A few days back, I had one of those days where everything you ever wanted to do, you do and everything works out perfectly. That day, my perfect day, I opened up and had fun -- true, unadulterated fun -- the kind of fun that I've always wanted to have but never truly had.
See, I'm the youngest one in my family so I've always been surrounded by adults. I don't feel like I ever truly behaved like a kid because, everyone around me had already passed through that phase and expected me to be the same as them. Silliness was never really an option for me so I tried and tried to meet those expectations but there was always a part of me that I had to keep hidden, the kid in me that would only serve to disappoint. Well, a few days ago, I got to release that kid and be silly and play and have fun, the way I should have done all these years but the way I never did. It was everything I ever wanted to do and, I have to say, I couldn't stop smiling all day. I smiled so much, my cheeks started hurting. I was truly happy. Not happy because of some condition or expectations I had met but just happy because I was doing something I enjoyed. I didn't want to miss even a second of it and, for that reason, I didn't even stop to blog about it. In any case, I wanted to share that with...well, no one in particular, now because even thinking about it makes me want to smile. So, here's for being a kid! May we all get to enjoy that bliss every once in a while throughout our lives....
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
The truth about families...
When we're younger, we hear all this crap about how you should be nice to your brother/sister, share with them, look out for them and help them. We are told that, ultimately, they're the only ones who will always have our proverbial back. As much as we all try to uphold those obligations, at one point or another, we realize that our families have changed. We are no longer nice to each other. We take each other for granted and become offended at the slightest things, the way we would if it had been a stranger saying it. We fail at being the type of family we were taught to be.
This, in particular, has been bothering me for a while. I feel like I'm trying to push together the Earth, after a major earthquake that's divided it into two giant pieces (2012 brainwash, anyone?), hoping that, at some point, they'll stick together and it will become whole again. It doesn't help that the oceans keep swishing about and falling out. Needless to say, it's all in vain for, oh, so many reasons, the least of which is that I'm just over 5 feet and don't have the height or the upper body strength for such a job. No wonder, I'm exhausted! In any case, I realize now that it's just not going to happen. The laws of physics (and pretty much everything else) are not going to reverse themselves for my benefit or my family's. This is just the way life works but it doesn't mean that we've failed, like I once believed. It just means that we haven't mastered perfection yet. Then again, who of us are perfect enough for the job? Yes, we'll bicker and argue and cry and begrudge and snap at each other but I pray (I sincerely pray) that, ultimately, we love each other enough to continue aiming for that perfection. That we love each other enough to forgive each other for our "what the heck is wrong with you?!?!" moments.
And Allah is the most perfect of all.
The key to dealing with all this, I've realized, is not to focus on these issues. Put on your super dark sunglasses for a while and block it out. I know modern TV tells you that that's the worst way to deal with things and we should just let it out and work through it, but that doesn't really work all that well. People just get upset and things don't get solved, which coincidentally makes for great TV but not for a great life. Why open Pandora's box when you have the option of keeping it closed?
Well, these are just some thoughts wandering through my head. I might very well contradict myself very soon. I'm not very convinced of this myself so don't try this at home. Just...think about it and let me know your thoughts on this. Maybe we can figure this out...
This, in particular, has been bothering me for a while. I feel like I'm trying to push together the Earth, after a major earthquake that's divided it into two giant pieces (2012 brainwash, anyone?), hoping that, at some point, they'll stick together and it will become whole again. It doesn't help that the oceans keep swishing about and falling out. Needless to say, it's all in vain for, oh, so many reasons, the least of which is that I'm just over 5 feet and don't have the height or the upper body strength for such a job. No wonder, I'm exhausted! In any case, I realize now that it's just not going to happen. The laws of physics (and pretty much everything else) are not going to reverse themselves for my benefit or my family's. This is just the way life works but it doesn't mean that we've failed, like I once believed. It just means that we haven't mastered perfection yet. Then again, who of us are perfect enough for the job? Yes, we'll bicker and argue and cry and begrudge and snap at each other but I pray (I sincerely pray) that, ultimately, we love each other enough to continue aiming for that perfection. That we love each other enough to forgive each other for our "what the heck is wrong with you?!?!" moments.
And Allah is the most perfect of all.
The key to dealing with all this, I've realized, is not to focus on these issues. Put on your super dark sunglasses for a while and block it out. I know modern TV tells you that that's the worst way to deal with things and we should just let it out and work through it, but that doesn't really work all that well. People just get upset and things don't get solved, which coincidentally makes for great TV but not for a great life. Why open Pandora's box when you have the option of keeping it closed?
Well, these are just some thoughts wandering through my head. I might very well contradict myself very soon. I'm not very convinced of this myself so don't try this at home. Just...think about it and let me know your thoughts on this. Maybe we can figure this out...
Saturday, February 13, 2010
That's so desi!
A while back, I was wasting time with one of my colleagues, the way I do on a regular basis, and I realized something infuriating...
Colleague #1: "blah blah blah...desi...blah blah blah..."
Me: (hyena laugh) "Really?" (continue hyena laugh)
Colleague #2: "What did you say?"
Colleague #1: "Oh, desi?...it means...something like..."
Me: "from the country..."
Colleague #1: "It's what we call people from India, Pakistan and Bangladesh."
Colleague #2: "Is it a kind of insult?"
Me: "What??"
Colleague #1: "No..."
Colleague #2: "The kids use it..."
Me: "..as an insult?"
Colleague #2: "Well, like once, my computer fell and [John Doe] said it's so desi...I thought it was an insult.."
Me #1: "Oh my god!"
This was the same guy who titled one of his assignments "Algebra for Desis" (a play on Algebra for Dummies)
...and here's what's wrong with that...
Let me start by stating that I'm not 100% made out of pure desi ghee but I am, to a great part, a bootleg version of that ghee. Regardless, I have a HUGE, HUMONGOUS, pull-out-my-hair, cry-in-anger response to people who use "desi" as an insult: something like "yeah, I hate it when desi's do that..." or "yeah, that's how desi's are..." Now, one would assume that the person stating this is excluding themselves from this lazily-made generalization. Therefore, had these comments originated from an Arab, an African American or an English person, one would write it off as a racist comment made by unintelligible minds but how, please tell me, should one react when these are made by desi people themselves (as was the case in this instance)? What is the proper way of addressing this personification of an oxymoron when the moron, itself, is the desi making this statement?
Now, I admit. Desis are not perfect. I don't pretend they are and I doubt anyone would argue otherwise. They are human, just like any other race, just like any other person. However, there is one unique thing about them, specifically about the new generation (which I, technically, am a part of): they carry with themselves the degenerate epidemic of hubris that leads them to blame their own kind and pretend that they no longer belong to that community. It's sort of a like an apple pointing at a banana and mocking it by calling it a fruit. Wake up, apple! You're no cabbage, yourself!
Perhaps the saddest case of this is when Muslims look at being desi as an insult and go out of their way to point out their non-desi qualities, as if it makes them better muslims for doing so. Was I the only one paying attention when the khutbah was going on and the imam mentioned that Islam teaches us to be tolerant of other cultures and races and forbids discrimination? "All mankind is from Adam and Eve, an Arab has no superiority over a non-Arab nor a non-Arab has any superiority over an Arab; also a white has no superiority over black nor a black has any superiority over white except by piety and good action." Prophet's last speech, anyone? So, where do we get the nerve to make sweeping judgements about entire races of people, and what alien intelligence makes us start with our own?
Ultimately, guys, here's the thing: it doesn't matter if you dress different, talk different or try to act different. You are and will always be whatever race you are and you don't have the luxury to disown it. Like they say, if it acts like a duck, quacks like a duck but looks like a monkey wearing a duck's outfit, it's still a monkey...so, accept that you're a monkey....you may not be able to swim on water all day or fly in the air but Allah gave you the ability to leap from tree to tree and you should be thankful for that.
Forget all these opinions for a second. Think for a second about your own nationality, whether your desi or not. Yes, I agree that it's not necessarily something that defines us--not all of us behave like the stereotypical desi or arab or american--but, to a large part, we are shaped by it and we, in return, shape it. It defines us and we define it. We define what it means to be a desi. If we want that to be someone who starts weddings on time, we should act in that manner. If we want that to be someone who is either a doctor or an engineer, we should become that. But, by being ashamed of and mocking our own culture, we are making being desi the same thing as being ungrateful for one's heritage, being disrespectful of one's parents' culture and being prejudiced against oneself. We are making being desi the same thing as being racist of one's own culture, perhaps the most unintelligent form of racism in existence. Like the oh-so-desi who uttered these words, "be the change you want to see in the world" or at least be the change you wish to see in your community rather than stand at the side and point at it mimicking the ever-so-annoying "na na na na na!" of Nelson. Yeah, because that's real mature.
In all sincerity, our generation has felt no shame in pointing fingers at our parents and prodding and mocking their culture, something that they identify immensely with. I wonder, what if tomorrow our children look up at us and return the favor? What if tomorrow, she says, "Mom (dad), you're so desi!" or worse yet, "you're so Muslim!" Astaghfirullah!
Like my mother always says, take the good and leave the bad in everything that you are and everything that you do. Accept your good desiness and learn to change your bad desiness and use that to make you a better Muslim and a better person, so that next time someone says "That's so desi!" it's a compliment and not an insult.
Colleague #1: "blah blah blah...desi...blah blah blah..."
Me: (hyena laugh) "Really?" (continue hyena laugh)
Colleague #2: "What did you say?"
Colleague #1: "Oh, desi?...it means...something like..."
Me: "from the country..."
Colleague #1: "It's what we call people from India, Pakistan and Bangladesh."
Colleague #2: "Is it a kind of insult?"
Me: "What??"
Colleague #1: "No..."
Colleague #2: "The kids use it..."
Me: "..as an insult?"
Colleague #2: "Well, like once, my computer fell and [John Doe] said it's so desi...I thought it was an insult.."
Me #1: "Oh my god!"
This was the same guy who titled one of his assignments "Algebra for Desis" (a play on Algebra for Dummies)
...and here's what's wrong with that...
Let me start by stating that I'm not 100% made out of pure desi ghee but I am, to a great part, a bootleg version of that ghee. Regardless, I have a HUGE, HUMONGOUS, pull-out-my-hair, cry-in-anger response to people who use "desi" as an insult: something like "yeah, I hate it when desi's do that..." or "yeah, that's how desi's are..." Now, one would assume that the person stating this is excluding themselves from this lazily-made generalization. Therefore, had these comments originated from an Arab, an African American or an English person, one would write it off as a racist comment made by unintelligible minds but how, please tell me, should one react when these are made by desi people themselves (as was the case in this instance)? What is the proper way of addressing this personification of an oxymoron when the moron, itself, is the desi making this statement?
Now, I admit. Desis are not perfect. I don't pretend they are and I doubt anyone would argue otherwise. They are human, just like any other race, just like any other person. However, there is one unique thing about them, specifically about the new generation (which I, technically, am a part of): they carry with themselves the degenerate epidemic of hubris that leads them to blame their own kind and pretend that they no longer belong to that community. It's sort of a like an apple pointing at a banana and mocking it by calling it a fruit. Wake up, apple! You're no cabbage, yourself!
Perhaps the saddest case of this is when Muslims look at being desi as an insult and go out of their way to point out their non-desi qualities, as if it makes them better muslims for doing so. Was I the only one paying attention when the khutbah was going on and the imam mentioned that Islam teaches us to be tolerant of other cultures and races and forbids discrimination? "All mankind is from Adam and Eve, an Arab has no superiority over a non-Arab nor a non-Arab has any superiority over an Arab; also a white has no superiority over black nor a black has any superiority over white except by piety and good action." Prophet's last speech, anyone? So, where do we get the nerve to make sweeping judgements about entire races of people, and what alien intelligence makes us start with our own?
Ultimately, guys, here's the thing: it doesn't matter if you dress different, talk different or try to act different. You are and will always be whatever race you are and you don't have the luxury to disown it. Like they say, if it acts like a duck, quacks like a duck but looks like a monkey wearing a duck's outfit, it's still a monkey...so, accept that you're a monkey....you may not be able to swim on water all day or fly in the air but Allah gave you the ability to leap from tree to tree and you should be thankful for that.
Forget all these opinions for a second. Think for a second about your own nationality, whether your desi or not. Yes, I agree that it's not necessarily something that defines us--not all of us behave like the stereotypical desi or arab or american--but, to a large part, we are shaped by it and we, in return, shape it. It defines us and we define it. We define what it means to be a desi. If we want that to be someone who starts weddings on time, we should act in that manner. If we want that to be someone who is either a doctor or an engineer, we should become that. But, by being ashamed of and mocking our own culture, we are making being desi the same thing as being ungrateful for one's heritage, being disrespectful of one's parents' culture and being prejudiced against oneself. We are making being desi the same thing as being racist of one's own culture, perhaps the most unintelligent form of racism in existence. Like the oh-so-desi who uttered these words, "be the change you want to see in the world" or at least be the change you wish to see in your community rather than stand at the side and point at it mimicking the ever-so-annoying "na na na na na!" of Nelson. Yeah, because that's real mature.
In all sincerity, our generation has felt no shame in pointing fingers at our parents and prodding and mocking their culture, something that they identify immensely with. I wonder, what if tomorrow our children look up at us and return the favor? What if tomorrow, she says, "Mom (dad), you're so desi!" or worse yet, "you're so Muslim!" Astaghfirullah!
Like my mother always says, take the good and leave the bad in everything that you are and everything that you do. Accept your good desiness and learn to change your bad desiness and use that to make you a better Muslim and a better person, so that next time someone says "That's so desi!" it's a compliment and not an insult.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Missing India
I know I am a Muslim and, more than anything in this world, I am defined by that. I know it's silly to be nationalistic. But, I can't help but feel nostalgic about India. I know there are many out there who have no good things to say about the country and, at the mention of this topic, already have a list of venomous things to spout out but, to be honest, I don't care to hear about it. I remember India in a particular way, perhaps a distorted way, but, just like in any fairy tale, the allure of justice, however unrealistic, is comforting, my India, however unrealistic, is comforting.
In this land, I have some of my fondest memories of childhood -- of a real childhood -- of innocence, of fantastical dreams, of ambitions, of contentment, of myself. I remember sleeping, counting the stars overhead on a windy cool night, with the old majestic tree swinging in the breeze. I remember waking up at 4:00 in the morning and getting ready to catch our train at the bus station. I remember the silence of a quiet town, slumbering peacefully. I remember being lifted up to the back of a bandi, being uncomfortable and looking up to see the stars and forgetting for a second the reality of the moment. I remember dreaming to fly in the skies like the carefree birds I would see touring the open fields. I remember looking out at the graveyard and remembering those I was unable to learn from. I remember being excited to go to school. I remember waking up in the summers with the goal of only one thing on my mind: play. I remember innocence and confidence and ambition like I never felt any time after. I remember having absolute faith that there was a grand purpose to my life and that everything would work out for the best. I remember aiming for the highest of achievement and not having even the tiniest sliver of doubt remind me that there was a very low possibility of me making it. I remember true freedom, true joy, true childhood. I remember the true me.
Now, more than a decade later, a jaded, corrupted soul remembers all those things and wonders if she will ever feel that again.
There's a part of me that still lingers there. A part of me that hasn't left that place even if the place has left me behind. That part of me I can't conceal. That part of me I can't silence. I know it's just a piece of land, just like any other land in this world. I know it's just another place, like many others I have lived in. I know that it's nothing special....but I'm happy there, in that past, in that fairy tale. Granted that fairy tale will end. It's already chipping away. But, can you blame me for wanting it to have a happy ending?
In this land, I have some of my fondest memories of childhood -- of a real childhood -- of innocence, of fantastical dreams, of ambitions, of contentment, of myself. I remember sleeping, counting the stars overhead on a windy cool night, with the old majestic tree swinging in the breeze. I remember waking up at 4:00 in the morning and getting ready to catch our train at the bus station. I remember the silence of a quiet town, slumbering peacefully. I remember being lifted up to the back of a bandi, being uncomfortable and looking up to see the stars and forgetting for a second the reality of the moment. I remember dreaming to fly in the skies like the carefree birds I would see touring the open fields. I remember looking out at the graveyard and remembering those I was unable to learn from. I remember being excited to go to school. I remember waking up in the summers with the goal of only one thing on my mind: play. I remember innocence and confidence and ambition like I never felt any time after. I remember having absolute faith that there was a grand purpose to my life and that everything would work out for the best. I remember aiming for the highest of achievement and not having even the tiniest sliver of doubt remind me that there was a very low possibility of me making it. I remember true freedom, true joy, true childhood. I remember the true me.
Now, more than a decade later, a jaded, corrupted soul remembers all those things and wonders if she will ever feel that again.
There's a part of me that still lingers there. A part of me that hasn't left that place even if the place has left me behind. That part of me I can't conceal. That part of me I can't silence. I know it's just a piece of land, just like any other land in this world. I know it's just another place, like many others I have lived in. I know that it's nothing special....but I'm happy there, in that past, in that fairy tale. Granted that fairy tale will end. It's already chipping away. But, can you blame me for wanting it to have a happy ending?
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The Inconsequential
I was originally going to post something about a little fight I had with my sister but was too lazy to write it out in all its details so I decided to write a poem instead. Ya like?
Like a fluttering speck of dust, writhing in the air, twisting and turning in the spotlight.
Like a dream on the brink of consciousness, swaying this way and that is its fight.
Like sparkling eyes holding back emotions, while bright tears sting inside.
Like a thought so surrendered, its heartbeat subsides.
With a heart full of passion, its emotions burning,
with a force so resounding, waterfalls flowing,
With a breath full of life, a runner's call,
With a piercing voice, the morning adhan; the sun falls.
As the twilight silences the night --
As the moon crawls out with all its might --
As the stars succumb to the lights --
While the Inconsequential lies.
Like a fluttering speck of dust, writhing in the air, twisting and turning in the spotlight.
Like a dream on the brink of consciousness, swaying this way and that is its fight.
Like sparkling eyes holding back emotions, while bright tears sting inside.
Like a thought so surrendered, its heartbeat subsides.
With a heart full of passion, its emotions burning,
with a force so resounding, waterfalls flowing,
With a breath full of life, a runner's call,
With a piercing voice, the morning adhan; the sun falls.
As the twilight silences the night --
As the moon crawls out with all its might --
As the stars succumb to the lights --
While the Inconsequential lies.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
The Age Game
Yes, I poked that sleeping dragon...
We all have things we are self-conscious about: the pointy nose, the doughy chin, the vampire teeth, the round-as-a-balloon face. This is a story about one such thing: age.
Personally, I haven't been that self-conscious of my age, probably because I'm the youngest in my family. In any case, I understand why others are and I've always tried to be respectful of that. Without going into any details, I have had multiple opportunities to flaunt my age in people's faces (especially since I graduated early) but instead chose to hide it, not because I was ashamed, but because I didn't want to change their behavior towards me. I didn't think of them as any different than me and I didn't want them to think that way either.
But I digress. I have upset the sleeping habits of this particular dragon due to a conversation I had with a close relative of mine. The conversation was about age differences within families, particularly mine and hers. I mentioned that their age differences, although greater than ours (as they have more siblings than us), seemed smaller, perhaps because they seemed so mature. This was taken in jest until, to prove some UNKNOWN point, she started listing all the ages of everyone in both families. Might I add that she stated I was 22. However, I didn't have a chance to correct her as she had continued on with this for what seemed like quite some time (tumbleweeds may have gone by), each time comparing their birth year to hers. During this time, I had the opportunity to wonder---yes, you guessed it---What the heck is wrong with you?!?!
Finally, after what seemed like a while, she stopped and repeated that I was 22. This time, I suppose she recognized that I had the what-the-heck-is-wrong-with-you look on my face and asked, "You're 22 right?" to which I replied with a smile, "No, I'm 21." She looked at me with a quizzical face and asked, "Are you sure?" No, I don't remember my own birthday. I just like to randomly guess my age on those pesky little forms you have to fill out everywhere you go. (Sarcasm anyone?) "You're two years younger than me right?" She asked. "I am three years younger," I replied, got up and walked away from this absolutely ridiculous conversation.
Now, I know what you're thinking: so, she thought you were one year older, BIG DEAL! You're right. It's not a big deal. I'm 21 now, not 22, but a year from now I will be 22 and, well, she would be right. But, you see, that's not the point. The point is that she felt the need to dish out everyone's age, many of whom were not present, get someone's age wrong and second guess that person's response based on her belief that she knew how old everyone was in comparison to her. Well, with all due respect, I sincerely believe she should rethink this absolutely useless employment of her brain cells. Wouldn't you agree? Rather than memorize everyone's birthdays (which serves no other purpose than to boost one's ego and bust others'), wouldn't it be better to use those brain cells for world peace, or the hunger crisis? Even the ever challenging question of "Who came first: the chicken or the egg?" is more worthwhile than this pursuit.
Being 21, I am not an "old" woman looking to garner support for her position in life, I am a simple girl who has the luxury to say something truthful without being pigeonholed: Why, oh why, do we use a meaningless number to define individuals in their entirety; sum up their entire life, their beliefs, their behavior, their personality, their hopes, their dreams, their accomplishments, their failures into one number? How does knowing that someone's 21 or 22 tell you who that someone is? The answer is simple, it doesn't.
Perhaps this modern custom of assigning significance to a person on the basis of age would not seem so obnoxious to me if it was yet another patriarchal aspect of society but it is absolutely infuriating when you realize how much of this is the product of women themselves labeling others with the same instrument that wounds them. It is quite apparent in society that women are sensitive about their age, something that implies that there is some incredible significance in it. Add to this the fact that they pass on this shamefulness to their daughters and act ashamed of their ages as well. At this point, which of these women have any authority to say that defining a women by her age is immoral, when they themselves subscribe to this perspective? How can we say that something should not be done when we ourselves perpetuate it? So, please, if not for your sake, then for the sake of those you call your sisters, your mothers, and your daughters, do not -- I repeat, DO NOT -- make age the one defining factor of a person who is so much more than that.
I am 21, yes, but that's not all I am. You're x years old, yes, but that's not all you are. So, next time you feel the need to waste your brain cells on someone else's age so that you can bring it up at the next party to embarrass them or to make yourself feel better, realize that you are wasting your time because at the end of the day you have memorized two digits that go after one another but have no real significance in anyone's life, especially not yours. Use those brain cells and that precious time in your life to go hug a baby. At least, it won't think you're evil.
We all have things we are self-conscious about: the pointy nose, the doughy chin, the vampire teeth, the round-as-a-balloon face. This is a story about one such thing: age.
Personally, I haven't been that self-conscious of my age, probably because I'm the youngest in my family. In any case, I understand why others are and I've always tried to be respectful of that. Without going into any details, I have had multiple opportunities to flaunt my age in people's faces (especially since I graduated early) but instead chose to hide it, not because I was ashamed, but because I didn't want to change their behavior towards me. I didn't think of them as any different than me and I didn't want them to think that way either.
But I digress. I have upset the sleeping habits of this particular dragon due to a conversation I had with a close relative of mine. The conversation was about age differences within families, particularly mine and hers. I mentioned that their age differences, although greater than ours (as they have more siblings than us), seemed smaller, perhaps because they seemed so mature. This was taken in jest until, to prove some UNKNOWN point, she started listing all the ages of everyone in both families. Might I add that she stated I was 22. However, I didn't have a chance to correct her as she had continued on with this for what seemed like quite some time (tumbleweeds may have gone by), each time comparing their birth year to hers. During this time, I had the opportunity to wonder---yes, you guessed it---What the heck is wrong with you?!?!
Finally, after what seemed like a while, she stopped and repeated that I was 22. This time, I suppose she recognized that I had the what-the-heck-is-wrong-with-you look on my face and asked, "You're 22 right?" to which I replied with a smile, "No, I'm 21." She looked at me with a quizzical face and asked, "Are you sure?" No, I don't remember my own birthday. I just like to randomly guess my age on those pesky little forms you have to fill out everywhere you go. (Sarcasm anyone?) "You're two years younger than me right?" She asked. "I am three years younger," I replied, got up and walked away from this absolutely ridiculous conversation.
Now, I know what you're thinking: so, she thought you were one year older, BIG DEAL! You're right. It's not a big deal. I'm 21 now, not 22, but a year from now I will be 22 and, well, she would be right. But, you see, that's not the point. The point is that she felt the need to dish out everyone's age, many of whom were not present, get someone's age wrong and second guess that person's response based on her belief that she knew how old everyone was in comparison to her. Well, with all due respect, I sincerely believe she should rethink this absolutely useless employment of her brain cells. Wouldn't you agree? Rather than memorize everyone's birthdays (which serves no other purpose than to boost one's ego and bust others'), wouldn't it be better to use those brain cells for world peace, or the hunger crisis? Even the ever challenging question of "Who came first: the chicken or the egg?" is more worthwhile than this pursuit.
Being 21, I am not an "old" woman looking to garner support for her position in life, I am a simple girl who has the luxury to say something truthful without being pigeonholed: Why, oh why, do we use a meaningless number to define individuals in their entirety; sum up their entire life, their beliefs, their behavior, their personality, their hopes, their dreams, their accomplishments, their failures into one number? How does knowing that someone's 21 or 22 tell you who that someone is? The answer is simple, it doesn't.
Perhaps this modern custom of assigning significance to a person on the basis of age would not seem so obnoxious to me if it was yet another patriarchal aspect of society but it is absolutely infuriating when you realize how much of this is the product of women themselves labeling others with the same instrument that wounds them. It is quite apparent in society that women are sensitive about their age, something that implies that there is some incredible significance in it. Add to this the fact that they pass on this shamefulness to their daughters and act ashamed of their ages as well. At this point, which of these women have any authority to say that defining a women by her age is immoral, when they themselves subscribe to this perspective? How can we say that something should not be done when we ourselves perpetuate it? So, please, if not for your sake, then for the sake of those you call your sisters, your mothers, and your daughters, do not -- I repeat, DO NOT -- make age the one defining factor of a person who is so much more than that.
I am 21, yes, but that's not all I am. You're x years old, yes, but that's not all you are. So, next time you feel the need to waste your brain cells on someone else's age so that you can bring it up at the next party to embarrass them or to make yourself feel better, realize that you are wasting your time because at the end of the day you have memorized two digits that go after one another but have no real significance in anyone's life, especially not yours. Use those brain cells and that precious time in your life to go hug a baby. At least, it won't think you're evil.
Monday, January 18, 2010
What the heck is wrong with you?!?!?!?!?!
Hi! It's me. Fatimah Ansari. A 21 year old Muslim girl who graduated from university a year ago and is currently teaching at a private school. I'm starting this blog to relieve some of my frustrations...
We all have those moments where we're in the middle of what we assumed was a dignified conversation between mature adults when suddenly, like an unpleasant odor, someone decides to release something rude, blunt, racist, stupid (yes, comments can be stupid; if I offended your comment, my apologies -- note the sarcasm), ridiculous, vain, judgemental etc. etc. into the discussion and, in an effort to stay polite, we stay quiet even though inside our mind we're really wondering, "What the heck is wrong with you?!?!?!" After the conservation, like any well-mannered adult, we proceed to vent our frustrations by backbiting about that particular individual with a common friend, who knows them well enough to agree with you, however halfheartedly.
Before I say this about anyone else, I have to admit I have been on both sides of this situation. I have been the offensee (I know that's not a word but I trust your brain is capable of figuring this one out) as well as the offended. If I'm the offensee, I wholeheartedly apologize. Whatever was said was said as a result of my stupidity and, ultimately, I would rather not answer for it in front of Allah (yes, I said it). Please forgive me if you can.
Now, in the case of being the offended, after an encounter such as the one I described above, I find myself in need of an old-fashioned rant/gossip/backbiting session. In my experience, when mutual friends are involved (as is the case with most of these situations), things have a way of finding their way back to the person in question which results in my role being changed from the offended to the offensee and, well, you know how I feel about that. In an effort to change this unfortunate but common occurence, I have decided to create this blog as a safe haven for me to release my frustrations (anonymously of course) and as a reminder to myself and others to consider the effect of their words/actions. Perhaps by chance those who have offended others in the manner I discuss will realize the repercussions of things said and things done and will learn a bit about how to better themselves. Like I said before, this is as much for myself as it is for others, if not more. If I find myself behaving in a manner I have critiqued, I hope I have the courage to issue an apology.
Please remember to take this with a grain of salt. We're all human beings; we all make mistakes and we all like to complain about others who make mistakes. Only those that learn to forgive others and to critique one's own self first have the upper hand. In case, you're wondering I'm not there yet... [If you're not either, feel free to join me in this cathartic exercise by leaving a comment with your own personal story and I'd be happy to post it for you (with proper credits, of course)!]
Oh and one more thing...if you benefit from this even a little bit, please make dua (prayer) for those of us who have a habit of momentarily losing our minds (i.e. saying/doing stupid things)... May Allah make this world a better place for all of us and for those that come after us... May He make us pure of heart and fill us with compassion towards one another. Ameen.
We all have those moments where we're in the middle of what we assumed was a dignified conversation between mature adults when suddenly, like an unpleasant odor, someone decides to release something rude, blunt, racist, stupid (yes, comments can be stupid; if I offended your comment, my apologies -- note the sarcasm), ridiculous, vain, judgemental etc. etc. into the discussion and, in an effort to stay polite, we stay quiet even though inside our mind we're really wondering, "What the heck is wrong with you?!?!?!" After the conservation, like any well-mannered adult, we proceed to vent our frustrations by backbiting about that particular individual with a common friend, who knows them well enough to agree with you, however halfheartedly.
Before I say this about anyone else, I have to admit I have been on both sides of this situation. I have been the offensee (I know that's not a word but I trust your brain is capable of figuring this one out) as well as the offended. If I'm the offensee, I wholeheartedly apologize. Whatever was said was said as a result of my stupidity and, ultimately, I would rather not answer for it in front of Allah (yes, I said it). Please forgive me if you can.
Now, in the case of being the offended, after an encounter such as the one I described above, I find myself in need of an old-fashioned rant/gossip/backbiting session. In my experience, when mutual friends are involved (as is the case with most of these situations), things have a way of finding their way back to the person in question which results in my role being changed from the offended to the offensee and, well, you know how I feel about that. In an effort to change this unfortunate but common occurence, I have decided to create this blog as a safe haven for me to release my frustrations (anonymously of course) and as a reminder to myself and others to consider the effect of their words/actions. Perhaps by chance those who have offended others in the manner I discuss will realize the repercussions of things said and things done and will learn a bit about how to better themselves. Like I said before, this is as much for myself as it is for others, if not more. If I find myself behaving in a manner I have critiqued, I hope I have the courage to issue an apology.
Please remember to take this with a grain of salt. We're all human beings; we all make mistakes and we all like to complain about others who make mistakes. Only those that learn to forgive others and to critique one's own self first have the upper hand. In case, you're wondering I'm not there yet... [If you're not either, feel free to join me in this cathartic exercise by leaving a comment with your own personal story and I'd be happy to post it for you (with proper credits, of course)!]
Oh and one more thing...if you benefit from this even a little bit, please make dua (prayer) for those of us who have a habit of momentarily losing our minds (i.e. saying/doing stupid things)... May Allah make this world a better place for all of us and for those that come after us... May He make us pure of heart and fill us with compassion towards one another. Ameen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)