories about giving birth and meeting new ones for the first time, and stories about death and losing someone forever.

 

Every story has a hero and a villain, Whipps Cross stories has so many laughter and tears, joy and sadness, happy and sad endings, it has so many heroes but no villains.

 

Whipps Cross happy 100..

And suddenly I became homeless

And suddenly I became homeless!

Our village was demolished! It was old, older than history books. It was there when Richard the Lionheart stayed and met with Saladin. Nearby Jesus was seen three days after the crucifixion.

But that did not make a difference, it was demolished, we were forced out and we had to learn a new word: refugees!
We had to learn how to build a tent, how to live on food portions and handouts, how to accept with grace all the name calling, accusations and misery, because we are refugees!

It was not something I did or any of my forefathers, we had no idea!
A man in an office in London, promised my land, my home, my sky, my identity, to another man, who his ancestors happened to be passing through my history...

Balfour Declaration...
This when the story started, and it is still going..

My village is called Beit Noba, my country is Palestine