tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-319620682011-10-03T14:48:50.823+03:00Words without thought are dead sounds; Thoughts without words are nothing. To think is to speak low; to speak is to think aloud...Ascribohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10582175676256624202noreply@blogger.comBlogger131100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31962068.post-18981209909081005702007-10-30T04:20:00.000+03:002007-11-09T03:17:54.359+02:00

When I started writing this blog, I had no idea on what it's going to be. It was mainly a description of exciting events and thrilling thoughts I was encountering in England. In retrospect, it seems to me as a description of a rather sweet kind of cultural shock. While this pleasant shock made me start blogging, it was the appalling reverse cultural shock I had after coming back to Syria that

Ascribohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10582175676256624202noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31962068.post-18693833562480306712007-03-18T20:54:00.000+02:002007-03-18T21:00:48.344+02:00

Expressing one's self; Effect of environment It has been a while. I don't even know how I'm supposed to feel. What's the purpose? I ask myself. Why I am blogging? I can easily find one thousand reasons for not doing so.It’s astonishing future can be different from how we (like to) imagine it. In my England days, I had absolutely no difficulty in expressing my ideas, at least in writing. I only

Ascribohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10582175676256624202noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31962068.post-1167347775199475942006-12-29T00:41:00.000+02:002007-03-04T21:46:08.996+02:00

It was a narrow path that runs between the Pitts River Museum and New Marston Neighborhood of Oxford, England. I can still see the blue sign indicating that this is a cyclist/foot path. I observe people smiling back at me as they stroll along the leafy trail. Horses in farms on the right, the gleams of sunset colouring the horizon with golden red, a boy with a fishing rod on the left. Soft breeze

Ascribohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10582175676256624202noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31962068.post-1165011752100354092006-12-02T00:17:00.000+02:002006-12-26T19:02:29.073+02:00

Things haven't been going the way I like, or the way I imagined. I feel I'm busy more than my daily schedule can explain, and I feel there's no room for thinking! I haven't posted or even logged in my account for nearly two weeks, and the connection problems have only contributed to this. I feel that I'm growing so impatient that I can't wait for a page to load (1 minute for an average page is

Ascribohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10582175676256624202noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31962068.post-1162925007425557272006-11-07T19:49:00.000+02:002007-02-08T06:45:56.840+02:00

I've always found it difficult to answer your tags. I think I haven't even answered all of it yet. It annoyed me that I couldn't write my own tag to provoke your imagination and challenge your contemplation. But today, I've faced, rather unintentionally, the most challenging question in my life. I thought I'd better seize the chance, use that question, and tag all of you!It was some piece of

Ascribohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10582175676256624202noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31962068.post-1161805828417914242006-10-25T21:19:00.000+02:002007-02-18T02:05:17.266+02:00

My days in England were drawing to an end, I had seen too much but missed too many...As if I was having a good dream, I had to wake up in the end. I felt it was too early when I had to go to Manchester to confirm my flight reservation.The contradiction of my feelings was summarized in the flight agent's question: "Are you sure you want to fly on Thursday?"...That was a tough yes/no question, and

Ascribohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10582175676256624202noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31962068.post-1159889205570005062006-10-03T17:07:00.000+02:002006-10-03T17:28:44.876+02:00

Some people really surprise me with simple questions: "Do you know Firas?"When I moved into this city, the first question anyone would ask was: "Where are you from?". When my answer to that was Syria, the next question was: "Do you know Firas?". I was surprised, everyone: juniour doctors, nurses, medical school clerks, and even exchange students were showering me with the very same question. And

Ascribohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10582175676256624202noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31962068.post-1158693605496604132006-09-19T22:09:00.000+03:002006-09-19T22:20:05.546+03:00

I have been tagged some time ago, by both Abufares and Karin. I have to admit that I have always found personal questions, and specially the “What is your opinion?” ones, very difficult. Maybe I wasn’t trained to answer them at School. I have always had something ready for the answer, which I didn’t have to formulate or even criticize. Or maybe I am better at writing the inflection of my own

Ascribohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10582175676256624202noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31962068.post-1157805151616024812006-09-09T15:05:00.000+03:002007-01-26T14:06:12.173+02:00

I will just start by clearing up any confusion might have been caused by the title: it wasn't me who said that!Not only I can't imagine myself saying such a thing, but also I don't feel that I have the right to do so. It'd feel like someone who lives in a messy house walking into a Hall and criticizing this mis-placed paint and that. Even though that could be true (from an objective point of view

Ascribohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10582175676256624202noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31962068.post-1157485356039226982006-09-05T21:48:00.000+03:002006-09-06T16:11:10.323+03:00

I had this conversation with an Oxford student:- How are you going there?- By train- I see. By the way, Do you use trains that much in Syira?- No. We usually go by bus. It's faster.- Bus is faster than train. Why?- Well, we have some very old trains.- Why is that?- Well. Before the Word War I, Ottomans were building a railway network. Sultan Abdul Hamid II, with the help of Germans, created a

Ascribohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10582175676256624202noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31962068.post-1156374311861696712006-08-24T00:54:00.000+03:002007-03-07T17:41:59.316+02:00

Before going on with my blog, I would like to discuss what I think is the idea behind blogging: that is Writing.As you may or may not know, History has started since our ancestor caveman decided to sculpt some symbols representing his daily life on the wall of some caves. You can say that all people and, probably, civilizations who lived before that are pre-history. We simply know nothing about

Ascribohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10582175676256624202noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31962068.post-1155256027945990882006-08-11T03:17:00.000+03:002006-08-11T03:30:16.076+03:00

I hope you are not already bored stiff waiting for my second post, and for the answer to that BIG question: “Why they don’t just take your money and not send you anything?”I’ll try to put the goddamn answer down here. If you reached the bottom of my post that would make me happy. If you managed to leave a comment, I would be in great delight.So whether you were a poor guy who was unlucky enough

Ascribohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10582175676256624202noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31962068.post-1154562146631767152006-08-03T01:30:00.000+03:002006-08-03T16:21:31.816+03:00

I used to wonder why some people add "Shopping" as a hobby in their profile. Living in Damascus - Syria, I used to hate shopping, and to avoid it most of the time. I would just tell my brother to go downstairs and get whatever we wanted for lunch or dinner. I don't really like it when you have to answer 99 questions before being able to get 1 kg of sugar for your tea. I am not anti-social, but I

Ascribohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10582175676256624202noreply@blogger.com5