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Thursday, August 2, 2012

Equality of the Sexists

This morning a tweet popped up in my head it went like this "Women won't truly be equal as long as unisex bathrooms are not a mainstream thing #feminism". I didn't give it much thought when it first popped into my head (as usual I think in retrospect), but then I dwelled on it. 

I dwelled on this oh so accepted segregation between men and women that occurs purely because of convenience. The most hardcore of feminists arguing for equality between men and women, would probably wouldn't want to go poopy next to a grunting male with explosive diarrhea (not that that's the only case of male defecation but it is a viable one). See it got me thinking, Whenever it's convenient for a woman, she would overlook something like that.

That's when I reached the conclusion that women do not deserve equal rights (DO NOT KILL ME JUST YET,  PLEASE KEEP READING). Women deserve, in fact, MORE RIGHTS if anything.

You see men and women are NOT equal, they never were, They're DIFFERENT. Difference here doesn't mean one is better than the other, it just means one is just not like the other. I can force a dog to climb a tree like a cat does, can I? or to bring it to one species, I can't force a lady peacock to be colourful, or have a rooster lay eggs.

I'm not going in the direction of women should have their own jobs and men should have their own, women should bear young or all that bullshit. Women and men should have equal opportunities when it comes to work, sport or any endeavor they wish to embark on.

But riddle me this why don't men and women compete in the same sporting events (save for a very few sports)? Because they're different, That doesn't mean worse or better JUST different.

That's what I'm fighting for here, women should be granted more rights than men just by being women and having different needs than men that need to be met by rights. Women should not seek equal rights they should seek APPROPRIATE rights. Ones that fit their needs as a woman and that properly ensure they are well accounted for.

Like for instance back at the workplace, a work owner might treat men and women equally when it comes to hiring, payroll and so on, but there are certain things that can't be the same for both. like harassment. Men can joke about physically and it would be fine (it happens in my workplace, we laugh our asses off), joke around with a woman physically, that's sexual harassment. Talk to her in a certain tone, look at her for too long  all these are grounds for harassment suits. If a guy does this to me I know there won't be such an issue, how is it equal rights then that the woman gets to sue for harassment? APPROPRIATE RIGHTS, women need more rights than men just to get by.

Maternity leaves anyone? Men wanting paternity leaves don't always get it, but it's a right for the woman to have it. if you want equal rights this might be taken away from you (though I just wish dads can take time off as well, they help raise the kids too, you know)

Anyway I'm rambling off but I think I've made my point. women need MORE RIGHTS than men and more importantly APPROPRIATE RIGHTS. Don't blindly fight for equality you don't need. Blind equality is going to pee in a bathroom that has urinals, and honestly I don't want to share a bathroom with women, I don't want to risk walking into a bathroom with blood on the floor (which happened to me before when I walked into an empty girls bathroom to get toilet paper cause the guys' one ran out, I'd rather not relive it).

In summation I'd like to quote a dear friend of mine and an amazing comedian: "Why do you want to be like us? men are shit!" - Mohamed Shaheen

I hope this actually sends a message across

Marwan Imam

Monday, June 18, 2012

Ice Tea...

Ice tea, I drink to remember her. Ice tea is her favourite drink. I never gave drinks that much weight. I never favoured one drink over another. To me they were mere refreshments, a welcome thirst quencher with the occasional flavor of choice. I like to keep a healthy variety of options, picking random drinks just to enjoy different flavours. I’ve always liked variety. Something about the monotony of picking one drink every single time just didn’t appeal to me. Usually I would pick drinks that have constant refills, if those don’t exist then I’d pick something exotic, or something I haven’t tried before. That’s the thing about me with drink; I didn’t place them on pedestals or name favourites. I just wanted a lot of them or several different ones. I never gave it that much thought.

She loves ice tea, she made that quite clear. It’s her favourite drink. She would have it with raspberry or peach if she can’t find raspberry.  She went out of her way to get ice tea; I went out of my way to get her ice tea. Now she isn’t here, and there’s no way for me to get to her. So I drink ice tea, because it reminds me of her.

 I never thought a flavoured liquid would be more than just that; would be a concept, a memory, a person. Every sip of that cold refreshing peach flavoured drink was like hearing her giggle or seeing her smile. That taste as it flows down my throat, rushes a flow of memories back to me.

 I specifically went and bought ice tea. It wasn’t the only drink in the store; trust me there were several others. It’s just that colourful design on these cans clearly saying ice tea just triggered her memory in my mind. I knew that getting ice tea would be something I would do with her, and so I did it. I didn’t expect drinking it would remind me more of her, but it was a welcome side effect. I’ve been drinking it whenever I got a chance, eager for every sip just to get another glimpse of her.

I never thought I would be drawn to one drink like that. I used to like having a lot of drinks, or at least maintain a variety, but for now I’m in love with ice tea.

Monday, April 9, 2012


So I've been reading by the ever amazing Mazloum, and when he put fiction in today I realised 2 things, I haven't written a short story in about a year or so and that I can't write fiction like he does. I don't know how to explain it but I have a different approach to how I write things.

So I decided to copy and paste some old piece that I think I didn't show to people and fish out comments and see where to go from there; so without further ado:

the water bubbled under the hot stove, boiling temperature finally, he added the salt and broth and stirred intently, he always liked to add the salt later and the broth just adds an extra kick. it always needs an extra kick, flavour is what it's all about. he poured the pasta into the now murky boiling water and watched it soften under the intense heat.

spaghetti always reminded him of Carla, such long strands of thick hair flowing to their own rules not bound by what ever binds the rest of the world. a good spaghetti flows endlessly, and refuses the fork's binding making eating it as well as cooking it an art to behold.

to properly make a spaghetti it has to be cooked for a certain time, overcooking it would lead to a limp soft mess and undercooking it would just be crunchy. it's all in the flame, if you balance the flame all works. Carla had a flame of passion that one had to endure. if it's one thing she has more than the world it was passion, dive in without caution and you would burn into a hapless mess, and she'll throw you away, limp and defeated. turn it down and you undercook her love, as she walks away you would hear your semi raw heart crunching in pain.

cook it for the right time though and you'll enjoy the surge of flavour that would always want you coming for more.

Then comes the sauce, warm and red like Carla's blood, flowing and unforgiving,, overwhelming. a good sauce is rich and thick, for a proper Bolognese meat has to go in there, ground meat. The richness came from the butter. Richness, thickness and meat, those three factors were what reminded him of his voluptuous lover the most. She was full by all standards, full of life, full of laughter, full of passion, full of lust and full of figure.

He always felt like her curves spoked to him, begging him to embrace them for eternity and never let them go. whenever he left her he would always want to come back. The essence of Carla are what made his restaurant so special for it's spaghetti. it beckoned the people to come in for more. The smell itself drove grown men mad, and made women drool. Carla was no exception many a man and some women claim to have been taunted by her sensual temptation.

they never have enough of her, he for sure never did. her memory still haunts him today, he pours it out into his cooking, but a broken heart never truly heals now does it? Spaghetti was the first dish he ever truly learned how to make, and Carla, well, she was the first woman he ever truly learned how to love. He serves up the spaghetti and looks at his next order, chicken parmesan, great choice, Bianca, now that's another story for another time.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

I would rather dignify that with a response...

This is so fucking cliche...

"I haven't written in a while" I didn't know how else I could've started this, but it is, in fact, the truth.

The procrastinator that I am I wasn't able to do a lot of things for a while, and being a reactionary person and not a truly proactive one I am doing this in response to a friend's blog.

You see when someone you deeply care about goes into an existential dive that tears him into bits and throws him to the dogs of self loathing, one is expected to lend a hand and a hot beverage; that's what friends are for anyway.

Because when you are knee deep in life's shits you tend to not notice the beauty of it all and the truth of how wonderful everything is, and how much I am rambling on not getting to the fucking point.

Anyway that certain person accused himself of being a sedentary peripheral lifeform with the ability of being agreeable. That couldn't be the farthest from the truth.

He failed to recognize that one of the reasons he is a man of few words, is because he is a man of many thoughts. One that measures every word carefully before sending it out to the world. That sense of perfectionism (of which he dubs fear of mediocrity) which separates him from the other (of which I am one of them) the shotguns words around and watches what sticks and what doesn't.

A keen observer that likes to have all the angles before doing anything.

Agreeable he is anything but. That man is the most strongly opinionated person I've known. He will have an opinion about something and stick to it regardless of whatever comes his way to sway him. A man who's opinions I personally Value so much over everything else, and I actually feel a sense of pride to see him grow into this person of such great thoughts and opinions not to mention taste (I have known him for a while and he has truly evolved from a mere awestruck explorer to veteran trendsetting trailblazer).

He's too far deep into his head to notice the impact he has made into so many of our lives (Especially mine) that he feels a sense of lack of accomplishment. Maybe the physicality of this accomplishment is not to his liking but then again all great artists thrived for more which made them achieve said physical accomplishments.

it's just the fact that he's been conditioned to function in a certain manner for so long that it is taking him a while to break through the mold and become fluid again. This adaptation from that 20 year old goal of "an education" in this new goal of "achievement" (whatever that means). The conditioning and parental laws have had a deep altering effect but I think he has gained something we could all use.


That unwavering sense of duty once a task is at hand, overcoming distractions and procrastination. if any of us had half of that the amount of shit we can accomplish is endless.

But here's the thing, no one looks at himself as this great saviour of mankind, which is why he can't see his talents that set him apart from people (which I haven't mentioned here, not all of them at least). I think I'm a crappy artist/writer and know I'm not much of a musician or a comedian yet that doesn't stop me from pursuing it and pushing myself to do it. For some reason I honestly cannot explain, some people love what I do so I play along and let them enjoy it. it's the pushing forward that makes us get better, one will have to achieve the mediocre to overcome it, you can't go from failure to success without passing through mediocrity. Life is a step by step kinda deal.

It's all a matter of perspective in the end, I believe the mark he has left in all of us is too great to deny. it's just at this point when he sees some people has what might resemble some sort of direction or purpose he doesn't really notice that they're just fighting the tides trying to make sense of everything that's happening, just like him. So all he has to do is just look forward, find a comfortable spot to aim for and just swim in that direction. because life is like a hard flowing stream of fucking useless analogies that have no purpose but to end this entry so I can go ahead and do something with myself(I meant get back to work no masturbate you fuckers)