While I was at the book store a week ago, shopping for my brother's birthday gifts, I stumbled onto a book titled, 'Bagdad Burning', which appeared to be a blog turned book, written by an anonymous 24 year girl living in Bagdad...

Seeing as how I was shopping for my brother and not myself, I didn't buy the book - but I did go straight home and visit the site, reading her first post from Sunday, August 17, 2003 - about three months after we invaded.

It is, hands down, the most amazing, well-written, emotional blog I've ever read. I recommend... no, I insist, beg, that everyone takes a moment to read the first two entries on her site - it's all it will take to pull you in.

Actually, just in case a few of you, for what ever reason, don't follow the link, I will cut & paste the first two entries:

The Beginning... So this is the beginning for me, I guess. I never thought I'd start my own weblog... All I could think, every time I wanted to start one was "but who will read it?" I guess I've got nothing to lose... but I'm warning you- expect a lot of complaining and ranting. I looked for a 'rantlog' but this is the best Google came up with.

A little bit about myself: I'm female, Iraqi and 24. I survived the war. That's all you need to know. It's all that matters these days anyway.

Waking Up Waking up anywhere in Iraq these days is a trial. It happens in one of two ways: either slowly, or with a jolt. The slow process works like this: you're hanging in a place on the edge of consciousness, mentally grabbing at the fading fragments of a dream... something creeps up around, all over you- like a fog. A warm heavy fog. It's the heat... 120 F on the cooler nights. Your eyes flutter open and they search the dark in dismay- the electricity has gone off. The ceiling fan is slowing down and you are now fully awake. Trying to sleep in the stifling heat is about as productive as trying to wish the ceiling fan into motion with your brain. Impossible.

The other way to wake up, is to be jolted into reality with the sound of a gun-shot, explosion or yelling. You sit up, horrified and panicked, any dream or nightmare shattered to oblivion. What can it be? A burglar? A gang of looters? An attack? A bomb? Or maybe it's just an American midnight raid?