Readers: it seems that I’ve gotten a blog for myself. Resistant as I was to the idea of the rather sterile “tap-tap” of typing (I’d much rather here the romantic scratches of the pen on paper), the tolls of globalization have finally caught up with my precocious old-fashionedness. Anyway, Syria has terrible postal service.
There are several reasons for this blog. First and foremost, to assure my mother that I am alive and well, that yes, I’m studying diligently, the people are warm and amiable, and of course I’m taking care of myself and eating enough. Second, to reflect on my own experiences in the Arab world and hopefully deliver some semblance of educated insight into a place that is tragically, and often willfully, misunderstood. This, of course, will largely depend on you, dear reader, to hold me accountable and force some form of fidelity on me–something I was never quite able to master with ye olde diarie. Third, and relatedly, to maybe inspire someone out there to learn more, travel, and see for him- or herself all the things that a sofa just can’t offer, no matter how abyssal it may be in between the cushions. I’d be flattered if that happened, really. Which brings me to my fourth reason, which no noble blogkeeper should ever forget: to self-memorialize and engage in a socially acceptable form of narcissism.
Having said that, welcome to my life, which for those of you who might not know Arabic (but are just as valuable to me, either personally or by way of boosting up my “stats” to keep up with my voracious competitors), is hiyaati in Arabic. Comments, questions are welcome. After all, you are, in some way or another, part of my life. As far as criticisms go, the only thing that is hands-off is my writing style, including grammar, syntax, and word choice.
Thanks to my hip and tech-savvy mom for helping me get this thing jump-started. Disclaimer: she has nothing to do with my own evidential character flaws and everything to do with any discernible good you might find in me.
Yours truly,
mgn
