Editing the Sponge

My Tombstone

Sat, 08 Dec 2012 03:56:00 -0500

My dear colleague at work, Omar, asked me, “What is your life about? What do you want your tombstone to read?”

I completely froze at first. He caught me off guard and I felt cornered but he was persistant and wouldn’t let me go without an answer.

I thought about all the different things that I aspire to accomplish in life. Instead of asking myself why I want to accomplish them in order to prioritize my list, I asked myself how I want to do that. I came to a conclusion.

Perspective. Whatever message I want to get across to people, whatever story I want to tell, whichever initiative I want to start, I know that the way I can do it best is through presenting it with a different perspective. Changing perspective allows you to see a lot more, not necessarily in content, but in depth and terms of understanding as well.

I want my tombstone to read: “Ohoud Saad. The one who showed us perspective.”

What about yours?

You. Be selfish for a change.

Sat, 24 Nov 2012 08:32:00 -0500

Take Karma for example, poor thing has been called all kinds of names, most popularly ‘bitch’. For Karma believers out there, and for non-believers just bare with me for the point I’ll attempt to make, for the notion and not necessarily this specific cause; humans, hear me out.

Some people fear harming others or committing wrong deeds just so Karma wouldn’t come around to bite them in the ass. Right? Well, how about you try being selfish for a change? Selfish, you ask? Yes. It can be good for you. No, really.

Why doesn’t anyone ever try doing something good so that Karma would come back around and pat them on the back? Reward them, if you will. Or has Karma been irrevocably stigmatized as a bitch in your head, you don’t think she’s capable of doing that? What goes around comes around no? Initiate what goes around as something good, something positive and believe that what’ll come around is something of equal value and grace.

If you don’t want to do something positive for no reason, hey, I won’t blame or judge you, I’ll just ask you to do it for the reciprocation. Do it with the very intent to be rewarded. Do it as a seed you’re planting to eventually get to enjoy the fruits. Don’t fear Karma, reach out to her. After all, Karma will come around eventually to…

Well, you get to decide that. And the beautiful thing? Think about how often and where you can implement this concept. Countless times in countless occasions.

Perspective. It all comes down to perspective.

Now hanging on my office wall.. (Taken with Instagram)

Sun, 09 Sep 2012 08:27:40 -0400

Now hanging on my office wall.. (Taken with Instagram)

No, You Are Not #3: You are not as good as you think you are.

Tue, 07 Aug 2012 18:25:00 -0400

No, you are not. Call them weaknesses, call them areas for improvement, there’s always room to grow and progress. You may believe that you’re better than others but remember that you have more in common with the person right next to you than you think you do. Perfection can be sought but rarely attained. Humbleness is a beautiful trait and it can only get you a few steps closer to true and exquisite goodness. Reward yourself for the good you do and reprimand yourself for the bad. No human is above everyone else, treat people the way you wish to be treated. Give back to people and give back to yourself. Forgive, give second chances, communicate and compete against yourself. Raise your own bar. Be better.

“We see things as we are. Not as they are.”

Change your perspective and may you find the balance you seek.

No, You Are Not #2: You are not as efficient as you think you are.

Mon, 06 Aug 2012 17:17:56 -0400

No, you are not. Waste is but a terrible thing. Know that most of what you throw away have several very practical uses. There are a lot of green cycles. There’s recycling, up-cycling, down-cycling, free-cycling and a lot more you can do instead of throwing away different forms of goods. Green talk aside, be efficient in what you do. The more effort you put into something, the stronger and more valuable the result will be. Quality trumps quantity so add some devotion and conscientiousness in what you do whether you’re cleaning up after yourself, volunteering, working, reading and living in general. Efficiency guarantees you better outcomes and will consequently provide you with great personal satisfaction. Remember that you are malleable, you’re not made of stone. Change the way you look at your errands, your chores, your work. “Love what you do to do what you love,” we often hear. So love what you do by doing it in the best way you possibly can.

“We see things as we are. Not as they are.”

Change your perspective and may you find the balance you seek.

No, You Are Not #1: You are not as flawed as you think you are.

Sun, 05 Aug 2012 15:33:00 -0400

No, you are not. The scale of perfection has been set by some people. People who are by no means better than you or me. Always keep that in mind. The grass isn’t that much greener on the other side, the human nature just suffers from an acquired major flaw: dissatisfaction. We’ve been programmed to find the flaws in anything and everything deeming the way we look, how we live, where we work unsatisfactory. Your “imperfections” are someone else’s desires. Embrace who you are and occupy your own body and mind. There’s a reason we’re different, why else did God create us so? Your actions are performed by you so choose them wisely. Change what you don’t like about you and keep reinventing yourself.

“We see things as we are. Not as they are.”

Change your perspective and may you find the balance you seek.

Finding the balance through "No, You Are Not".

Sun, 05 Aug 2012 14:45:00 -0400

I seek balance. I find it. I fight for keeping it. I lose it at times and I repeat the process again. And again and again. I constantly attempt to find balance between my spiritual path and my earthly one. Balance between work, family and friends. Balance for my body. Balance in my traits. All in all, balance to become the person I want to be. One method I’ve found to work and has helped me in becoming who I want to be is to see who I don’t want to be. Negative connotations seemed to work as they scare me by showing me who I don’t want to become. Seeing someone who is arrogant, someone who is unfair or someone who is hateful, for example. On the other hand, seeing someone who is helpful, someone who is cheerful or fair will inspire me to become so.

Then one day, I Stumbled Upon the picture that follows. To me, it embodied something I thought was very strong, yet another method to help me with the balance I constantly seek. With an attempt to merge several techniques together, openly fight for balance, and perhaps help a few people along the way, I’ve decided to start a series called “No, You Are Not”.

“We see things as we are. Not as they are.”

Change your perspective and may you find the balance you seek.

I'm just wondering, if you had a kid, and you told them they could be a doctor, and a kid at school told them they couldn't because your kid was a girl, and she told you this, what would you say?

Mon, 09 Jul 2012 18:37:30 -0400

Honestly, if I ever have kids, I’ll raise them with the notion that we’re all created equally. Acceptance, tolerance, compassion and understanding are pivotal concepts to live by. Having said that, I would hope that my girl would answer whoever told her that appropriately and instead of telling to me, she could amaze me by telling me how she answered back. Only then, I’d know I’ve done my job as a good parent. (fingers crossed :) )

"The dreamers need the realists to keep them from soaring too close to the sun. And the realists,..."

Tue, 03 Jul 2012 06:42:30 -0400

““The dreamers need the realists to keep them from soaring too close to the sun. And the realists, well without the dreamers, they might not ever get off the ground.””

- Modern Family

Curiosity Never Killed Anyone

Thu, 28 Jun 2012 09:44:00 -0400

I am met with laughter and opposition whenever I tell someone that in the unlikely event of my marriage and in the even unlikelier event of my pregnancy, I wouldn’t want to know the sex of my baby till he/she is born.

I have my reasons. Some of which is that I think I’ll like the thrill and the anticipation. I would be more excited (and I’m sure, scared) about the fact that I’m having a child. I believe that there is a lot more I should be and would be preparing for and taking care of. And call me old-school, I just simply don’t want to know.

Few people have told me that I wouldn’t be able to do so because I wouldn’t stand not knowing. I politely disagree. The majority of people, on the other hand, think that I won’t be able to wait because babies’ clothes only come in pink, or blue.

Of all the things that baffle me in the world. This one most definitely lingered in my head for a few months more than it should. Pink, or blue. Colors. We narrow down babies to colors. We LIMIT our children to colors. We expose our children to unnecessary gender-specificity before their senses could even develop. We allow marketers to, once again, dictate on us what to do and what not to do.

I find it difficult to write about this because sincerely, I find it obnoxious and amusing. Okay, not amusing. It’s actually a serious issue if you take the time to think about it. To wear a green shirt, blue jeans, a burgundy veil and yellow shoes is all it takes to piss my sisters off. Why? Because these colors “don’t match”. Why? Because “they” said so. Why? Because we’re incredibly and unhealthily limited to certain schemas that have the potential to be the end of us.

Boys wear blue. Girls wear pink. Boys love action figures. Girls love Barbie dolls. Boys will become pilots, engineers, doctors. Girls will become stewardesses, secretaries, nurses. See where I’m going with this? Expectations limit us. There is no innovation nor greatness in predictability. Paths, pre-drawn by our parents or our society, leave no room for us to become leaders. By us, I mean men and women. By men and women, I mean humans. By humans, I mean those created differently intentionally by God for a reason. For thousands of reasons. If you live by what “they” say and follow what “should” be done and keep from taking initiative, you’ll never get to find out about any of those reasons.

Aren’t you in the least bit curious?

I didn’t get the memo that your hand belongs on my ass.

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 17:46:00 -0400

When your child does something wrong, some behavioral psychologists suggest that you ignore that behavior because it takes away possible reinforcers. If your child picks something up and throws it, breaking it in pieces, for example, scolding the child or even giggling at that behavior gives the child the attention he/she probably seeks. This attention could very easily reinforce this behavior and the child will keep repeating it. Consequently, you are advised to ignore the behavior altogether, hoping that the child will stop doing it.

For years now, most women here in Egypt have decided to take on this approach in dealing with sexual harassment or assault. We walk around with an invisible, unresponsive shield to name-calling and sleezy invites to sexual fantasies. We ignore them. Unless things get very physical, the average woman would most probably just ignore them and keep walking. The question now is: Is this behavior decreasing? Did the child stop doing the bad behavior? Is the method working? No. Hell no.

Now, whenever anyone faces a problem at work, my friend’s boss would ask them the following: “Have you been doing anything to solve this issue?” The answer here would be, why yes! We’re ignoring them. His next question would be: “Has it been working?” We would shamefully shake our heads. He would finalize saying: “You will keep doing the same thing over and over again and the results will be the exact same.” We must then, change our approach.

I was walking with a friend one day and we were approaching near a group of guys who looked just about ready to say something obnoxious. “AlSalamo 3aleikom,” (Peace be upon you) she said. They looked stunned. I barely remember one replying and the others looking the other way. I’ve heard other women say that they would talk back to harassers, others carry self-defense tools while others take self-defense classes.

Women and men, nowadays, are taking initiatives to fight against sexual harassment. Many of them have been met with laughs to their faces, pessimistic and hopeless responses, why, some even got harassed during a demonstration against the very catastrophic and dire act of harassment. What I’m trying to say is, ignoring them isn’t working any more. Shocking, no? Harassers themselves have been so used to being ignored that they find it shocking if you actually respond to one of them or dare to find it unacceptable and appalling if one of them groped you. Sorry, I didn’t get the memo that your hand belongs on my ass.

Do something. We cannot possibly remain passive about this any longer. Make sure you DO something about it.

A short, independent film written, directed and edited by me,...

Mon, 18 Jun 2012 07:45:17 -0400

A short, independent film written, directed and edited by me, Ohoud Saad.

Cast:

Menah Elshazly
Mahmoud Hassan
Amr Adel
Hala Salem

Crew:

Original Score by Bassem Ebeid
Additional Cinematography by Soha Elsirgany
Production Assistant: Habiba Helmy

A Systematically Unmethodical Process

Mon, 19 Mar 2012 04:59:00 -0400

It emanates on the face with conspicuous subtlety,

walking about with shameful pride in its stride.

Thoroughly covering every inch of the body,

taking the chance to leave the tangibles behind.

It brings about a systematically unmethodical process,

fostering fights between the body, the mind, and the soul.

Throwing fists, punches, throws, kicks, and lashes,

they each win a round with an aimless, bitter goal.

Praise them, love them, embrace them three fools,

they’ll eventually find their way.

They’re trying to set forth an elegant beast,

coming with feeble strength here to stay.

Pain is it, I see?

It looks so lovely.

Could it genuinely be,

a cursed gift for me?

If There was a Felangy

Thu, 08 Mar 2012 07:18:00 -0500

If there was something that would cause my mother to get off an airplane, it would be a female pilot. She doesn’t go to female doctors nor would she allow a female mechanic to touch any broken item of hers.

I’m not going to ask to amend any laws. I’m not going to ask for women to gain more rights. I’m not going to ask for men and women to be equal. I’m not going to fight for women to be superior to men. That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t. It just means that I won’t.

I will fight for conceptual and thus societal change regarding people. I will forever fight for equal opportunities in the fields open to both sexes. I will fight for tolerance and respect. I will ask you to stop categorizing, stereotyping, generalizing, and objectifying both sexes. I will fight for individualism. I will not answer questions like the one I constantly have to ask people for work, “Do you know what women want?” Because any answer will (un)intentionally aim to generalize, stereotype and categories women, due to the fact that the phrasing of the question itself nourishes all these factors.

I will ask you to know what you want, man or woman, and work to your last sweat trying to achieve it. Fight off all obstacles, sing off whoever tries to shut you up, dance off whoever gets in your way, and do not succumb to general beliefs and just go with the flow. Occupy yourself, understand it, love it, embrace it, foster it, cultivate it and your soul will find its way to fulfill your true destiny.

Happy day to everyone :)

I am Becoming

Sat, 03 Mar 2012 10:11:59 -0500

I am becoming a tree, unlike any other. My feet, shaky on the ground, elongate and sharpen, unsteadily delving into the wet soil beneath me. I feel disoriented. Trees are tough and fierce. I’ve discovered that I’m not, even though I sincerely and naïvely thought otherwise. Nonetheless, I am still transforming. My skin is turning rugged, maintaining its soft texture. I slowly lose one sense at a time. My eyes turn blurry as they fuse into the rest of my body as it’s transcending its humble form to become something else. My painful shrieks and cries become hums and whistles as the wind gently caresses my forming branches. I look down to find my trunk black. My trunk. I’m startled by the fact that I’m unquestionably becoming a tree. I don’t feel stronger, I somehow feel more fragile. This process is more exhausting then I had contemplated.

My feet are still stretching out to become one with the earth. My toenails are sharpening as they find something to hold onto, curling and crooking like hooks. The hairs on my legs stand, pointing outwards from my black stem. I’m becoming more comfortable. I no longer recognize my torso, I’m losing it to what I’ve become. My ribs have changed shape and color and now stand vertically in my insides to create the backbone of the tree. They’re still not strong enough. I’m flailing instead of standing my ground; losing strength instead of sucking it from the soil; my vitality is escaping me and I’m wasting energy attempting to reenergize myself.

I can no longer see, speak, smell, nor hear. These senses have all merged into one then amalgamated with my sense of feeling. It’s almost unbearable. I feel too much. I feel my roots still trembling beneath me, my organs shifting place and darkening, taking new positions and functions, my hands distorting and spreading out wide open with bones sticking out to make branches. I feel my hair being whetted. It’s green and stands out like that of a cactus. Swiftly and abruptly, I feel one last enormous pang. Collectively, my hairs are nailing me. I’m becoming a deformed, inverted, ruggedly soft and inexplicably smooth cactus tree. Yet somehow, I exist.

Why Not?

Thu, 01 Mar 2012 21:25:00 -0500

If someone accidentally shuts a door on your finger, deeming the pain unbearable, you’ll quickly open the door to release your finger and put an end to the pain. That sounds fairly reasonable and common. Your finger is your own and you can feel anything that happens to it. The door is an object with several benefits and a proper function. The act of it being shut on your finger is unpleasant and undesirable. A problem occurred and you knew what was causing it and you devised the solution for it and thus you opened the door. The pain will linger for a while but you’re certain that eventually, inevitably, it will subside. You wouldn’t just keep your finger stuck and be deluged with the pain. It’s invidious and displeasing, remember?

Then why is it that sometimes, when you’re in pain and you know what or who is causing it, you don’t attempt to free yourself and diminish the pain? You don’t enjoy it. It hurts. You know what’s causing it. Why can’t you let yourself off the hook? Why don’t you let go? Why don’t you open the door? Why are you holding on?

Why not?

I had no arms.

Mon, 27 Feb 2012 14:49:00 -0500

I had no arms. I slept to dream that I had no arms. Dream? I instantly deemed it a nightmare, an atrocious one. I had no arms. Without them, I wouldn’t be able to drive, dress, eat, drink, hold anything, shake hands with anyone, wave, type, draw, cook, make anything, work. Would I be rendered useless? Yet, the first thing that came to my mind was not any of the above. Without arms, I wouldn’t be able to be honest. I wouldn’t be able to rant, to speak the truth, to dream, or explore. I could talk, right? I’m one of the most talkative people I know. But when it comes to writing, that’s when I’m most honest. I didn’t think about any other arm function I’d miss. All I could think about was writing. I can’t speak of the truth, of how I truly feel, except in my writing. I can’t be honest with my self except through my writing. I don’t explore the real me except in what I write.

Was this a wake-up call for me to finally build up verbal and moral courage and put my over-use of speaking into good use? Into trying to speak more often of what I write and say the things that I know, if said out loud, would help me psychologically and physically? I don’t know. But I know that nothing, besides death, has scared me this much in a while. My arms shook at the thought of losing me; leaving me to my mind all by myself and my soul.

In The Green Nightmare Jar

Mon, 27 Feb 2012 03:57:00 -0500

is a goblin that follows me wherever I go; watching my every move.

is a virtual version of you that perishes each night.

is a cup of tea to keep my sanity, but spills and burns instead.

is a light that I don’t seize.

is a doctor’s diagnosis and prescription.

is one of several boxes concealing, trapping, repressing.

is a lid that I desperately search for; only to never find.

My pen.

Sat, 25 Feb 2012 17:17:14 -0500

If you were my pen, I would use you to scratch anything beautiful I wrote. I would use you to scratch any positive thought I scribbled. I would use you to turn any smiley face I ever drew into a sad one. I would passionately write everything horrible and obnoxious about myself. I would draw my nightmares into reality. But I’m my pen, you’re not my pen. Yet, somehow, we both manage to do all of the above anyway.

The Day he Undied.

Fri, 24 Feb 2012 06:31:00 -0500

She unlooked back at where they had buried him as she unhelped her inconsolable mother get into the car. Silence unprevailed after they had all unprayed for him. They unprayed for him sincerely, feeling the need to. Her mother unbroke down as she watched them bury him; she had uninsisted to go in and watch. She unlet her mother’s hand go, as she uncontinued to cry.

The dust and dirt of the cemetery walls undirtied her black jeans as she held her shaky hands to comfort her. She unleaned against the wall next to her mother’s aunt who was mourning the loss of her beloved older brother. She unsaw her mother’s aunt gasp for breaths in between wails of sorrow. She unstood amongst mourners. Upon getting out of the car, she unbreathed heavily. She unstared, one last time, at the coffin before her eyes. She unlooked over her mother who was updating her Facebook status, publicly unbiding farewell her dearest, idolized uncle who had replaced her passed on father.

She unfidgeted in her seat, unlimiting her breaths. She could unsmell the dead body in the car, which already contained a concoction of aromas from all the dead bodies it transfered daily. She ungot in the hearse, her glossy eyes untearing. They unwoke up having decided in their sleep the black clothes they’ll wear. Untraveling the road in silence, their minds were filled with memories of him. They untold their mother the truth. Unseeing her daughters nervous, they unlied about him being fine. They undecided to cover the truth, because then, he really was fine and they were about to go visit him.