Necessary Lies

After reading The Midwife's Confessions, I knew I had Chamberlain on my reading A-List.
I personally have a preference to reading stories that take place in a time era I've never witnessed. And to read a story with social crises such as that of America's 60s (which I only saw in movies or TV) was quite the reward!

A story about a poor family overwhelmed by health issues and social instability, with the intrusion of a newbie social worker whose professional mishaps inevitably saves the day.

Jane, the new social worker can be annoying for a great part of the novel; she seems to slip one too many and tries to make it up for the people around her even though it's against her principles. But later on we see her as the one who sincerely makes a difference.

It was honestly a good read, even though the state of Ivy's life is quite depressing, but there was a satisfying ending to it.

That being said, I gave it a five star rating on Goodreads.

The Secret Life of Bees

I'm glad that I've given myself the liberty to get back to blogging in my own good time. Nothing is as awful as forcing yourself to write something (a sad reminder of those still in school who have to do homework and assignments - I feel you!).

For starters, I've chosen this book by Sue Monk Kidd. I came across this book after I've seen the trailer of the film adaptation. Though I haven't seen the movie, I liked how the actors picked neatly fit in my imagination while reading. So that's simply marvelous.

On Goodreads, I gave it (a well earned) five stars.

After reading this book, I found myself grateful to the writer for a few things: reconnecting me to my teenage self; emphasized the fact that family is found even outside the boundaries of your own home and line of kin; made me live in a world engulfed by the insect I fear the most without cringing!

I am exactly twice Lily's age, yet have fallen in her shoes from the very start. Monk's book is an outstanding example of narrative that maintains the viewpoint of a fourteen year old with consistency in all scenes. This is what the world looks like to a human her age, going through the type of circumstances she's been destined to live.

Just like August does not force Lily to tell her what secrets to her life that she's hiding, Monk leads the reader through the story in a similar fashion. Though we know Lily's secret well ahead in the story, it is the true meaning of life and coexisting is what matters. The ideal evolves with Lily's experience at the Boatwright's pink house where she learns the secret life of bees. But what she really learns is about her own self; about her mother's past; about how to move on and ultimately be at peace with her past.

Monk's style of writing flows effortlessly, and I adore the tone and voice she has given to her MC. The characters do enjoy a sensible degree of diversity which we know is a must, its significance when it comes to the various themes of the story is how they were all able to bond and stick together for the sake of love and family — something that many households fail to achieve.

Now that I think of it, I find my self enjoying books with settings that take place on the outdoors, in forests among the trees and near river banks and fields. It kinda relieves me from the stressful concrete of our daily lives. And that's just me, of course.

Third Wheels & A Book

How often do you get that feeling of being a third wheel?

As I came of age, I noticed that I seem to find it hard coping with people/conversations that are of no interest to me. The worst part is when you're expected to join in, and when you do (especially when you pose an opinion, that is) you instantly feel that invisible force coming your way that says: Um, right. Whatever.

Hence, you're ignored lol.

So here's the thing about books, though. A book would never make you feel ignored. One might ignore a book, after idly flipping through its pages, or once one loses interest in the story, the book is then put away. It doesn't make you feel guilty any moment you come across it later on. It's more like sitting there with a hesitant smile, not forceful, neither nonchalant.. that maybe you'd wanna pick it up again.

But in the end, it just stays there. It never judges your opinion.

And that's probably why some call books a man's best friend. It sure is mine!

Hana S.

Fixer Upper ..

Some people say, "Never say a famous last line."

That's quite ironic when only today I had told my students who were done with their Creative Writing class to "enjoy the rest of the day!", then, less than half an hour later, it all came crashing down on us.

And I mean literally crashing.

It was around 09:45am and I was sitting in the same classroom waiting for my 10am class. I had a book in my hands, Alex Crawford's 'Colonel Gaddafi's Hat' in which she recounts her experience in Libya during the Feb17 revolution. I had reached the chapter where she arrived in Misurata, observing the dire conditions of here at that time, and interviewing normal citizens who turned fighters. I was living the moments when she and her partner were surrounded by indiscriminate shelling, when I heard yelling from somewhere outside the building. 

'Colonel Gaddafi's Hat' - By Alex Crawford

Back in the days, a verbal skirmish like this was rarely taken seriously and there was no reason to worry that it might develop into something frightening. But now, it's entirely different. Even a glare can get you into trouble.

Then there was pounding on the main gate of the faculty. This was practically closed almost three weeks ago for 'security' reasons and no cars were allowed to park inside the university premises. So, whoever it was that had been causing the racket earlier seemed to want to bring the gate down with his car! This only took a couple of attempts, and I saw from the open door at the end of the corridor the tips of gate fly open!

Before I realized what was going on, there was gunfire. Yelling. More gunfire, but this time it was louder. Not just a normal gun; rather a shot gun!

Catching my breath, I closed my book and got to my feet. There was another blast. I wasn't sure whether to walk to the door to see what was happening or simply look out the window. But as the shots continued, I refrained. Girls were shouting nearby, their waiting lounge was on the ground floor directly below my classroom. 

The moment a thing like this occurs, your mind keeps spinning all the worst scenarios. Was there a crossfire? Was one of the girls injured, or any guy for that matter? Seeing that I was alone on the first floor, I had no form of solace. I called one of my colleagues who urged me to stay put as the wacko that barged in was still on the loose and men were trying to figure out how to stop him. I gathered my belongings and tried to figure out how and when I'd make it out (safely). The only exit was through the only door there was, which lead directly to the gate outside, so there was no going anywhere unless I flipped and jumped out the small balcony at the opposite end.

No, thank you.

The man kept yelling for someone to come out to him. You know, the way some macho guys do when they want to settle a dispute with someone? Exactly.

So, whoever that was, I pray he doesn't come face to face with this guy especially when he's loaded by all means. And with that, a few empty barrels showered on the thin roof overhead of me. His shooting seemed random and that meant I had to take cover. I knelt beside the table (I know I'm already short, but the table was so low I couldn't fit myself comfortably under it) and waited. Praying no one was hurt, that Allah would bestow sense into this lunatic and drive him away from us! 

I texted my siblings alerting them to avoid the vicinity at that time.

It was a matter of minutes when I heard the rumbling of a vehicle departing from the main gate, that sound and a few gunshots faded momentarily after.

There was the voices of people gradually clustering about. I took a deep breath and straightened. If he was gone then that was my chance to slip out before anything else happened! 

It was like seeing the light after being buried. Maybe that's an exaggeration, but, perhaps now that I look back, not really. Weak as they were, my legs managed to carry me all the way to the main building and up to our department, where scatters of ashen faced students and some teachers stood around perplexed. 

Some students already started leaving the faculty. I was in no way fit to give my 10 O'clock lecture, which was already ten minutes overdo. I suggested to my students to leave if they could as we were advised to by a male colleague, fearing that this invader might make a come back. 

A girl who had been in the girls' waiting room showed me photos she took on her iPad of the incident. The man, by far in his mid 20s, clad in jeans, white T-Shirt, dark shades and a cap, seemed more like posing in each image as he held up his shotgun at various locations. And his side kick — a white, mini pickup truck! 

Perhaps in an attempt to make them at ease, I proposed to some girls to write about what happened! I know. Bad timing? Heh.

And here I am doing it on their behalf. Putting it all in words. An attempt, as it may seem, to assist in a country's fixer upper .. per se.

Stay safe.

Hana S.

PS: I left shortly after I arrived at the department.

PPS: Yes, the guy came back again! With back up!

Flashback!

*I know the board looks awful and in desperate need of intensive cleaning. Here's what's actually written:

"The last time he'd thought about her, he had been boarding a plane to Moscow. At that moment he realized he'll never see her again. She was at the lounge gazing at the passengers queuing at the check-in desk; unaware of his presence until he stumbled over his backpack a few feet away. Annya just stared at him, probably shocked to see him of all people, he thought.

Out of nowhere, juice splashed over his expensive suit. He looked up and saw the blonde flight attendant .."

One of my favorite exercises done in class just last week with group A (group B took us to Spain!) as we tackled the use of flashback and time-span in our Creative Writing class. We were practicing how to signal, start and end a flashback. Utilizing memory to bring forth information that adds to the story line through taking both the reader and characters back in time.

Perhaps the greatest aim of writing as a group is allowing you to step out of your comfort zone and try to throw things that all can work on/with. Any idea is possible and it's amazing how much you're able to learn.

When writing fiction, you're practically the god of your story. You're creating this small world of yours where people move about at your command. Just like what we did to this poor guy who's reminiscing Annya: we made him fall over then had juice ruin his classy suit!

I wonder what his name could be?

Keep writing,

Hana S.

Once Upon A Million Times ...

Once upon a time we fell in love with something.

That something became our wild aspiration at one point in time. We either maintained it, making it a fundamental part of our lives, or had to cast it to the wind.

And the wind does change.

I guess we already have a plot there!

So, what is your "Once upon a time.."?

We all seem to have a story to tell, and I believe it's evident whenever we sense a longing for someone to listen, right? We're not sure what it is we want to share with this 'good listener', for maybe our stories are too many to choose from. Yet, the fact that whatever you're transmitting is being received is kind of relieving.

Ever since I was young .. Wait, allow me to throw in some drama here..

"Once upon a time, some time ago (Ok, yeeeaaars ago..) I gave up on the fact that things last forever. Perhaps this is due to my globetrotting. My house wasn't the same, as we seemed to be moving places exactly every three years. Like it was some kind of divine milestone we had to step! Faces were not the same for the longest period; names forgotten. When you're young, you absorb all this with a tinge of juvenile excitement. But as you come of age, it wears you out and what's been absorbed overflows.

As the setting keeps on changing, you find the desire to  hang on to things. Though it can be hard to keep what is tangible, there are always those everlasting memories. And what better way to preserve them than through writing?

A paper can be your friend, you know. It will listen silently as you scribble on it; stay put wherever you put it, awaiting your return for some more words to be written.

A Once Upon A Million Times."


Hana S.