Where is my discipline these days? Initially, I had felt inihibited to put down on what were going on in my life, given all the unlawful materials and where I was situated in the map of the criminality. The next thing that I knew was that I lead a life of autism; I was literally dysfunctional due to all the drugs that I professionally took regularly, or what is commonly called addiction? I was in the market knowing that could kill anybody who got involved and I was not an exception: I found myself not being able to leave. Typical effect of c---k c---ine. Funny creatures we are.

Anyway, I have been seeing Palestinian movies of late as many as possible and I cannot get enough of them. I am planning to review those here for two reasons;

 1) to promote the view of the politically opressed side of the area. Yeah, I am the advocate of their rights in the area. I never granted Isreal.

2) to discipline myself once again and to rehabilitate, I need a subject that I feel passionate about.

A while back, I found some intriguing fragments that I seemed to have jotted down in my jornal book. That obviously was from sometime that I could no longer articulate, so it felt like I was on some sort of recovering process in an old ruin. The note was on a Palestinian movie titled Rana's Wedding. The movie captured this modern woman who had to manage to get married in rush to her boyfriend, as oppsed to someone, or anyone from a list of men her father selected for her, matteroffactly, in order to get married just to keep her residentrial right in Ramallah. Because the depiction of the process including all the trouble and pain she went through was very dry and unsentimental and her attitude towards the marriage was rather up to date than traditional, timid or wailing, all the more, the last scene where they managed to get the wedding completed on time (note that this was the crucial part. The whole marriage process was on this clockwork and it would burst---she had to leave with her father---)  and finally smashed a dish on the land of Ramallah made me break down for the pain, thrill and joy they must feel just to survive day by day there. The reality that the movie captured in the land, just living there and maintaining one's become such a challenge when none of their rights were protected never left me, and I surely remember that. What I hurriedly jotted down seemed to be about it. How horrible it must feel to have to make one's home when those houses were perpetually demolished one after another for no reason. The dignity that I saw in the people's life there literally touched me. I never forgot this movie and how I felt. But I completely forgot that I had writted something on it. Reading this small note made me think how touched I was to jot it down so that I would not let the feeling go away. This somehow encourages and ignites the fire in me to write. It feels like I got a letter from someone who has seen the unforgettale movie, and that was from myself. This answers the very fundamental question: why we write. We write to resist oblivion. All the more, the poem of Mahmoud Darwish that closed the whole movie was unforgettable. The words of his summarized and even surpassed all the visual endeavor the movie made. This might sound ironical, but what can we say when certain words incorporate and trancend human condition just as his words did?

So I want to keep on writing on what I see in movies from the region and how I think of the situation. This will be Palestinian Film Fest presented by Chym-a.

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