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Scene 1:  Nightmare on the Night Before July 20th:

I am imprisoned in a world-wide police operation that takes all male youth of a “particular ethnic/religious background” who are being educated abroad in an attempt to rob the countries to which these young men belong of a class of educated youth. So, I find myself being told to stay put in a dingy  prison cell, accompanied with two friends; Silence and Loneliness. It would be three years until I was released. Three years with no love, freedom, music, humanity, sunlight or life. I felt so robbed of my future and so disappointed for something that was not my fault.Three years later, I am released, and I feel a hunger fed by a three year starvation of life. On my way home, I pass by a crowd of villagers headed by a religious cleric, all of whom gave me looks that made me feel that I was a social parasite and a cultural disease to them. I was unwelcome among my own people. Why did they hate me? Am I not a product of what they stand for? No I am not, and yet I suffered for them. Still, they hated me. Because of this, I was forced into hiding.

Scene 2: Anti-Nightmare on the Day of July 20th:

I wake up, realizing that I just had a nightmare and that I should forget about the anxiety it had caused me. July 20th was the day I would find out if I was one of the lucky few who gained admissions into Hitotsubashi University’s Economics Graduate Department. The results were to be posted on the Graduate Department’s Bulletin Board at 13.00 of that day. I was thrilled and went to tell my academic advisor that I managed to pass the psuedo-impossible entrance procedures of this prestigious university in Kunitachi, Tokyo. My academic advisor told me in matter-of-fact fashion that this is just the beginning of my academic career in Japan (even though I have been researching/learning Japanese for nearly a year and a half so far). I have to yet to improve my grasp on the Japanese language as well as focus on my research and studies. It will definately be a challenge, but I am ecstatic about the possiblity of going through with it.

Scene 3: Scoring “SWEET MULA”Plucking Strings as it Rains (July 21st):

Next day, I was up early, seeing “her” off to a far away prefecture. She is to return in one week’s time.No problem, I tell myself. In the afternoon, as it began to rain, I went out to the studio of a famous flutist’s private studio to give a private performance on the Oud. I played passages of Lebanese, Iraqi, Turkish, Persian and Egyptian music and spoke on length about the history of the Oud and basic Arabic music theory. It was a joy sharing what I knew on the topic with some interested people of a different culture. It was surprisingly easy to comunicate through the medium of music to bridge the notion of humanity and culture and history without the need for words. The flutist and the other two in this private audience paid me handsomely, which left me slightly embarrassed. I did not expect to be paid for playing;, as music is something that makes me happy and brings me closer (in spirit) to home during my time in a land thousands of miles away. They paid me handsomely, despite my music being far from handsome. I thanked them for their encouragement, returned home and continued to read about the terrible war that continued its ugly progression in Lebanon. I read with a broken-heart and a wounded ego. In the meantime, it kept raining outside.

Scene 4: Orientalism Behind a Glass Facade/Untitled (July 22nd):

Overslept, according to the clock on my desk (but not to my bioclock), I wake up in a messy room. Where did all these papers come from? Had I accumulated this much over the last year and a half. Books and paper - everywhere - in this dwelling away from home. Watched the current Yokuzuna (from Mongolia) - Asashouryu - come to one step from being champion for the seventh time in his career as a Sumo Wrestler. Did not feel like eating anything until 19.00. I jumped onto my bicycle (not a pretty sight to behold) and circled the town I live in, dropped off a DVD at the DVD rental shop before it was overdue, and went out for a dinner of STAMINA-DON (an essential supplemental delicacy in the diet of a university student in Japan, especially popular among the male students due to economic reasons). I then bicycled to a particular global international coffee establishment that (to some) serves a politically evil cup of coffee; how can that possibly make any sense? Behind the glass facade of the coffee establishment overlooking University Avenue, I read a few chapters of Edward W. Said’s Orientalism (First Edition, 1977), which never ceases to blow away my mind. The more I read it, the more I realize that there are some issues that always ring true regardless of the time period in question. For those unaware, in Orientalism, Said argues that the concept of Orientalism is a product of the West and how it views the rest of the world in a biased manner; citing examples of literature, philosophy, and historic events as a reflection of the subconscience of the West. In a sense, it is slightly painful to read about how the Occident discriminates and uses the dichotomy of fear and wonder embeded into Orientalism for the benefit of its own political agenda -  as it may be argued that what happens to innocent Iraqis, Palestinians - and now- Lebanese and how the West is indiffierent to their sufferings is due to the distance (in the physical and non-physical sense) between the two delibarately distinguished man-made “regions”.

Nevertheless, as the unfair war in Lebanon procedes, it continues to rain outside the windowsill of my Tokyo appartment.