A Tale of Three Trees

-

Oak

It was pouring last night, and I had to bear the brunt of the storm. That’s the curse of being the tallest tree in the forest. They call me “the mighty oak tree”, but I’m anything but mighty. I was wet and cold and shivering and miserable throughout the night, while Willow, Bamboo, Sycamore, Pine, and the others were sheltered under my canopy. I even had a couple of my arms snap in the torrential rains, and now I look deformed and ugly.

-

Bamboo

I could hear Oak screeching and cracking all night. He’s rigid in mind and body, but he’s the one who keeps us safe. When lightning strikes, he gets hit first. When Fire arrives, he gets burned the worst. I feel for him, but I don’t admire him like I admire Willow.

Unlike Oak, Willow sits serenely by the lake, contemplating Water. Willow sees beauty wherever she looks. She sways with Wind, dangles her arms, and gently brushes Earth’s soil. I can see her reflection in Water’s face, and she is always smiling. Never have I seen Willow complain about anything. She bends to make room for the other trees to grow, and she never gets burnt because she stays close to Water, the source of life, the source of peace.

-

Willow

I can see Bamboo learning and growing with every day that passes. It seems like it was yesterday when he was only a seed and then a sprout, but now he is almost as tall as Oak. Even though he shot up in a relatively short amount of time, he hasn’t become old, brittle, and cynical like Oak. Instead, he’s been a good, humble student and learned the lessons I’ve taught him well. He draws on Water to nourish and sustain him, and he bends with Wind to avoid cracking.

Bamboo stays strong and supple by aiming high, and he shoots up toward Sun, the source of light. Throughout the seasons, he stands erect and strong… but never rigid…and hence he will remain everlastingly green. 

A Letter to My Son

You were born in Al-Andalus, a land that was the crossroads of diverse cultures, faiths, and traditions. A land that brought Muslims, Christians, and Jews together in a spirit of tolerance and harmony. A land where Arabic, Castillano, and Hebrew were spoken side by side. A land where the pursuit of knowledge was prized above all. A land that witnessed the rise and fall of some of the world’s greatest civilizations.

 

Where are you from?

 

Your father hails from Egypt and your mother from Spain, two lands on diametrically opposite ends of the Mediterranean. Despite both being parts of the same Roman and Islamic empires, Egypt is now Arab and Muslim and Spain is now Western and Catholic. Your father speaks Arabic and your mother speaks Spanish. When they talk to one another, they speak English.

 

What is your nationality and what is your native language?

 

You are spending the first years of your life in the United Arab Emirates, a young and ambitious country. Even though you are a foreigner here, you are part of the multicultural majority. You have friends from every corner of the world here. You and everyone who lives here belong.

 

Where is your home?

 

You are a child of the East and the West. They are not separate. They might seem like opposite directions on a compass, but they are united in you. They might appear to have different cultures, faiths, and traditions, but they need one another to survive and thrive. They are like the yin and the yang. While they can clash at times, they ultimately complement and enrich one another. Transcend the differences and strive for unity. You were brought into this world to be a bridge between the East and the West, the past and the future. You were brought into this world to bring peace. Go beyond the superficial and strive for the universal and the eternal.

 

You are a citizen of the world.

The Key

 

I find an old key in my pocket. What does it unlock?

It unlocks the heart of my beloved.

I take a closer look at the key, squinting to make out the words etched on its handle, and I read the following inscriptions:

Speak kind, compassionate, soothing words

Forgive the faults and forget the pain

Be present in the moment and see the good in everything

I follow the prescriptions of the inscriptions and the gate to my beloved’s heart opens once more.

Book Launch: "The Young Man and the Sea"

Dear Reader,

As we start the new year, I wanted to share some good news. I'm launching my third novel, The Young Man and the Sea. I really enjoyed writing this novel, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it. The book is available in e-book and paperback versions on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CN33Y8QX

Happy reading! 

Sincerely,

Mostafa

Siddhartha

 I asked myself, “What is the best use of my time?” A perennial question for which I was hoping to find an answer when I opened Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha.

I flipped through the book’s pages and landed on a page with the following short passage:

The Yogaveda will teach me no longer, nor the Atharvaveda, nor the ascetics, nor any other teaching. I will learn from myself, be my own student. I will learn about myself, about the mystery of Siddhartha.

This was the guidance that I had been seeking all along. I will learn from myself, be my own teacher, be my own student. I will learn about myself, about the mystery of Mostafa.

I realized that I had been spending a disproportionate amount of my time learning from others. Reading their books. Watching their videos. Listening to their podcasts.

And not enough time reading my own writings, observing my own thoughts and emotions, and listening to my own inner voice.

It was as if that inner voice – that Mostafa – had drowned beneath all the words coming from the outside world.

The only way to listen to and learn from Mostafa is to give him the time and space to express himself.

Give him time to:

• Meditate in the morning so you can observe his thoughts
• Write his stories so you can understand what is going on in his life
• Sit in nature and be one with it so you can find peace
• Commune with the source of creation so you can find meaning
• Experience life as he was meant to so you can find joy

Let Mostafa guide Mostafa.

Let him listen to his own thoughts, feelings, and insights. Let him learn from them. Let them become wisdom.

Sunrise, Sunset

 Sunrise, sunset

There are moments in life that I live for

Holding you in my arms during sunrise is one of them

Sunrise, sunset

Life is fleeting every day  

There is always a beginning and an end to every life

Sunrise, sunset

Why are we oblivious to the magic of every day

Night gives birth to day, and day gives birth to night

Sunrise, sunset

We are born every morning and die every night

Blessed am I to spend the moments between my birth and death with you

Sunrise, sunset

Watching the sun rise in all its glory awakens my soul

Watching the sun set reminds me of our mystical encounter

Sunrise, sunset

Boxes

We might not realize it, but we spend most of our lives inside a box. Whether we are working, studying, eating, sleeping, or just living, we find ourselves in a box. I say this literally and figuratively. Let me explain.

If you stop reading for a second and look around you, you will realize that you are inside a box. Yes, that’s right: the room you are in is a big box. That room is one of several box inside a bigger box, your apartment. And the room and the apartment are inside an even bigger box, a building. It’s like a Russian doll. One box inside another inside another. Some boxes are warm and cozy. Others are cold and bleak. Whether they are comfy or not doesn’t change the fact that they’re still boxes.

We spend most of our lives inside a box.

On some days I feel like a caged animal. On those days, I want to break free and roam freely in the wild like our ancient ancestors.

I am happiest when I am outside a box.

I love the warmth of the sun on my skin, the wind brushing against my face, the sound of chirping birds and rustling leaves, the smell of salty air, and the sight of lush greenery, blue sky, and flowing water.

I love breathing real, fresh air.

Spending too much time inside a box can be suffocating. It is like putting a plant inside a shoe box with no water, light, or air. As time passes, the plan shrivels up and dies.

Like plants, we are meant to be in nature.

We cage ourselves inside boxes. Unlike nature, boxes can be made to be very comfortable. They lull us into complacency. They make us sedentary. They make us forget where we came from and where we belong. They tame and domesticate us.

We are truly connected and alive when we are in nature.

We forget that we are children of the forest, the meadow, the valleys, the seas, the rivers, the deserts… the wild. We instinctively know that nature is our true home and yet we choose to cage ourselves inside boxes.

There are boxes we can see and there are boxes we cannot see.

The invisible boxes are more insidious than the visible ones. They are the boxes of the mind. If we are not aware of them, they can imprison us forever. They can keep us mired in beliefs, mindsets, and worldviews that limit us and hold us back.

Just like the visible boxes, the invisible boxes can stifle us.

We must remain vigilant and notice when we are trapped inside one of these boxes. We must live (and think) outside the box. Better yet, we must completely get outside of the box.

We must set ourselves free.

The Power of a Dream

“I am Alexander the Great, King of Macedon, Hegemon of the Hellenic League, Shahanshah of Persia, Pharaoh of Egypt, and Lord of Asia,” he thought to himself as his ship set sail and he breathed in the salty breeze from the East. At his prime, Alexander sought to reach the ends of the earth to fulfil his dream of becoming master of the universe, to immortalize himself among the gods. He had triumphed against the formidable Persian Empire and now set his eyes on uniting the East and the West and creating the greatest empire in history.

Alexander’s eyes scanned the distant islands of Indonesia as the trade winds filled the masts of his naval fleet. Despite the prophecy of the Oracle of Siwa that he would meet his end at sea, he decided to set sail. He had also been warned by his closest generals that his fleet was ill-equipped to launch an attack against the indigenous tribes of Sumatra. Nevertheless, Alexander was certain that it was his destiny to conquer the last territory known to mankind. He had even suppressed his own doubts. He had never learned how to swim, and his army had never conquered by sea before, but that would not deter him. He would see his dream come to fruition no matter what. 

As the fleet of three hundred ships entered unchartered territory, the clear morning blue sky turned grey and gloomy with heavy clouds. Gusts of wind blew from all directions. The ships’ masts rattled intensely, making the white sails appear like giant ghosts approaching from the horizon. What were calm, quiet waters only a few hours earlier soon became raging, wild waves. Bright white lightning struck in the distance behind the surrounding dark grey clouds. Alexander’s ships were in the eye of the storm. 

The soldiers on board Alexander’s ship began muttering to each other how reckless their leader had been for insisting on this hazardous expedition. With the lightning reflecting in his eyes, Alexander kept his eyes fixed on the islands that were his next target. He remained oblivious to all that surrounded him. As the ships rocked violently from side to side, it was clear that Alexander’s fleet was in grave danger.

“I am the master of the seas,” he proclaimed out loud to his soldiers. “I alone will see us through this storm,” he roared as his soldiers began to voice their concerns. The more he grew in pride, the higher the waves rose.

Amidst all the commotion, time seemed to pass by more quickly. The storm got worse. Waves crashed against the ships from all sides. Lightening ripped through the sky in all directions. Despite the madness, Alexander kept his calm and would not look away from the islands. 

Suddenly, almost half of Alexander’s fleet disappeared. A misty fog enveloped the remainder of the fleet. Alexander could hear faint shouts and screams from the other ships. He ordered a sailor to climb to the crow’s nest and see what was going on. The sailor quickly climbed the ship’s main mast and jumped into the nest. He looked in all directions before descending just as quickly. “No sight of the other ships my lord,” he reported to Alexander. 

“Does Poseidon seek to play games with me?” Alexander scoffed. “Does he forget that I am master of the universe?” 

Looking around, Alexander saw the look of fear in his soldiers’ eyes. Despite their valour at war, the Greeks feared the gods. They knew the gods, especially Poseidon, could be whimsical and ruthless. Alexander’s men feared that they had invoked Poseidon’s wrath. They blamed their leader for their misfortune, but no one dared confront him. 

As the waves continued to hammer the fleet from all directions, ships began to collide against one another, crash, and sink. Soldiers jumped off the ships and into row boats, striving to escape the carnage but it was futile. Hundreds were losing their lives by the minute. 

Not even in his most fierce battles had Alexander experienced such a humiliating defeat. He began to feel something that he had not felt in many years. He could not tell what it was. The emotion was foreign to him. As he looked around and witnessed his mighty army of warriors shatter into pieces, his pride gave way to despair. 

Within a few weeks of setting sail from the east coast of India, the proud Alexander who had conquered the greatest empires on the planet was at the mercy of nature. For the first time in his life, he realized that he was not invincible. He was fallible. It dawned upon him that, alas, he might not fulfil his dream. As he reflected on the unexpected turn of events, he felt defeated - not by his enemies but by his own blind ambition and arrogance. The moment of introspection ended when he looked up and saw a colossal tidal wave tower over his ship and come crashing down.

***

Panting, Alexander woke up drenched in sweat. When he came to his senses, he realized that he was in his tent. He could hear crickets outside. He was on land, in his camp. It was a dream. A nightmare to be precise.

Alexander stood up, walked to the entrance of the tent, and stepped outside to see hundreds of his soldiers loading provisions and arms on the ships bound for Indonesia. 

“The trade winds are picking up. We shall be ready to set sail within an hour”, whispered Craterus into Alexander’s ear. 

Without saying a word, Alexander returned to his tent and began preparing for the expedition.

The Surfers

They looked like wild creatures coming out of the water.

With their long hair and rubbery skinsuits. 

They floated on their boards, swaying from side to side

as the waves raged around them.

They were waiting for the right moment.

“Surf’s up!” one of them would call out.

Suddenly, they would all begin paddling hurriedly. 

Some would be too early, some too late.

The lucky ones would catch the wave and ride its crest from beginning to end. 

At the end they would all fall off their boards and plunge into the water. 

While it lasted, it was an incomparable high. 

They lived in another dimension.

It is on windy days like this, when the surf’s up, can you find the surfers riding Mojacar’s waves.

Love In The Time of Corona

“So you’re still coming to our wedding, right?” she asked with trepidation over the phone. 

“Yes darling. Of course I’m coming.” I responded with all the confidence that I could muster.  How else could one answer such a question? 

These are strange times and nothing is certain. Marta and I had finalized all of the arrangements for our  wedding just the week before. After days of planning, we had booked the wedding venue (a beautiful  Tahiti-style beachfront restaurant), bought flights for family and close friends, and commissioned a  jeweler to design and cast our bespoke wedding bands. The only problem was that the wedding was going  to be in Spain, one of the countries hit hardest by the coronavirus. Little did we know that less than three  weeks later Spain would surpass Italy to be the country with the highest number of coronavirus cases in  Europe. 

We had been waiting for over a year to get approval from the Spanish government to go ahead with our  wedding plans. It wasn’t very common that the tiny village of Vera (on the southeastern tip of Spain)  received an application for an international marriage. I remember the procedure as if it happened  yesterday. After an hour-long interview to verify that Marta and I actually knew one another, and that our  request to get married was legitimate, the judge concluded the interview with me by asking me bluntly,  “So why do you want to marry her?”  

“Because I love her,” I responded, almost defensively. It was such a strange question to ask  someone getting married but I guess the judge was just doing her job. An hour later, after going through  the same closed-door interview, Marta exited another room. We had completed the last step of the  marriage application process and would have wait for several months before finding out if the Spanish  government would grant us permission to get married.  

We had been through so much in our relationship to get to marriage. Four and a half years of being apart.  Thousands of miles of distance between us. Constantly being in different time zones. We had even lived  on diametrically opposite ends of the planet at some point. But we never let anything get in the way of our  love. 

With the coronavirus spreading like a forest fire from country to country and international borders closing  day by day, things were becoming very uncertain. Would we go ahead with our wedding plans? Would  we celebrate with family and friends? Would we even still get married? And, of course, the question that  is always on the minds of two people who are in a long-distance relationship: When would we see each  other next? 

As you can imagine, we were both distraught by what was happening. All travel between the U.S. and  Europe had come to a standstill just a few days prior to our phone call, which meant that my brother, the  best man, would not be able to attend the wedding. Travel restrictions were changing by the hour. All of a  sudden, Nepal stopped granting Spanish citizens visas which meant that our honeymoon plans went out  the window overnight. We needed to make some important decisions and we needed to make them fast.  The spread of the coronavirus was accelerating and the situation seemed to be changing by the minute.  

On March 13, just one week before we were scheduled to get married, we decided to cancel the wedding  celebrations. It was the prudent thing to do. We could not imagine putting anyone’s life at risk, let alone  that of our family and friends. We were heartbroken. Not only would we not be seeing our loved ones, but  all of the days we had spent planning for the wedding had gone down the drain. We had been eagerly 

looking forward to our wedding day since we received approval from the Spanish government to get  married back in October 2019.  

Amid the uncertainty and flurry of questions that preoccupied us, there was one question that we had still  not answered until the wee-hours of March 14, the date my flight to Spain was scheduled: Would the  groom show up to the wedding? The answer was obvious: yes. There was no doubt in my mind that I  would go to Spain for our wedding. This was a day that Marta and I had been dreaming about for years. I  was going to do everything I could to be there.  

I was not so concerned about anything happening to me. But then the doubts started to arise: 

What if you catch the virus on the trip? 

What if they don’t let you into Spain? 

What if you can’t return to the UAE to start your new job? 

Why don’t you just postpone the wedding until the situation improves? 

What if this…? What if that…? 

The list was endless. Doubts swirled around in my mind. Concerns shared by loved ones who cared for  me. With less than 12 hours before my flight to Madrid, I needed to make a decision and I needed to  make it fast. Without thinking twice, I resolved to go. I would not let anything get in the way of my love  for Marta. 

The next morning, at the break of dawn, I took a taxi to Dubai International Airport (DXB). I had not  been to the airport in over three months. This had been the longest time I had not taken a flight in over  two years. After flying in and out of DXB every week for the past two years (mostly for work in case  you’re wondering), it felt very surreal coming back to this place after so long. It was all the more eerie  given how sparsely populated the airport was that day.  

One could almost feel the anxiety in the air. Almost everyone was wearing a facemask. Mostly tourists  scurrying to catch the last flights back home. An airport was the last place you would want to be visiting these days. It was the main gateway through which the coronavirus was transmitted from one country to  the next. 

I tried not to think too much even though I could feel my heart beating faster than usual. I just did as  Marta instructed me to do. Put your facemask on as soon as you get to the airport. Wear the latex gloves.  Minimize touching surfaces. Keep your distance from others, especially if they are coughing or sneezing. 

At passport control, I was surprised to see all the smart gates closed and that there was only one line  through which all passengers would need to pass. Fortunately, it was a short line given that it was 5:30am  (and the likelihood that many wise travelers decided to postpone or cancel their trips). When I finally  reached the passport control officer, I was relieved to find that she was a friendly Emirati lady who  greeted me with a broad smile.  

“Facemask off,” she said. I had forgotten that I still had my facemask on and that she still had the  right to see my face. I took it off and smiled back at her. “Where are you flying to?” she then asked. “Spain.” 

“Good,” she replied, “Because if you were flying to Italy you would not be allowed back into the  UAE.” 

I nodded politely. 

“But who knows,” she continued, “things might change…for better… or for worse….” Her words weren’t very reassuring, but I felt like she was trying to put me at ease. 

After passing the security check, I headed straight to the gate of my flight. Instead of strolling around the  airport’s duty-free shops, I walked briskly to my gate. I was in disbelief by how bustling the duty-free  shops were. When I first arrived to the airport, I was under the impression that I would not find many  travelers inside. But how wrong I was. The duty free area was teeming with shoppers from all over the  world. It was as if the world were coming to an end and people were taking their last gulps of  consumerism before it was all over.  

On the flight, I tried to read the copy of Homer’s Iliad that I had brought along with me but couldn’t.  Instead I tried to get some sleep but also couldn’t. The adrenaline rush of this whole experience was simply too strong. To get my mind off the strong smell of sterilizer on the plane, I watched one  documentary after another. Fortunately the passengers sitting beside me were a friendly couple from the  Canary Islands. Having them tell me about their recent backpacking trip across Vietnam helped me get  my mind off the coronavirus – even though it was a bit difficult to make out everything they were saying  in their heavy Spanish accent behind the facemasks they kept on for the entire duration of the flight. When I told them that my final destination was Almeria (where Vera is located), they both gave out a sigh  of relief. “Good thing your final destination is not Madrid,” the husband went on to say, “Because the  situation there is pretty bad.”  

And so with those words I landed in Madrid. I could feel the impact of the coronavirus on Madrid just by  transiting through Madrid Barajas Airport (MAD). What is usually a dynamic airport was almost  deserted. I was the only international passenger going through the non-EU citizens’ passport control  section. The rest of the passengers on my flight were either Spaniards or EU citizens returning home. All  the duty-free shops in the airport were closed. Only a handful of restaurants were opened. I have a  favorite restaurant at this airport where I usually have a tomato and basil soup during my layovers in  Madrid, but I preferred not to eat anything. Not only was it not advisable to eat out, I simply did not have  the appetite.  

As I waited for my flight to Almeria, I passed the time people watching. There were a lot fewer people  than there usually are at MAD. It amazed me how those who were there could easily be categorized into  one of two groups. The first was extremely careful: facemasks, gloves, and the look of caution in their  eyes. The second was quite the opposite: eating with their bare (probably unwashed) hands, letting their  kids crawl on ground, chatting just a few inches from one another, and not to mention the occasional  hugging and kissing Spaniards are accustomed to when greeting one another.  

After a couple of hours of waiting at the gate for my next flight, I finally found the stillness to pick up and  read The Iliad. Once I returned to the fantasy of the Greek fleet as it sailed towards Troy for the epic war  that would follow, I completely lost track of time and the remaining hours flew by until it was time for me  to board my flight to Almeria.  

Before I knew it, the plane was landing in Almeria. From the cabin window, I could see the orange sun as  it began to set over the navy blue sea. As soon as the plane touched the ground, I let out a sigh of relief. I  made it, I thought to myself. 

As I waited for Marta to come and pick me up from the arrivals terminal of Almeria Airport (LEI), I  watched the sun set behind the palm trees and listened to the birds chirping one last time before calling it  a day. It was such a beautiful feeling being outdoors, breathing in fresh air, and feeling the cool sea breeze  caress my skin. I took a deep breath, filled my lungs with the crisp air, and thanked God for being alive.  

Seeing Marta at LEI is always a delight. I had experienced this moment many times before – she drives  her car towards me while I wait on the sidewalk. After parking the car, she comes over to hug me and 

help with the luggage. We would then walk hand in hand until we got to her car. This time was different.  No hugs or kisses. Instead, Marta greets me with disinfectant spray, a new pair of latex gloves, and asks  me to keep my facemask on until she has thoroughly sprayed me from head to toe. Not the most romantic  reception but I can understand why: I was coming from Madrid, one of the highest risk areas in the world.  

That night, I took a warm shower and felt the anxiety from the trip melt away. I was finally in Vera.  Marta and I would be getting married despite the obstacles that stood in our way. I felt so relieved.  

It wasn’t until the next day did I find out how lucky we were. On March 14, hours after my plane arrived  to Madrid, the Spanish government issued a state of alarm and imposed a nationwide lockdown. A day  later, the government closed all borders with the outside world. I was on one of the last international  flights to enter Spain. The government also enforced a strict stay-at-home policy for all residents except  those needing to go out for essentials like food and medicine.  

On March 16, we received a call Vera’s office for matrimonial affairs. She had bad and good news. The  bad news was that all weddings had been canceled in Vera for the next two months. The good news was  that the judge decided to make an exception and allow Marta and me to proceed with our wedding given  our extenuating circumstances.  

On March 20, Marta and I sat side by side in front of the judge as she read the wedding ceremony script. “Let’s begin.” The judge said, motioning for us to stand up. “Mostafa. Do you take Marta to be  your lawfully wedded wife?”  

“Yes, I do,” I responded. 

“And Marta. Do you take Mostafa to be your lawfully wedded husband?” 

“Yes, I do,” Marta responded. 

The judge concluded by saying, “I then pronounce you husband and wife.” Marta and I  exchanged wedding bands and kissed (with facemasks on of course). We had finally made it. The rest, as  they say, is history.

My Beautiful Bride

 I met her by a gleaming river

As the sun set over the City of Love

Our hearts always wondered what life would deliver

As we both earnestly pursued true love

 

Little did I know that she would be my bride

As long as she is by my side

Confidence will always be in my stride

Her presence always brings me joy and pride

 

Ours is a love that is more than love

More than a fairy tale or story book romance

I love her and all I feel from her is love

I knew that she was the one from her very first glance

 

My bride is from a dream

Her eyes are brighter than stars

Her face is more radiant than the sun

She is my darling, my life, my everything

The Birthday Present

My brother gave me this notebook for my thirtieth birthday. With it came a beautiful little handmade artisan gift card. Inside the card were three words: never stop writing. 

I shall heed my brother’s advice. From this day onwards, I shall write every day. This is a promise that I make to myself. I am a writer at heart, and I shall not let anything get in the way of allowing me to pursue my true calling in life. 

I am a writer. I have always been one and I will always be one. I forgive myself for neglecting this part of my life for so long. I must admit that it is not easy to listen to one’s inner voice, especially in today’s world. Others always have an opinion on what path you should take in life: family, friends, mentors, teachers, preachers, and the list goes on. It’s difficult to stay true to oneself amidst all the noise. 

It’s a shame that the world doesn’t always reward one for pursuing their calling. How can one make a living from writing? The world only pays for tangible products and efficient services. The world only pays for what has a price tag on it. The word doesn’t always pay for self-expression, creativity, and inspiration… the things that actually matter in life. What if writing makes me feel alive? What if it makes others feel alive? Is it not a worthy pursuit? Whether it pays or not, I shall continue to write.

This notebook will document the story of how I returned to writing and stuck with it. This will be the best story I will have ever written because it will be the story of my life. It will be the story of how I pursued my dream to become a writer. 

A writer is someone who writes. So, if I write today, I am a writer today. If I write tomorrow, I will be a writer tomorrow.

If I write every day, I will have lived my life as a writer.

Masterclass on Creative Writing

Dear Reader,

I am also very excited to be holding a masterclass at Schwarzman College, Tsinghua University to share my experiences as a writer with my fellow scholars. Details of the event are as follows:

What: Masterclass on Creative Writing

When: Tuesday, December 27 at 7pm

Where: Schwarzman College, Tsinghua University, Beijing

I look forward to seeing you there. 

Sincerely,

Mostafa

Legacy

Some are born into this world to leave a lasting mark. After their death, the world is never the same again. They might be remembered as legends, but they never lived for fame or power. They lived for a purpose that transcended their human flesh. It may have been a belief, an idea, or passion that transformed them, their companions, their society, and humanity at large. When looking back at the lives of these individuals, we might believe that they were always invincible. But here I stand before you after a long life, a life filled with trials and tribulations, and I can tell you that there is nothing further than the truth.

At the end of this long road we refer to as life, I have achieved prosperity, happiness, and success but I tell you that none of it matters. What matters is the journey and the lessons one learns along the way. I have always striven to be great, but it was never greatness for its own sake. It was always to achieve my aspirations in life. I have always dreamed big. I have always envisioned the future in a certain way, and I have painstakingly worked to bring my dream to fruition. My dream is fueled by my principles and beliefs.

My whole life, I have worked on transforming myself first and foremost. After diligently working on myself, I have worked on transforming the world. I have toiled and been through much soul-searching to arrive at my current station in life, but it was all worth the hard work. As I approach the end of my life, I would like to be remembered for what I stood for and what I have achieved. I would like to be remembered as a believer. One who believed in God, one who believed in the universal benevolence of humanity, one who believed that the world could always be a better place.

What I have achieved is meager compared to other great men, but I take pride in my success because I have worked relentlessly to achieve my dreams. I was given an opportunity in life and I worked hard to give others a similar opportunity. There is nothing nobler than given another an opportunity. I would like to be remembered as an educator who established schools in the most impoverished parts of the world, a patron of the art who promoted creativity, an industrialist who worked hard to give others a living, an athlete who achieved personal excellence, an explorer who saw the ends of the world, a lover who loved and was beloved,  a writer who moved others’ souls, a patriot who loved his country and worked hard to serve it, a philanthropist who worked hard to give back to the poor and needy.

My worldly success is merely a result of manifestation of my convictions. I am a warrior at heart. Despite life’s trials and tribulations, I still live with the courage of lion, the compassion of Buddha, and the chivalry of a knight. I have always lived to refine my character.

                                                       

“Daydreaming in Cairo” Book Launch at 7pm (Sunday, Feb. 23) @ Diwan Zamalek

Dear Reader,

As you can imagine, it is a dream come true for any writer to have his first book see the light of day. I consider myself to be tremendously fortunate to see the effort I had put into Daydreaming in Cairo, my first novel, finally come to fruition. I would be absolutely delighted if you could join me and Saray Publishing in celebrating the book’s launch. The details for the event are as follows:

What: Book Launch of “Daydreaming in Cairo”

When: Sunday, February 23 at 7pm

Where: Diwan Bookstore in Zamalek, Cairo

I look forward to seeing you there. 

Sincerely,

Mostafa

Reflections on a recent trip to Beirut

In an attempt to keep my promise of writing for half an hour every week, this blog entry for the week. I guess one of the things that has kept me from writing regularly lately is the feeling that nothing particularly special has been happening in my life. However, as my brother would tell me: everything depends on your perspective, i.e. how you look at it. As I recall the events of the past couple of days, I actually realize that my “ordinary” working week is actually quite extraordinary for any normal person. Yesterday I was in Beirut, today I am in Cairo, and tomorrow I am off to Jeddah. Now while this may seem ordinary for a consultant like myself who is always on the move, I have met some people who have never left their country, let alone their city.

I believe this extensive travel is become to seem more and more ordinary simply because the world we live in is becoming more and more interconnected and globalized. While it may seem hectic traveling all over the place in such a short period of time, I must admit that I find it absolutely thrilling. I love change and exposure to new things, and traveling definitely satiates this passion of mine. I remember when I was in college, I would enjoy going to Washington D.C. from Charlottesville. The bus ride would take four or so hours. While most people considered the length of time the bus would take to be the biggest drawback of the trip (the car takes ~2 hours), I found it to be the most enjoyable. I loved looking out the bus’s window and watching the scenery of the gorgeous Virginia countryside that we would drive by.

Back in college, taking a road trip to another city was a big deal for me. It was like the ultimate getaway. I never imagined that I would be traveling between countries in a single week. I must admit that the reason I love traveling so much is because one learns so much just by observing different things. When one is taken out of their comfort zone, he or she is impelled to dwell on his new surroundings and compare them to his or her natural habitat.

My stay in Beirut for the past two days allowed me to reflect on Egypt. I have a tenacious love for my country. It saddens me to see what it is going through these days, but what I have seen in Beirut gave me hope. Despite all the political turmoil it has gone through, Lebanon seems to always pull itself together and thrive. The Lebanese are highly intelligent and extremely hardworking. Despite the sectarian divisions between them, they have somehow managed to work together to make a modern Westernized city in the heart of the Middle East. Working from my company’s office in Solidare (a high-end business, commercial, and residential district), I was impressed by how such a small nation could attract so much investment and develop a fully-fledged service sector.

I understood how they were able to pull off such a miracle when I visited the American University in Beirut’s campus. It dawned upon me that what makes Lebanon what it is education. Lebanon’s education system has produced the highest caliber work force in Arab World. I work with some of the most intelligent people I have ever come across at my company, and most of them are Lebanese. I pray that we Egyptians come someday understand the value of investing in education and the unlimited returns on investment it could offer us. Personally, I try to learn new things everyday so that I could become a better employee, citizen, and person.

That’s concludes my half hour of writing for the week. I hope with that I’ll be able to maintain my weekly writing schedule during my upcoming busy travel schedule.

The Lost Notebook

It had been almost a year since I had seen Alla. Last time I saw him was in Casablanca as he bid me farewell at the Diab metro station as we ended our week-long tour of Morocco. As we got into my car yesterday in Zamalek, I mentioned to him how life works in mysterious ways. I met Alla, who is originally from Aswan, at the University of Virginia. There, we took an Arabic class on the topic of “Al Nahda” (the Arab Renaissance). After our graduation, our careers took us our separate ways. I ended up in the Arab World serving as a consultant bringing the Western knowledge to the East, and he ended up teaching Arabic in different universities in the United States (in essence bringing Eastern knowledge to the West).

The first thing I did when we got in the car was pull out a copy of “Daydreaming in Cairo,” the novel I had written over two years ago and which was recently published, and give it to Alla. My motive of giving it to Alla was twofold. First, I consider him to be one of my closest friends so I wanted to share it with him. Second, I wanted him to circulate it amongst our acquaintances in the U.S. after reading it. He was surprised to see that I had authored the book that I had just given him. However, what was more surprising was what he later told me as we drove through the streets of Cairo.

Although I thought that I had known Alla quite well, I was apparently mistaken. After briefly telling him the story of my novel’s publication, he disclosed to me that he was also a writer. I immediate thought how uncanny it must be that two really good friends were writers but had not known so about each other. He confided that, although he loved to write because it would allow him to enter an imaginary world of his own, he never shared his writing with anyone…not even his closest friends. I had always felt the same way about writing; it is indeed a very personal experience. But ever since the publication of “Daydreaming in Cairo,” I feel impelled to share my writing to the world. It is a gift that God has bestowed upon me, so why not use it to fulfill my purpose in this life?

However, unlike my writing which is generally narrative and experiential, Alla writes poetry and writes stories in lyrical language that is pleasing to the ear. I must admit that my writing is very basic in the sense that I do not make use of many, if any, literary techniques. However, Alla informed me that he is able to write in different styles. Alla then went on to tell me a sad story related to his writing career. Immediately after he had bid me farewell in Morocco, he had boarded his flight to Kuwait. On the flight, he had a sudden streak of inspiration and wrote extensively on the plane. Almost all his best writings were all documented and compiled in that notebook on which he wrote in on the flight from Morocco to Kuwait.

 What happened next would be considered a tragedy by any writer. All off-boarded the plane and left his notebook behind, never to be seen again. He tried frantically to retrieve it from the airliner but to no avail. He tried everything humanly possible to get a hold of his notebook but without success. As a writer, I know how valuable one’s collections of notebook writings could be. They are one’s only documentation of his flashes of inspiration. Alla then went on to tell me how he tried to recollect his stories in his mind and rewrite them, but they just weren’t the same as when he had first penned them in his notebook. I wanted to console him by telling him that many are the travelers that have lost their writings on journeys and that this notebook was just practice for the greater writings he is to write in the future.

 I wondered what must have been the impressions of the airline passenger who must have laid his hands on Alla’s notebook. As Alla mentioned to him, since he had never shared his writings with anyone, he wasn’t sure if his writings were “treasure or trash.” Which of the two must the passenger thought of Alla’s writings? This got me thinking, which of the two do readers think of my very own writing? Although I used to be very sensitive what others thought of my writings, I have decided to make it a point to share it with others. Life is too short to keep waiting until one produces a masterpiece. My advice to amateur writers like myself is to keep writing and to keep trying to get published. It is only through persistence that one masters the craft of writing.

The Writer Who Stopped Writing

I was at the Abu Dhabi Film Festival just a couple of hours ago watching the award-winning film The Rooftops. The film is set in Algiers where the post-colonial shanty houses of the city’s slums line the expansive blue coast of the Mediterranean. The film follows the stories of five groups of characters living on different rooftops in the city’s main districts. Right from the start, the film captivated my attention. The plot seemed interesting, the cinematography of Algiers’ cityscape breathtaking, and the setting of the film a particular interest of mine.  20 minutes through the film, the ‘Asr call to pray sounded majestically over the Algiers’ rooftops on the silver screen. It was at that point that I was struck with a pang of guilt. I had missed praying the ‘Asr prayer on time. Instinctively, I stood up less than quarter way through the film, picked up my belongings, and exited the cinema.

On my way back to the hotel, as I walked across the Abu Dhabi corniche, I dwelt upon how I had been failing to attend to certain duties. It was at that point that the Isha call to prayer had sung beautifully over the Arabian Gulf that reflected the skyscrapers towering above me. Missing prayers at their appointed times seemed to symbolize many other things that I have been missing in life. My prayers connect me to God. I have come to realize that my writing is what connects me to my soul, and I haven’t been writing as regularly as I would like to.

Last week, I received news that a novel I wrote two years ago would finally be published. Right before I started my career as a consultant, I had written a novel about my love for Egypt. After writing it, I stopped writing. Why? Well, I must admit that when I have to work over 16 hours a day it is hard to experience life, reflect, and write. However, I have reached a point where I feel that my soul has been drained because I have neglected it.  

I find myself returning to this blog to write. There is so much to write about and so little time. However, I have decided that I will start reclaiming my life by writing at least one entry every week. This blog has long served as my training ground as a writer. To it I return with the hope that it will revive a passion that once brought me so much joy.