The Mystery of the House in Green

I’ve always wondered why some people do what they do. You go through life seeing people’s behavior, emotions, and simple reactions towards different situations in life, and you just can’t help but wonder why they react in that manner or way. Sometimes you even observe some things in life, that seem bizarre yet you are sure that if you look into them, there is a simple explanation towards what you have observed.
Smoking is strictly off limits in my new office. So whenever I feel I need to take a 2 minutes break, I just take a cigarette and make my way outside the office to the building’s staircase where I stand against a large glass window to smoke and think; few days ago, I noticed something weird.
The window I look through overlooks the back of other buildings which are mixed between residential apartments and business offices. I looked up while I was smoking, and something struck me as really bizarre. An apartment, all in green; and not just any green its surgery rooms green, if that the true definition of the color. Everything in that apartment was green, and when I say everything, I mean everything, starting from the walls, drapes, furniture, balcony and even windows. You might think this is not weird enough, and maybe it’s just a person who is a little bit into green. I would have assumed the same if the greens used were of different tones and shades; but it was a monotonous one shade of green used with everything and on everything. You would start to assume that this might be a surgery room of some weird kind where the surgery table was replaced by normal sofas and living room furniture. Well, I thought the same, till I noticed the laundry that was being dried on the balcony. It was ALL in the same weird green color. This is where I should tell you that even though I never saw anyone actually living there, I’m pretty sure that it’s a woman’s apartment. Her underwear, bras and panties, were hanging there along next to her sheets and shirts and yes, they were all in the same tone of green.
I summoned my coworkers to observe this with me, and perhaps give a valid reason or explanation of this weird phenomenon. They all failed to explain, and we all ended up with some odd explanation.

Weird...
Further investigation is needed.

A Reason to Hate Myself

Most people squash a fly without hesitation. Others ignore the insect, because squashing it takes too much trouble or goes against their principles.
I myself really value these decisions. All practical and moral aspects of squashing a fly must be regarded. It's a long process.
But what's all this worth without decisive action? In the end, I only slightly squash the poor thing and hate myself for the rest of the day.

My life

You might think I lead a miserable life.....

sort of............


well............





uh.....





Its a fascinating waste of time.....

Dead inside!

Don't feel like going outside, washing myself, or cleaning the house.

Not for weeks.

My daily routine gets simpler and simpler.

The space I move in smaller and smaller.

I only use a couple of places in the house.

Bed, kitchen, computer.

The couch could go.

Just as the table, the closet, the washing line, the phone guide.

And much of the rest.

The house would be empty.

Clear.


But I'd have to move those things out the door.

And I'm not going outside.

Besides, it doesn't make any difference.

Human Waste

It took some effort, but finally I got them. And it's just as I imagined.
Wonderful!
Just a little tickly.
The cleaner fish in my bath tub are still trying to get used to it.

"Where's the ocean? What strange fish is this? Why isn't he swimming? And where can we find the good parts? Remains of food? Parasites? Old scales? Barnacles?"

Relax guys, just look carefully. There's enough of me for everybody.

Retrospect

I don't want to learn to play the guitar, but I just want to play it. And I don't want to make money. I want to have it. Also I don't want to meet a nice girl, but I want to have met one. You could say I don't even want to live an intense adventurous life, but I want to have lived it, so I can comfortably enjoy it all in retrospect.


Do you see what I mean?

Do you?

Organ Donor

I would love to donate my organs. If I finally decide to; then I would always carry my donor card, right at the front of my wallet, so it's easy to spot. They can have all of me. Also, I wouldn't mind if medical students used me to practice on.

They can do anything: let me test the crush zone of the new Mazda, lay at the beach in mid summer without suntan lotion, get in a barrel and drop from Niagara falls, play truth or dare, bungee jump, get tattooed, pierced and body-painted. I'm in for anything, since I won't notice any of it.

Unfortunately.

Mister

Mister was silently sitting opposite me in the train, happened to get off at the same station, and took the same subway to the same stop, the same street, flat, floor, door as me.

Right now he's standing behind me. Uninterested in the computer, he's now staring out the window. Shall I ask him who he is and what he's doing in my house? Wait, he's leaving. No, he's turning on the television.

Oh well, never mind.

My Lebanon

Very few people know this... but I’m not really Lebanese. I mean , I am Lebanese but not in the traditional sense; I became Lebanese only about 13 years ago, before that I was something else, I don’t know what I was. I had a nationality, but I was never really a real citizen of that country. From the roof of my building this week, I watched as French, British, and American evacuees boarded chartered cruise ships in Beirut's port about a 2 km east of my home. And over the last few days, while bombs and artillery pummeled the southern part of the city, My family and I made the decision not to leave Lebanon. Explosions rock the city even as I write this, but we are staying put. I'm not crazy, and I harbor no death wish. This is simply the rational decision of someone who has built a life in Lebanon, who believes in this place and its ability to bounce back. I choose to bet on Beirut. So although I'm not Lebanese by blood, I have become Beiruti. There are plenty of us who fit that description. One friend, an American college student interning for the summer with a member of the Lebanese parliament, called in tears en route to the northern border to tell me her parents had forced her to leave. "I'm going to stay in Syria as long as I can," she vowed. "In case things settle down and I can come back." This summer started off strong, with concerts by major Western artists that allowed the Lebanese to hope their country was returning to the prewar days when everyone who was anyone’s icons like Ella Fitzgerald, Marlon Brando, and Brigitte Bardot made regular stops in the country. Ricky Martin and 50 Cent performed in May and June, respectively, Sean Paul was on deck for July, and negotiations were under way to bring Snoop Dogg later in the summer. But the most anticipated concert was set for late July: the three-night return of legendary Lebanese diva Fairouz to the Baalbeck festival, where she first earned her fame in the 1950s and '60s. Now those magnificent ruins are surrounded by newer ones: The city of Baalbeck, long a Shiite stronghold, has received a heavy share of the Israeli bombardment.Falling bombs erase entire villages, fire and smoke cover the horizon, and visions of that promised summer have, in just over a week, evaporated. On the beaches of Damour and Jiyeh, the foreign visitors aren't European sun junkies but Israeli missiles. And thecruise ships docked in the port aren't bringing tourists to Lebanon, they're taking them away. The contrast between Beirut today and Beirut two weeks ago is so stark, it would be unbearable if it weren't so surreal. This isn't my Beirut. This isn't anyone's Beirut. The frantic, vibrant city has shrunk into a sleepy town, with empty streets and only a handful of restaurants, bars, and shops open for business. It's amazing how quickly you can get used to living under siege. We've taped our windows, stocked up on supplies, and settled into a perversion of normal life. Electric generators succeed where embattled power stations fail. I even have like 20 people living with me and my family, which is rather fun and weird at the same time. Smaller explosions and the rushing of Israeli fighter jets overhead don't startle or frighten us anymore. We are exhausted and have to save our emotional energy for the moments where panic is needed. Still, when larger blasts rattle my windowpanes and make thehouse shudder, we rush to the balcony to figure out which part of my city is being hit, a new Beiruti tradition I guess. I know I'm reasonably safe in my corner of Beirut, andwe have a place to go in the mountains if that ceases to be true, or at least this is what my dad says maybe just to make us feel better. There is painfully little we, the ordinary people of Lebanon, can do to help the situation. So, instead, we do what we can to help each other by donating food and supplies, opening our doors to friends and strangers, and trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. We aren't giving up. After the foreigners are gone, local wisdom predicts that the fighting will only get worse. At the very least, there will be less protective padding - a fear of foreign casualties that may have restrained Israel to some degree. Evacuating Beirut would feel a lot like abandoning it. I know that my staying won't keep the Israelis from intensifying their attacks, but at least I won't be complicit, seeing events unfold on a TV screen from the comfort of Cyprus.So, I'll watch those ships pull away without regret. Lebanon has given me more than I ever could've asked: a home, a sense of belonging, an almost indecent number of happy memories. But aside from any debt to Lebanon, I won't leave because I know how miserable I would be watching the war ravage my country from the outside. As long as my feet are firmly planted on Lebanese soil, I somehow know the country will survive.People ask me if I'm scared, and I am - but for Lebanon more than for myself. This place and its people deserve far better than what they're getting.