Toubib Or Not To Be

 Ma vie n’est qu’une performance  Dans l'éclat des projecteurs, ma vie se déroule comme une performance, un acte continu dont les rideaux ne tombent jamais. Tel un comédien prisonnier de la scène, je navigue à travers les actes de mon existence, chaque jour un nouveau tableau, chaque émotion une réplique à déclamer. Les coulisses de mes pensées se mêlent aux feux de la rampe, dissimulées derrière le masque soigneusement arboré. Chaque sourire, chaque larme, une mise en scène habile où la frontière entre le personnage et la réalité se floute. Je me tiens là, sous le regard critique du public invisible, ma vie n'est qu'une série de monologues suscitant des applaudissements feutrés ou des silences pesants. Parfois, les applaudissements résonnent comme une ovation chaleureuse, le succès éphémère d'une scène bien interprétée. D'autres fois, le silence, lourd comme un rideau tombant, résonne dans le vide, une critique tacite de ma performance devenant une zone d’ombre où

  I could never stop talking about that one quote from Fleabag: "Women are born with pain built in. It's our physical destiny -period pains, sore boobs, childbirth... We carry it within ourselves throughout our lives. Men don't. They have to seek it out ....We have pain on a cycle for years and years and years, and then just when you feel you are making peace with it all, what happens? The menopause comes .. your entire pelvic floor crumbles and you get fucking hot and no one cares, but you're free. No longer a slave. no longer a machine with parts; you're just a person ". Just like that the 53 year old female character illustrated how women are imprisoned within their bodies, they advocate their pre-menopause lifetime to bring life into the world. They carry all kinds of physical pain for that reason : they sacrifice.   I always got angry over how many sacrifices a woman has to make; it’s like a life condition she was assigned without her consent; she has to

  In the haunting silence of my sleepless nights, I sense an irresistible pull, a magnetic force that binds me to you like an ethereal puppet ensnared by unseen strings. Much like Odysseus, I am lured by the enchanting songs of sirens, beckoning me towards an uncharted abyss, and I fear this time, finding my way back might elude me. The very ground beneath my feet slips away, and the approaching waves echo the fate of countless others swallowed by the sea's depths. Yet, these threats cannot stifle the courage within me, for in the welcoming embrace of air, I've already conquered the echoes of despair. Fully aware of the impending tumult, I close my eyes, surrendering to the invisible currents. It is paradoxical, for I discover weightlessness never felt amidst the crushing burden I bear. In the whimsical memory of the past, where laughter filled our home at the mere whisper of  “To be or not to be” , a string of innocent words etched a lyrical cadence into the rhythm of our exis

  رسم : إيمان الميموني ---------------- حينما كنا أطفالا -أنا و أبناء أعمامي- كان يحلو لنا التحلق بجدي حين يشده الحنين إلى بيته القديم، نجلس حوله مترقبين كلماته التي لا نكل من تكرارها، و خيال كل منا يبني البيت طوبة طوبة. باب حديدي أحمر اللون، حديقة صغيرة بها أشجار زيتون و ليمون مثقلة بالثمار، و مدخل يأخذك لصالة رحبة طالما اجتمع بها الأحباب. كان لنا جميعا أحلام تضم ذاك البيت، نخطط لاسترجاعه من المستوطنين و نوزع الغرف بيننا كأننا بلغنا الباب و فتحناه. و كان جدي في نهاية كلامه يخرج المفتاح الحديدي من طيات ثوبه و يشهره في وجهنا و نحن ننظر إليه بإعجاب منقطع النظير.  بعد سنوات، أصيب جدي بالزهايمر، و عادت به ذاكرته إلى بيته القديم، يستيقظ من نومه كل صباح و يبدأ بالصراخ لأنه ليس مستلقيا على سريره، لأن الشرفة لا تطل على زيتوناته، لأنه لا يرى الغروب من نافذة المطبخ. ينام كل ليلة و جفناه مثقلان بالدموع بعد شرح أمي لكل شيء، بعد إقناعه أن بيته ليس بيته الآن، أن مستوطنا من شيكاغو يشرب الشاي في قدحه و يلمس حيطانه بأصابعه البيضاء. بعد أسابيع من التكرار قررت العائلة إخباره بأننا في عطلة، بأننا عائدون إ

  تستيقظ كل يوم، تسدل الستار و تنفض الغبار رغم أنك.. لم تنم، ترفع نظرك لأعلى رغم أنك..أسفل.. بعد كل هذا تعود لتستلقي، تجبر نفسك أن تختار إذا ما كنت ستضغط الزناد أم أنك ستبتسم عوض ذلك، و أنت تعلم جيدا أنه غدا ستجبر روحك أن تتجرع طلقتين..  رصاصة حاولتَ إخراجها و ما كنت في الواقع إلا تقحمها أعمق، رصاصة صغيرة تكاد أن تكون أحقر من نظرات نفسك في المرآة كفيلة أن تحسسك أنك كالوردة بين يدي، مكسور قلبها تضغط عليها فتفوح منها رائحة الألم، كخبر الموت بين أذناي المضرور تَسْكُتُ فتُسْمِعُ أهازيج العدم..  رصاصة سريعة تعادل قطار الأفكار الذي محطاته لا تسمح لك بالتنحي أبدا، يتعبك ضجيج سككه فتلوذ بالفرار نحو النوم دون أن تدرك أن سائقه اعتاد رحلات الظلام و وجد فيها ما ينزع عنك ذلك الغطاء التي كنت صغيرا تدعوه السلام، لم تعد الوحوش هي تلك المخلوقات التي تختبأ تحت سريرنا، صارت الوحوش تلك التي تنام فوقه..  حذرونا من الغراب و حكوا لنا عن سواد جناحه، لم يخبرونا أننا سنكبر لنقتات بدورنا من فتات سعادتنا، حملت لأفكاري قوت يومها من الناس و لم تختر إلا أن تأكل مني. آسف لكوني أكتب بصوت الحقيقة التي وقعها كالرصاصة، ل

  The walls were bleeding. It hasn’t happened in a month. but now it’s happening again.   I watched a puddle form on the floor, just a few steps away from the bathroom, it’s as if the house wanted me to be unable to reach the only thing that gave me comfort. Still, I took my first step towards it, careful not to step into the blood, my second step was met with something moist, I decided not to look down, I’d know this house blind, so I continued my walk to the bathroom with my eyes closed, a comfort if I might be honest, since I didn’t want to meet any entities upon my entry.   ‘They are not real’ I reminded myself, for someone with psychosis, my doctor said I had very mild hallucinations, I believe he’d meant I had the most typical ones, but there was nothing mild about stepping into blood until it reached your ankles.     I opened the cabinet door, keeping my eyes tightly shut, and felt around until I found the bottle and took a pill, then bent down to take a sip of wat

  Auteur theory was a key factor in the emergence of New Hollywood, a movement that began in the late 1960s and lasted until the early 1980s. In order to understand New Hollywood, we need to take a look at “Old Hollywood”, even if we previously established it as an era of cinematic maturation and prosperity, as it’s also dubbed ‘the Golden Age of Hollywood’, Old Hollywood’s final years were not that bright, and this quietus was caused by two major elements: (1) antitrust actions, more specifically the Paramount Case of 1948, broke the control of film studios over production, distribution, and exhibition of their movies, because the studios’ dominance allowed for certain undeserved privileges, so the verdict stated that they had to give something up, and studios ended up sacrificing their chains of film theaters that only screened their own productions, as a result, a major dip in popularity, revenue, and means of distribution ensued; (2) television competition, because by the time the

  What Truffaut meant by cinema d’auteur is what constituted the foundation for AUTEUR THEORY: the idea that the ‘author’ of the film is the director who creates or should be able to create his proper visual style, and a consistent theme and tone for their films so that the films reflect their directors’ creative and artistic vision, the directors’ mean of achieving this differs from one to the other, because the multifaceted nature of cinema allows many ways to develop one’s approach, either through style, story, subject matter, etc., and this is how you can instantly spot a Wes Anderson film, from a Tarantino, a Kar-wai, a Burton, a Lynch, a Kiarostami, if you watch a sample of their films, because a skilled director is one that manipulates the camera the same way a novelist uses a pen, an idea put forward by film critic Alexandre Astruc through his notion of the ‘caméra-stylo’ in his 1948 article ‘The Birth of a New Avant-Garde: La Caméra-Stylo’, and granted that auteurism originate

  La Nouvelle Vague is an art movement that was started by a few cinema enthusiasts who carried similar philosophies and relied on experimentation and style to convey complex thoughts and ideas, and not just for the sake of narration, they didn’t have money to make films, so they shared their love for them, developing in the process a shared basis for what would constitute what is arguably the most important film movement of all time, it wasn’t thought of as a movement at the beginning though, even by its originators, as they thought of it as a “quality”, per François Truffaut who’s one of La Nouvelle Vague’s main heroes, even the members of the movement, something that is supposedly intrinsic to art movements in general, is not agreed upon, as Jean-Luc Godard, another one of its members, said that it’s only him, François Truffaut, Éric Rohmer, Claude Chabrol, Jacques Rivette who are included in the new wave, a group that is known as the “right bank” of the new wave, as opposed to the