Mundane Observations

Why didn't you just give me the answer?

2009-03-02T18:34:00.000-08:00

My mom was trying to explain to my brother some mythical characters, after which a movie they were planning to watch, is called. She noticed in the middle of the process that she had forgotten what the creatures did and why they did it. "Hana, get me the encyclopedia", she said, and my brother laughed, because it has been ten years since he last touched the encyclopedia. I handed the book to my mom and she read the description of the mythical creatures out loud, while I made myself a sandwich. My brother sat there listening. After they were done, I murmured: "It's explained somewhere in the film."
"It's in the film?! So you knew what they are and that they are going to be mentioned in the film?!!" My brother looked at me with a somewhat reproachful question and an amused I-can't-believe-it laugh on his face.
I shrugged, smiled mischievously, and noticed: "I'm a teacher."

2007-02-17T05:00:00.000-08:00

You won't find your happiness with another person, you can only find it within yourself, the only thing another person can do is help you find it...or not.

the beauty of skin...

2006-08-04T03:58:00.000-07:00

Dear Lord, thank you for my skin. thank you for all those wondrous things you blessed us with that we take for granted

Home alone

2006-08-04T03:50:00.000-07:00

When you live with your parents and u r home alone, don’t u feel that u just HAVE to do sth 'wrong'? just to demonstrate that for today you r king of the castle? like ud b breaking some ultimate code if u didn’t? Well, here I am, home alone for a change today and there is nothing wrong that I feel like doing. here I am, bored, lazy, watching a romance movie brought to me by Bounty. An whats bothering me is that its not at all bothering me. I'm growing old, the kind of old I'm afraid of.

"Its life's illusions I recall.."

2006-05-28T05:49:00.000-07:00

At some point during my teanage years my mom said that it was the duty of any parent to preserve the childs illusions. I didn't quite understand right away, but it stroke me as some important sentence, motivated by some powerful experience and emotion. I understood what my mom said - at least I think I do - after a series of painfull disillusions, partly caused by herself. Some things, I really didn't want to know and some I shouldn't have known.

But my mom didn't tell me what a child should do with its parents illusions.

Freak or Friend

2006-04-22T06:44:00.000-07:00

Some people adapt and adjust more easily than others. And some people refuse to conform. Others try and don’t manage, or even try too hard and thus don’t manage. It is not easy to determine a definitive conclusion on what is right or wrong - or even smart - in that regard. In psychology it is considered intelligent to adjust to different social situations; on the other hand, "conformism" has a rather (morally?) negative connotation – while both basically refer to the same thing.

Some people who insist on emphasizing their uniqueness choose to do something I would like to consider ‘anti-socially smart’: They find their place in and acceptance by society by demonstratively NOT conforming, by flying their freak flag. They free themselves from social norms, sometimes even managing to make others not judge them by standardized societal criteria. “He’s crazy, he’s a real cool guy, he’s different”. He might be even liked just because he so opposes anything that’s normal. He is taken for what he is... or for what he isn’t: He isn’t normal. That’s why he cannot be judged under normal parameters.
He will be left alone, spared. But the thing is, when he achieves tolerance by being different, he distances himself from the rest. So although the freak enjoys an amount of freedom others can’t afford: he will be left alone. He might be liked, but not necessarily befriended, and probably not closely befriended. Since the freak is not “some-buddy” you identify with, he won’t be the one you turn to for help, to whom you confide. Unless you have an issue that is generally not socially acceptable - then it would be the freak you will trust. But that doens't happen often enough to guarantee a lot of intimate relations. The point is: Freaks might end up pretty lonely.

So before flying your freak flag, you need to know what it is going to give you and then choose the package that suits you more...That is, if you have a choice. (You might be stuck in a role you have been playing for a very long time now)

As I often say, I like to find the middle. And the middle is hardest to find!

The Kafka Problem

2006-04-07T01:25:00.000-07:00

Kafka asked his friend Max Brod to destroy his writing after his death. Max Brod refused this request. Still, Kafka asked him again to burn his unpublished writings. Max Brod didn't. Some might wish he had, for Kafka does give us a hard time trying to understand! But can you imagine literature without a Kafka? Anyways...that's not the point. The thing is that - whether we like Kafka or not - we were not supposed to know about all his writings.

Now what if I told you that Kafka gave me some of his writings and made me promise to keep them a secret? Of course at that time he’d only be a potential Kafka and not that famous 'kafkaesque" writer, whos name has become an adjective. What would be your advice to me?

“Grown-up” (continued)

2006-04-01T08:32:00.000-08:00

in response to myself:

But then, you settle down for fear of ending up having nothing…and being lonely. A very understandable fear …

So you sacrifice the adventures…Its that choice we make again!! (Do I ever get over that thought?)

When my mind reactivates...

2006-03-31T09:07:00.000-08:00

Ironically, I always feel like writing, when i really shouldn't. When I shoud be doing something else...Usually i feel like writing, when I should be studying. Its funny how my mind gets over-active when I study intensively or when I am really concentrating on some other thing I have to get done…Then my thoughts start drifting and flying from one place to the other with no mercy…I start getting ideas of poems to write and projects to make and other things to study…and suddenly I feel like doing really big things and believing I can change things…then I suddenly notice how important it is to take care of my health and do sports…and shopping!...and this and that and Oh my god that too!...and I talk and talk - and Faisal grins :) ...and I actually wanna go. I want to get started…I actually write down all my ideas and waste time that I really should be using for a specific purpose…and I make plans. But I can’t implement them right then for I have to study…so i study...and after the exam…It’s all gone.

…pitty!

(Is that normal??)

what do you do?

2006-03-31T04:03:00.000-08:00

Are you rather one of those who care most about always doing the good thing…ore those who care most about doing the clever thing?...or are you some lost kid in the middle -- like me?

My lost opinion

2006-03-19T16:05:00.000-08:00

I’m trying too hard. I read my own blog and I noticed that especially in earlier blog-entries I’m in a constant search for explanations…I would describe myself as a generally observant as well as analytical person, but I think that lately I've been enforcing analysis on my “innocent” observations.
Those entries are shouting from between the lines: "I have an opinion!" Too loud.
For I had lost my opinion. After having made millions of theses only to refute and replace them, i got tired of hypothesising. Thus, all questions that knoched on my door were turned away with a constant “no comment”.
And then, at some point, I needed an opinion, I needed to know what Hana has to think about this and that!! OK, EVERYTHING IS RELATIVE, NOTHING IS TRUE, BUT WHAT DO I REALLY THINK? Relativism got me pissed! Reactions are often stronger than they should be. The middle is hard to find.

...And here I go again, analyzing my over-analysis!

The first one to actually draw my attention to that tendency to over-analyse was larry kim, a person whom i don't know and who posted a comment on my blog, asking me whether I ever stop trying to make sense out of things.

Love as a verb

2006-02-16T03:20:00.000-08:00

Love in a relationship is not to be only a passive feeling, a static noun, but also a sort of an action. Love is not only something you feel, but also something you do. Love is a verb

2006-02-16T03:14:00.000-08:00

Congrats Mr Valentino...
You have again managed to single out the single.

"Grown-up"

2005-11-07T14:37:00.000-08:00

I regret and I’m ashamed that I ever wanted or claimed to be a grown-up.
Being grown-up is all about being confortable and mature. Its about settling down. But not about settling down for having found IT, but for being too lazy and exhausted to continue searching and trying and failing.
It would be really sad if you approach death and look back, and all you can see is…death.

His sense of humour

2005-11-07T14:09:00.000-08:00

He kept telling jokes and they kept laughing. He kept telling jokes because they expected and wanted it of him, the hungry humans. They weren't laughing because he was funny, but because they thought he was. He wasn't really. His jokes were kind of forced, as if he plucked them before they were ripe. Only a couple of times did he get it right. He did have a great sense of humour, dry and cool...only it was spoilt by arrogance, by the awareness of its greatness...which thus decreased.
Can he be blamed?

When Pain hurts

2005-06-14T16:17:00.000-07:00

It seems like I've been dealing with a lot of pain lately, since I'm writing about it for the second blog-entry in a row. But no, it is not that I've entered a painful phase… At least, I think and I hope that this isn't the case. Last time, I was talking about pains of the past. But those pains hurt less, now that I came to realize that pains of the past, still, are only pains of the past. What hurts more, I feel, is direct, fresh pain. Especially in those times when, to you, pain seems like some far away aspect of the past. I can't sleep now... I am tired. But my stomach is making noises, because whatever I take in just won't stay in. And then, my head is making noises. I don't want to sleep. Since, for months, I haven't been in pain, or so afraid of it, as I am now. And here I'm talking emotional pain -- which physically hurts. My arms, especially my left one, always hurt when I'm really upset, which I started getting years ago, when I had my first heartbreak. When I felt it again now, I had to get out of bed. For I don't want to go to bed unhappy. I developed a huge fear of unhappiness, or of happiness, respectively,-- like when my fear of heights increases, the higher I get, and the more slippery the path upwards becomes.

The Box of Pain

2005-06-11T15:03:00.000-07:00

I was searching for a poem I once wrote, so I opened the box. The box with scribbled papers, that were so familiar and yet so distant. I have noticed that I had been suffering from a writer's block and now I came to realize that the block was due to my developed over-critical attitude. As a philology student you get to read a lot. But you don't read with a 'normal' reader's attitude, but from a more scientific, analytical and less humanistic perspective. There is this attempt at being scientific, at being objective, while quite aware that this is not possible, nor even right. Your evaluation differs a lot.
At some point I felt that this is not just, that this way you are reducing literature, that your subjective feelings and impressions should be the criteria, that you should give the words a chance to reach you and warm you up, that you should let them go over you, and not vice versa. I got tired of stone-cold sober reading, and since I didn't differentiate, I was bored of reading altogether. On the other hand, when you are used to being the one who is louring over the microscope doing the decomposing and re-composing, you don't feel like going under it yourself…Because you know how things work. It is just like doctors are the worst patients, and they hate it the most, since they just know too much. So I was stuck between the writer and the critic and I personified the conflict between them.
I took a distance; and slowly, my ink is starting to flow again. So yesterday I opened the box and went through it. There was a lot of stuff I didn't know I had written. There was a lot of stuff I had written. And I noticed that not all the things I wrote I would consider good writing, that back then, I didn't care that much about being a 'good' writer. I just wanted to express myself. That is what made it easy for me to write a lot. But I also noticed that most of the things I wrote were sad or depressing, or are so in retrospect. I couldn't continue reading everything; I was frightened by the pain, which I forgot could be so painful. Especially the letters I wrote and never sent…God. I was overwhelmed. Some writings I actually hated. Those boxes...They're not good!!

the beauty of the 'macabre'...

2005-02-27T12:37:00.000-08:00

I was in a cab, driving through a graveyard…beige old low buildings with iron gates and yellowish lights in the dark serenity…and I was wine-tasting the word 'macabre'…And (maybe because I'm in a positive state of mind these days) I couldn’t find the brutality of that word.
I enjoy driving through that peaceful street, which is something I've been doing every day for a good amount of days now….
Then I saw a car pulling another broken-down car through that street…and what suddenly caught my attention was that the junction between the car was not a rope, but a human being…sitting on the rear of the first car, pulling the other with his legs affixed to its bumper rod…I felt the excitement of the discovered simplicity in it…the satisfaction with the minimum, the creative problem-solving and out-of-the-boxish behavior …
This country has its unique kind of beauty…it lies not in its sights…in the usual sense of the word…it's those other sights you won't see in some other 'developed' country…there's a different kind of 'development' here…some sort of wisdom, depth, virtue, subtle, humble beauty…like the 'macabre'; and the word…I am proud of its Arabic origin, for no tangible reason.

back in the box!

2005-02-05T15:49:00.000-08:00

Damn! Its coming up!!!…ive been trying to keep it down but its coming waaaaaaaaaaay up! Im suffering hell…and im not used to this anymore…I haven’t lost control for years now…and its as if it was never really gone, as if its been waiting for me all along…to mock me in the end…its that shadowy shit again…it keeps popping up again and again. Its haunting me and its giving me hell. Or its like that disgusting bitter fluid inside...thats coming out...right now its halfway out and im choking on it...i wanna psychologically vomit!!!

Do I fight it or would that be all in vain? Or do I just dive into pandora's box to get it over and done with?...at least hope is inside! hehe...hehe indeed!

Correcting Spontaneity

2005-02-03T13:59:00.001-08:00

My mom just came into the room and gave me that smile…she didn't let her smile go all the way though. She remembered that she didn't like me today, so she quickly modified her reaction...and I reacted accordingly. It's like she pressed the refresh button because some error had occurred or some updates were missing on her 'sight'…She was happy to see me!... Did she have to do that?

electric shock of warmth

2005-02-03T13:35:00.000-08:00

It shocks me again and again to see how a little moment of minimal physical contact can give u that enormous flow of warmth. That's what made my day today: A friend touching my arm in that meaningful way. I'm not exaggerating when I say that there was something magical about it. I felt so much less lonely and bitter all of a sudden. And the feeling lasts. It's not like talking; not necessarily better, but different.
I miss Italy…They hugged so often, they weren't only warm, but communicated it so openly and freely! They just acknowledged that we are not that strong and not that balanced after all…that one might need that little innocent touch. I had my favourite hug ever there...i never knew that i would ever have such a thing! Beautiful, generous Italy…where the renaissance of humanism begins!

Laughter...

2005-02-01T01:22:00.000-08:00

When was the last time you laughed to yourself?
It happens to me quite often that I would be sitting in a cab or walking in a street on my own, remembering or imagining things and smiling about them. Sometimes a laugh pops out….which does feel a bit embarrassing, even though I tend not to care about that too much. If I saw myself in that situation, I would surely smile.
I never had troubles spending time on my own. Unless I got extremely lazy, I would always find something or some thought or dream to keep me company. Usually I sink so deep into whatever is occupying me that I become very aloof and even antisocial.
But laughter seems to be more of a social phenomenon, though a natural and often spontaneous reaction. How often does it happen that you laugh out loud when no other soul is physically around?
I could be reading a very funny book, or having a very funny conversation on the net; amusement would be showing all over my face, I imagine, and every now and then I might give out a laugh, but if the funny moments happened live in front of me, I would be laughing triple as much.
Usually, I laugh a lot—relatively speaking. And it's not like I'm laughing only because people are around!! So why don't I laugh just as much, when having fun on my own? Its that communicative factor of laughter, i guess. Never noticed it before.

The choice we have to make...

2005-01-25T14:25:00.000-08:00

Life is like a pendulum. While it ticks back and forth u have to hang on to it…either on top, where you are more capable of control, because there the oscillation is not so strong; or on the lower part, where the motion is bigger and thus the risk. I keep climbing up and down! From one extreme to the other, satisfied with neither! Up there, passion automatically abandons you and you get too cold. Down there, it is safety that goes down the drain, and it can get a bit too vehement and burn you out. At the edge, you are so busy living through and dealing with the amplitude of the tick, that you don’t come to think of the tock, you are trying not to fall. Whereas, when in control of the situation, you can see ahead.
"Life is a comedy to those who think and a tragedy to those who feel"…is it stupid to prefer tragedy?
I just noticed that this is one of my favorite topics: I have written a poem and a song on it some years ago!!!

Longings...

2005-01-24T13:38:00.000-08:00

Vincent van Gogh would paint his trees so big that they would go beyond the stars. Someone once told him: "The farthest star is millions and millions of light-years away and your trees go reaching beyond the stars! What nonsense is this?" And van Gogh would laugh and answer: "I know, but I know something more, too of which you are not aware: The trees are the longings of the earth to transcend the stars. I am painting the longings, not the trees. I am more concerned with the source, not with the goal."
Today again, I went to the four lions… I made the review and regained the overview. And again I came to the conclusion that: longings are within you, whereas ambitions are somewhere out there; that it is longings, rather than ambitions, through which life is fulfilled. I should listen more to the small voice within…'small' in the sense of both weakened and young…For it is only the unlived past which becomes your psychological burden.
Hey Foad, these thoughts I am writing down as a consequence of our 'cheesy' conversation today!…especially related to (artistic) creativity and 'success'. I do hope, we find a new balance…before we go back to the lions (i.e. me!) again :)

Growing a Beard...

2005-01-21T14:36:00.000-08:00

Isn't it kinda weird that I was just waiting for those coupla free days in which I could do all the things I've been wanting to do…And now that I have a lot of free time, I don’t feel like doing anything at all…Its like I wanna shut down for a while and grow a beard…not literally of course…that’s some psychological process that I cant express in other words! Laziness is a plague man…its weird. And the thing is: I don’t only feel bored, but also boring…and that feeling of course is a self-fulfilling prophecy…I think I actually do bore some people these days. I'm even too tired of literature…It's a shame that a passionate philologer ever gets to say that!!! I'm reading romance novels for god's sake!!!!
And although I think I need it…to be able to move on afterwards…I don’t think I'm liking it. I'm annoying myself…torturing myself by not seizing the day…by ceasing the day without having done anything constructive!! Is that again a manifestation of my masochistic tendencies?
I also get those weird sudden mood drops again…
I need someone to pull me out of all this…someone to grab me and do something about me!! I'm in a passive phase. And the ususal outings aren't a remedy but more of a painkiller.
And what's bothering me the most is that when I think of the things I'll have to do after the vacation, I feel just awful…I'll have to stand up and fight again. And I don’t feel like it at all. I don't feel like fighting. I've been fighting all my life. And right now I don't even think I'm fighting for something I want to fight for. For the first time in my life I'm actually considering being a quitter!! I'm detecting that tendency...I already made a fool of myself actually, when I left the board of the school's alumni organization…because I didn't quit, I faded out…I stopped showing up…and I'm having guilt feelings now…because I had done so damn well in the elections, I owed it to the people who voted for me to at least leave decently! In addition, I know I was a source of motivation and inspiration to some people and was considered the symbol of innovation, creativity and above all youth in that organization. But I had stopped being a board member and became a very bored member! And then I let them down. I so suck at confrontation.
And now…I won't even go see the old mosques, because the guy who had proposed that hastraveled…

found a poem i had written

2005-01-20T10:39:00.001-08:00

Shadow

You can't get rid of it,
it follows you wherever you go.
And yet, you can't get one step closer to it.
As soon as there's a spark of light-
And you don't want to live in the dark
(For you won't be able to)-
It's there
waiting for you.

You hate it,
As you can't have it,
But still: you know you love it.
The challenge to hold it,
To own it,
Always lay in the distance between you,
To provoke you.

And no matter how paradox it might sound-
It’s a fact of life,
But you always forget knowing it:
It only exists because you do,
It actually stems from you,
It's part of you,
See…It's you!

But no, you will not see
You see, but you don't see,
don't want to see.

Hana Abdel Salam

My Grand-uncle

2005-01-18T04:15:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, while chilling with my cousin, we came to talk about my great-uncle. He's a quite unique man…to the extent that he is funny. The whole branch of my grandma's family has a very high temper and grand hysterical tendencies…very loud. And he is a very special example!
My great-uncle is a real intellectual, living in Canada. But he holds very tight onto his Arabic culture and Islamic belief. And he imposes his principles on everyone else. He says, for example, that we underestimate the language of the Qur'an, that we make believe that we can't express ourselves in pure Arabic. If you say a word like "OK" or "Hi" in front of him, you are in trouble my friend! Then you are a passive, stupid Americanized Idiot, who contributes to the decay of the Arabic/Islamic nation. Come to think of it, he's right. And I find it sweet that he actually enforces that upon his social circle. He isn't an extremist, although he's greatly perceived as such…which shows that we are passive, stupid Americanized Idiots, who contribute to the decay of the Arabic/Islamic nation. The problem and the funny part is that he overreacts, when someone makes such a mistake…if it's you, then you won't find it funny at all! And the sad thing, on the other hand, is that he doesn't change our lifestyles but turns us into hypocrites. There's an automatic warning system that goes through the whole family tree, when he comes to our grandma's place. And before you get into the house – if you don't decide to stay away that is – you take a deep breath and reprogram your language. 'Hi' becomes 'issalamu 3aleiko', 'ok' becomes 'tamam' or '7ader', 'telephone': 'hatif'/ 'ma7moul', 'ascenseur': 'mis3ad'. But still, someone always manages to make a mistake. You have to be very cautious, think of everything you say. And if you don't know the Arabic equivalent to a word, you either say a purely English sentence (but don't overdo it!), or you don't say it at all!
Last time he came, when asked where her mom was, a relative uttered the word 'coiffeur'…While giving his lecture, he corrected her mistake into: '7allaa2' and 'mizayin'. The whole family couldn't suppress a laugh!
And on his way to our place, he asked a man on the street about the way. After hearing the word 'Autostrad' he forgot all about the directions and gave the stranger a lecture: "Do you know what 'autostrad' means? It means 'street'…Can't you say 'street'? What kind of a street-name is that? 'Street'?"…He gave the man something to relate when asked about his day!
My cousin answered him on the phone and recognized his voice immediately. "alsalamu 3aleiko, ya khaly" she said. He wondered, why she always recognized his voice on the phone. So he asked her, whether she had a "caller ID"…My coz, having noticed the 'mistake' he made and possessing subtle sense of humor, replied saying: "la2 ya khaly, ma3andenash mozahhir rakam el taleb 3al hatef…ana ba3raf sot 7adretak men gheir mozahher rakam!!" That's the latest family anecdote!

I have noticed an inconsistency in my grand-uncles behavior though: he answers the phone saying "(h)alo" for example. But at least he tries.

Now that I'm reflecting about my grand-uncle, I feel that his story is kind of a tragedy. He has become a joke, because he is fighting for a cause. And I ask myself whether this has always been that way. Has it always been so cool to be passive? Has it always been considered idiotic to be idealistic? Or is this just a trend? And then I ask: who is the victim? He or we?
In the process of growing up, I have been confronted and frustrated with the passivity of the people. And I noticed how hard it is to be myself, and how strong I must be to continue being myself. Two incidents in my past demonstrate my problem: In school, I used to fight for 'concepts', which people didn’t seem to understand. Once, two classmates took a pound of everyone to go buy us Pepsi. We had convinced our teacher to let us do that in his class to celebrate our last English exam in school (as you see, we weren’t very young; but being childish was a trend). After 40 minutes, the guys returned…without the Pepsi! And now everyone was to forget about that pound! Maybe it was funny. But still, I insisted on them giving back that pound. What annoyed me was that the class couldn't understand that it wasn't about that goddamn pound! Especially, since I hadn't paid that pound in the first place! It was the concept; and if that was too hard to grasp, then at least it was about the sum of one-pounds collected of the whole class. They never gave up that sum!
Another example was when a classmate complained about the bad view from his desk…the teacher 'solved' the problem by ruining the view from another person's desk!! Even the teacher couldn't get my point.
Were they dumb? No they weren't…

That blog-idea is just perfect for me! Thanx Morsy, Thanx Faisal!

non-first love!

2005-01-17T09:07:00.000-08:00

No-one listens to Del Amitri. Although I love Del Amitri! Their lyrics are just amazing…There's this song…I mainly like it because of its refrain, which touches me profoundly…I love singing just that one sentence on and on again:

"When you're driving with your brakes on,
When you're swimming with your boots on,
It's hard to say you love someone…
And it's hard to say you don't".

The metaphor is just so right!! What I like about the sentence is that it kinda summarizes all what can be of a problem when it comes to love (after having had that one big emotional experience some long time ago): that force that's pulling you from behind…the past… and that other obstacle that's in your head…the fear, the caution and that bit of 'rationality' that you have been trying to 'learn' over the years.
I seem depressive these days. But I'm not. A bit of melancholy mixed with a bit of confusion…no: uncertainty…, while maintaining a more or less positive mood: that's the perfect recipe for philosophical reflection and artistic creation. I'm inspired…

whirlpool phenomenon

2005-01-17T08:59:00.001-08:00

Hadn't the word 'depression' been in our dictionary, we wouldn't have had it on our minds. But obviously we somehow need it in our dictionary.
I get the feeling that depression is like a whirl pool. If you try to stay at the surface, its force will be too strong foe you. You have to let yourself drown real deep to be able to get out of it. You need it…We need to suffer. That’s the point.
We need to drown in our tears before we float on them.
(my beautiful niece has deleted this blog…I tried to recreate it)

introduction

2005-01-17T08:59:00.000-08:00

Sunday, January 16, 2005

the reason why im starting this blog is a very small incident...which the blog will be mainly about: small incidents. observations and impressions that we forget as soon as we go to bed...if not before that.i was walking in the university when on the sidewalk i spotted a blind couple sitting and looking really in love. the thought struck me that they didnt know what they looked like...that i on the other hand, a third person and total outsider, could see their faces. The whole scene just touched me...almost killed me.but i would have forgotten about it...hadn't i noticed how sad it was that we drown so deep in our own shit that we actually dope our senses, that we are so self-centered.that little incident also reminded me of a similar scene i had seen as a child...when impressions had a much greater effect (my parents can't remember the scene, although they were present). we were at the airport and my dad was waiting for us outside. we could see him while we were still getting our bags. but we were separated by soundproof glass...probably one of the very few cases in which you could envy deaf-mutes.the two deaf-mute couples were communicating through the glass and were laughing wholeheartedly. it was sweet.