The Confessions of a Multicultural Muslimah

Wordpress

2008-08-18T06:41:00.002-05:00

Hello! To everyone still linking to this blog through google reader or any of those programs, please link to my new blog on wordpress.

*will blog for food*

New Post

2008-06-11T19:16:00.002-05:00

To be found HERE.

As I will be moving myself to Egypt I am moving my blog over to wordpress for reasons to be explained in the future but pertaining to my family being given my blog info in order to keep tabs on me while I am gone. Obviously I am not terribly interested in having some family members read about my issues with them, not that I am seeking to hide them as they are obvious enough, I just would prefer to not have them read about it in a blog. Also my blog will become more expat-related and travel-ish so I think moving over to wordpress might be a good way to mark the change in my life. Poetic irony methinks. But I solemnly swear to still confess salacious and quite possibly useless things about the oddities in life. Just they might become more interesting while I'm overseas.

I hope everyone will be ok with the move.

Anyways check out my new post over on Wordpress.

Good News and Bad News

2008-06-08T11:48:00.003-05:00

I have good news and bad news.

Good News: I've lost weight since the bridesmaid dress fittings.

Bad News: ...I've lost weight since the bridesmaid dress fittings...

My dress is pathetically large on me, and I wasn't even wearing the girdle I defied natural law and quantum physics to get into.

And its not looking to good in terms of bulking back up before the wedding, I am more stressed than I have ever been in my life.

I can't eat and I can't sleep. I'm almost constantly nautious and when I try to sleep at night my mind wakes me up about the most stupid things.

Yesterday was the Belmont Stakes horse race and I was really hoping whatshisface the guy who won the other two and has a son with Usher's disease would win. I don't even know his name, thats how unimportant it really is to me. But yet last night I woke up twice after dreaming about it.

I'm almost to the point that I'm ready to leave everything behind and show up to Egypt just myself and the clothes on my back. What? Luggage? No thanks.

Yesterday was the rehearsal dinner, don't ask me why it was a week before it just was, and it took place at Brunswick Bowl in Blaine. Now, it was great because afterwards we all went bowling and I found that Wii bowling has really improved my game. I'm not even kidding. But I also got food poisoning from the horrific stuff they passed off as food there. I haven't been able to keep anything down for almost 24 hours. I'm currently sipping campbell's chicken noodle and succeeding in keeping it confined to my stomach.

Small victories.

But I've got to figure out how to get my dress taken in one week before the wedding because stress+food poisoning ≠ filling out dresses one size too large.

As soon as I have the energy I'm going to upload a pic of the wicked awesome bag that mi habibtita Gulnari made for me.

{pic to be inserted later}

Un Bon Voyage

2008-06-03T22:37:00.005-05:00

Tonight my family and a few friends got together for a bon voyage party for me and it was absolutely wonderful. I really have an awesome family and awesome friends and they are a blessing from Allah swt and a light in my life.

And honestly these were not even half of all the people I count as good friends and family either, but basically as much as my mom could afford to feed. I won't be able to say a good farewell to many of the people I will miss while I am gone, but I'm trying.

It was a wonderful night filled with a lot of laughter, hugs, and love. I could never fully explain the extent to which I have been blessed in my life. Alhumdulillah.

The one down point of the night was when my paternal-grandmother handed me a brochure from ACT, a blatantly Islamophobic/xenophobic group backed by little to no research and filled with incindiary claims that are never really proven with facts, or well names or citations for that matter.

In example (quoted directly from the brochure):

Did you know...

-Hamas terror cells are in place in dozens of cities across America?

(Really?? Like where?)

-Islamic Militants have infiltrated the FBI, CIA, and our military, and some have been arrested and convicted for terrorism and related charges?

(Really?? Like who?)

-Universities throughout America indoctrinate students with pro-Islamic, anti-American, anti-Israel bias that whitewashes the truth about militant Islam?

(Really?? Which Universities are those and how come I never got accepted??)

Anyways, you get the point. Visit the website for more of their enlightened ideas: www.ActforAmerica.org because everyone needs a little xenophobia in their day.

One racist a day keeps the darky away.

I never blogged about how this grandmother also ambushed me at Oogie's bridal shower and told me she was not ok with my decision and that she thought I needed to do more research and talk to her pastor.

The same pastor whose apparent authority on all Islam-related things comes from ACT!, who gave her this brochure and must have thought this very well-written piece of golden 'truth' would set me back on the 'right path.'

Uhm, yeah.

But, this was only a minor speed-bump on the road which was my bon voyage party and all the love that was showered on me. I saw my dad, I went and picked him up actually and brought him with me and dropped him at home again so it was nice to spend some time with him.

Some of the family that came tonight I may not see until I return from Egypt, but some of them I will see again at Oogie's wedding two days before I leave.

Their love for me astounds me, I wonder how I'm worthy of it, but I love them just as much and will miss them so, so much while I am gone.

My maternal-grandmother wrote in her card to me:

"Do you remember when I told you that you will learn to fly your wings?! Funny, I meant down the street. Not around the world.
We will miss you."

I'm going to miss you all too.

Until we meet again...

In-Flight Entertainment

2008-06-03T00:59:00.002-05:00

Reading on the Royal Jordanian website it lists the Audio channels (the radio stations you can listen to during the flight) and one caught my eye:

Channel 9 Holy Quran

Word up. I'm so excited to fly a "Muslim" Airline. Think I can make it through the whole Quran on a 12 hour flight?

Love My Ummah

2008-06-01T09:45:00.004-05:00

Jummah

Friday was a good day, since I skipped out of work two days early I had it off so I could go to Jummah. Woot! And then while in the khutbah lo and behold in comes Rahma! She of the Masjid An-Nur miraculously had the same day off as me and attended the Jummah at the masjid closest to our houses (she and I live quite close to each other.) It was fate. Afterwards we were chatting and I mentioned that I wanted to speak with Br. Samir Saikali who gave the khutbah (MashAllah wonderful brother if you ever get a chance to know him, his story is amazing) to ask him about the legality of amending my marriage contract to include a clause on second wives.

Many sisters do not know this but we can put clauses in our marriage contracts, it is perfectly legal according to shari'ah. The sister would write that in the cases of:

- the brother abandons her for 1 month (or more/less depending on desire)
- the brother marries a second wife

then she reserves the right to divorce herself one finalized divorce.

When I got married I was not given the opportunity to put any clauses in our marriage contract, also the marriage contract was in Arabic and I was not able to read it over before signing it. Alhumdulillah my husband is a trustworthy and God-fearing man and so I was not taken advantage of, but this is a very good example of why converts need to find trustworthy Islamic Guardians. I'll repeat myself: CONVERTS MUST FIND TRUSTWORTHY GUARDIANS to protect her interests. I do have a trustworthy walee (guardian) however I got married in Egypt and he is in Minnesota. Also the marriage was put together in four days and I was too busy trying to remember to breathe to remember that I could amend the contract and that I should get it translated before signing it. It was not the fault of my husband either because he was even busier than I during this period and cannot be blamed for forgetting to ask me if I wanted anything amended in it. Also I just don't think it ever occurred to him, SO many sisters (born Muslim and convert alike) do not know their rights! and justly he may have never known a woman to put such clauses in her contract.

But we can, and what I wanted to ask Br Samir was how I should word the amendment I wanted to add to my marriage contract, unfortunately soon after the khutbah and prayer the brother left and I missed my chance. Instead Rahma offered to have me over at her apartment so we could look over a couple of VERY good Islamic books about marriage and marriage contracts so we did, I wrote an amendment which her husband offered to translate into Arabic for me and translate my marriage contract into English as well for me. MashAllah, they are an awesome couple.

Then Rahma and I rolled wara 3einab (stuffed grape leaves) and ate dinner. I had a wonderful evening with her.

Halaqa and Cookie Kisses

After leaving Rahma's house I headed over to Dar Al Farooq for the friday night halaqa to spend some more time with my sister-friends there before I leave for Egypt *sniffle*. One thing I love about the friday nights at DAF is that so many converts and sisters married to converts are there. And most of them have babies that I get to play with and small gorgeous children to love to cuddle. One such little girl is my favorite. The last time I was at halaqa her mom told her they were leaving so she should say salaam and hug the sisters before they left to which the little girl proceeded to circle the entire women's section giving every single person a hug. MashAllah it was the most adorable thing. This most recent Friday I was playing with some other babies and once I had given them back to their moms I was dive bombed from out of nowhere by this cuddle-bug. She crawled onto my lap and smothered me with hugs and kisses. It was delightful but then the most amazing thing happened: while in the midst of being smothered by the little girl a little boy I had never really interacted with before came up and wrapped his arms around me as well. I quite literally found myself myself draped in cuddly children. It was one of those supremely happy moments of life that I am sure I will remember when I am 80 and still smile. As the night went on the little girl ate cookies and gave me so many kisses that I was covered in cookie bits and never happier.

Alhumdulillah for life and for good friends.

And alhumdulillah for cuddly babies.

Zoos and Carousels

2008-05-27T08:48:00.006-05:00

Are what every girl should have on her birthday. And awesome friends as well.

My birthday was one of those days where you get this pang of grief because you know that its eventually going to end. I had so much fun it was absurd and I'm certain that it was not the kind of birthday a 25 year old should have, you know, all respectable and whatnot.

It began kind of cold and grey when I went to meet the Divine Miss M, my cousin Oogie, her sister the Pampered Chef, and my Aunt and Uncle at the Como Zoo.Yes, the zoo. Miss M even brought me a pink fuzzy hat that said "Birthday Princess" on it and yes, I did wear it. It was entirely preposterous and thoroughly enjoyable, and I got quite a few funny stares, thumbs up, and compliments on it. I'm sure it looked especially dashing on top of a hijab.

First we walked around the Conservatory which has quite the collection of gorgeous spring flowers right now, and then we took a turn on the carousel. I will post pictures of this on my flickr account at some point. Afterwards my Aunt and Uncle and the Pampered Chef took their leave and headed out to their lake property in Wisconsin for the holiday weekend. Pitching a tent in the woods is definitely not my cup of tea, but the property is absolutely gorgeous. I'll post some of the pics I took there last fall on the aforementioned flickr account as well.

Afterwards the Divine Miss M, Oogie, and I set off to walk around the zoo and look at the animals and by this point the clouds had burned off and the sun was shining in full force. We molested the turtle statue at the front entrance and then set off to wreak havoc amongst the crowds. I took quite a few pictures of random animal behinds since that seemed to be the side most often pointed at me throughout the day. After a certain amount of buttock it just became a game.

I also wanted to ride some rides but when we got to "Como Town" we found out that they had revamped it into munchkin land with nary a ride big enough for adult-sized people. Instead we carpooled to Fridley in search of a carnival in which to make merry. We also had a horrible dinner at Olive Garden but were given free dessert to make up for it. In Northtown Mall's parking lot a very small carnival was running so we bought some tickets and lined up. My specific desire was to ride the Tilt-o-whirl and the Scrambler, but only the Scrambler was up. Only... it wasn't the normal fun Scrambler, it was the cracked-out version where the operator cranked it up to warp speed and you spent most of the ride holding on for dear life. I personally found myself wedged into an uncomfortable contorted position with Oogie unwillingly plastered to my right side. I emerged from it shaken, bruised, and unable to walk a straight line. Still today I have the most God-awful bruise across my stomach in the shape of the lap bar. Without the lap bar I probably would not have survived, however I'm certain that its not the goal of a carnival ride to cause bodily harm.

Needless to say we did not ride it again and instead used the rest of our tickets riding the Mega-Slide which was fun as we made it into a race.

It was a delightful day, made more so by the company of my two closest friends. The Divine Miss M again proved the inherent rightness of the nickname I gave her as she spent ridiculous amounts of money on me stating that its my birthday and I shouldn't have to pay for anything.

Thanks dearest.

It was a good birthday, alhumdulillah.

Am I really 25?

"Fitting In"

2008-05-22T11:18:00.005-05:00

Why does anyone have to "fit in"? Aren't we, as a culture, striving to make a name for ourselves as individuals?

But beyond that even if we are not, why should I or anyone else attempt to fit into the tiny little box everyone else tries to put us in?

Recently my attention was brought to a post by Peaceful Muslimah in which she writes:

"I recently came across a discussion by an American muslimah living in the US lamenting her “homesickness” for an Arab country she visited. Another Muslimah
from that country questioned whether “homesickness” was the correct word/concept. This is just one particular thread but I have read many similar ones over the last year that express similar ideas. Many times Western Muslims glamorize the Arab world as a place where “real” Islam is practiced and often confuse Arab culture with Islamic mandates. I’ve written about this before with regard to converts taking Arab names, wearing Arab clothes and eating only Arab foods. I thought it might be interesting to share my perspective on the issue of Arabophilia."

Of course this is a reference to my post on missing Egypt.

Now I'm not even really upset and when I left a comment it was interpreted as being defensive, but honestly my only real issue with it is that she seems to have stuffed me into the same box as so many others who do legitimately romanticize the Middle East.

However I'm not one of them. I'm not going to Egypt to "get closer to God" or "become Arab" or even "find Islam."

I found Islam, and a more truer form at that, here in the US and I am content with it.

I'm content with who I am, I love to learn other cultures and I am certainly looking forward to getting to know Egyptian culture better but not with the intention of transforming myself into an Egyptian.

I am not obsessed with other, or otherness except in the form of discovering what the "other" believes and thinks and how they view the world. It's called discourse and its my absolute favorite thing in the world.

Today I was reading Artemisia Rants and I came across what I find to be the most brilliantly explained example of how I, myself, view the world and its "other" inhabitants (except in Artemisia's words):

". . . I can see past the surface appeal of this world of ‘otherness’ however, and I have never suggested that it is ‘better’! What interests me is the point where faith and culture meet. I am a strange creature in that I don’t really
trust anything. Only Allah. I can happily love people without trusting, I can
enjoy a culture without trusting, I can move between ideas without trusting.
This tasting of experiences from everwhre is interpreted as superficial, “not
knowing what I want”, but for me, the world is superficial. There are so many
ways of understanding everything. I draw the line at oppression and abuse that
can be quantified. This is where I will stand and judge.

Usually people want to rescue me from my “confusion”, situate me within a definite point of view. But they fail to recognize that I don’t want to be situated anywhere that is closed. My openness is what allows me to float. And I hope to move towards
Allah. I see though that at the moment I am drifting. I don’t need solidity in
my world view, but I need method."

I am not obsessed with "exotica," but I am obsessed with existentialism and I certainly refuse to be fit into a box or conform myself to wear the labels others would like to give me.

I have little to no desire to "fit in."

Random Wednesday x 2

2008-05-21T09:26:00.004-05:00

Yea so I've gotten to the point that I don't care what my bosses think.

Its a very free feeling.

So let us commence with the usual randomness

* I need to start blogging about things I don't like because after I wrote about the "End the war in Iraq" car and homeless Santa Claus I haven't seen either one.

So in honor of my apparent ability to make things disappear solely through writing about them in my blog, here is a list of things I don't like:

- George W. Bush

- Gas prices that literally reach out and kick you in the gut (once they hit the price of $3.60 per gallon they just get so sassy)

- Soaring food prices and inflation (can I please have the strong dollar back?)

- Self-absorbed ass-hat patients with no common courtesy.

- Corrupt politicians and sectarian militias (*cough* Hezbollah *cough*)

- Earthquakes that kill thousands of people.

- Military juntas that don't give a damn about the people of their country.

- George W. Bush (just for added oomph)

Lets see how well that works.

* Speaking of the recent tragedies in Myanmar and China I was reading the newspaper during lunch last week and they wrote a sidebar listing weather tragedies that had happened over the past 30 years or so and I kid you not it went something like this:

China 2008: 10,000+ and still counting

Myanmar 2008: 30,000+ and still
counting

Pakistan 2005: 75,000

Katrina 2005: 1,600

Indian Ocean Tsunami 2004: 225,000

I'm sorry, I know that Katrina hit close to home, but did you look to see how absurd it was to list Katrina RIGHT NEXT TO a tsunami that killed 225,000?

Reason #10,451 why I despise biased media.

* And speaking of biased media....

There is an Arabic charter school here in the Twin Cities called the Tarek Ibn Zayed Academy (TIZA) that one right-wing boot-licking reporter decided was a bit too Muslim-flavored for her taste. She wrote an article that she must have paid a 2nd grader to research for her about their apparent blurring between church and state which prompted lots of death threats and a government inquiry into the school.

The inquiry basically came up with nothing: only buses that didn't run until after the after-school programs were over- after-school programs which included a fee-based Islamic program or free boy/girl scouts- and something about teachers going to Friday prayer. The last one I'm not really understanding their issue on, but whatevs fundamentally they found nothing wrong with the school.

One of our local news stations sent a camera crew to the school which promptly began to film on school property without permission- illegally trespassing. The head of the school came out and tussled with the camera-man when they would not stop filming. And by tussle I mean pushed his camera down. Sure that was pretty stupid on his part, but the constant replay and incendiary phrasing of the media is starting to piss me off. They are portraying it like he was beating on the camera man who was completely innocent of wrong-doing, when in fact the police have said they were trespassing and may face legal charges.

Get over yourselves. The Star Tribune told it like it was and only used two sentences of a one-page article to do so.

Of course the Star Tribune is the same newspaper that wrote the ridiculous list I wrote about above. I guess you win some you lose some.

* This past weekend I was driving away from Oogie's house when I witnessed some straight up nature documentary stuff happening in the urban jungle. A huge black crow was trying to kill a poor defenseless baby bunny. It kept picking it up and dropping it and swooping to pick it up again before the Bunny Mom of the Year came racing to the babies rescue and chased the mean bird away. Little bunny foo-foo escaped scampering across the street in front of my car and disappeared into the underbrush while I watched in wonder.

1- who knew crows hunted meat? Not me.

2- who knew bunny mums were tough enough to chase off predators? Not me.

That kind of seems like getting your butt kicked by Gandhi.

* I got economically stimulated last week, how about everyone else? I was really surprised because from what I'd heard they were going by the last two digits of the SOC and mine are quite high. I thought I'd be in Egypt before I got stimulated. Alhumdulillah for everything.

* Its my birthday this week, I will be 1/4 of a century old, and I'm fairly certain I want to go to the zoo and ride some rides on my birthday.

Is this some sort of reversal? As I get older I get younger. Dunno, but inshAllah the weather should be beautiful.

I also want a hat with pink feathers that says "Birthday Girl."

Happy Birthday to me, happy birthday to me!

Ok so, since we missed Random Wednesday last week we should have double the randomness in the comments section.

You know you wanna, so get to it!

Following My Dreams

2008-05-18T02:07:00.005-05:00

Literally.

My path to Islam was long, long, long in coming and has been heavily influence by dreams that I believe with utmost certainty came directly from Allah.

I had been wanting to post about this and never found an opportunity, but now I have been prompted by a similar post by the Saudi Stepford Wife and an evening bout of insomnia.

Dreams are intensely personal and their meanings and symbols are often only intelligible to the dreamer. Why do I want to reveal something so personal? I want to demonstrate that a connection to God is possible and, in many ways, tangible.

My first dream about Islam actually came when I was twelve years old. I think I must explain that while I had a fairly multi-ethnic upbringing it was definitely mono-religious. The most religious variance I had seen was between my Non-denominational Christian mother and my Catholic Christian aunt and the most religious choice in my city was choosing churches. I had, to date, met only one girl who was Jewish and my knowledge of her religion extended mainly to the draedl that she brought to show and tell. Oh, and I read Anne Frank.

So to have the dream I had, with the detail that I had it in, meant it had to have come from a source other than experience.

In my dream I was standing in a perfectly square room lusciously carpeted with the pile all laying towards one direction. The walls were solid wood and unadorned except for one on my left side which was ornately carved into a screen of ivy and flowers, beyond which was another room that I knew was there without needing to have entered it. A room I knew was meant for women while I was rebelliously standing in the room meant for men with my head uncovered. I could feel the judging eyes of unseen peers upon me but I didn't care, what I was focusing my attention on was the overwhelming presence of God I felt. I could feel God's love for me and sadness at my choice to not cover my head. I could bear the judgement of the others but it was God's sadness that broke my heart.

All these years I can still feel those emotions and I can still see every detail of the dream. At twelve I didn't know what a headcovering was, nor what these odd rooms were, but it made a mark on me deeper than I will ever realize.

I also had a dream around the same time of french-kissing a dark-skinned man with what I would later realize was a sunnah beard. The fact of it is that the man in my dream looked remarkably like my husband- although I didn't know that yet. I remember the dream because 1- I had never french-kissed and the dream was incredibly vivid and tangible and 2- the man looked nothing like any men I had ever seen in my life. Why I was sent this dream I'm not entirely sure, except that it may have had something to do with recognizing my naseeb when I met him (alhumdulillah.)

My other two important dreams came after I was Muslim and in response to marriage istikhara I had been praying at the time. One was for a proposal I turned down and the other was for a proposal I accepted. And the reason that I am revealing both of them is because they have eerie similarities.

With the first dream I had been making istikhara for weeks and refusing to listen to what my heart was telling me the answer was. You know when you have one desire in your heart and you want your istikhara to back it up no matter what? Yeah. Like that, except God finally sat me down and gave me an irrefutable answer in the form of another vivid dream.

I was standing in a room getting ready for the wedding, in my wedding gown, with everyone waiting for me and all I had left were to put the gold bangles on. But they wouldn't stay on my wrists; I would slip them on and they would slide right off again and I began to get irrationally afraid, I felt there was no way I could get married without the bangles. I abandoned the effort and slipped out the door trying to find my way out but was discovered and brought to the auditorium where the wedding was to take place. The groom and the sheikh officiating were sitting and waiting for me on a platform at the top of a large flight of stairs (remember the stairs for future reference.) Feeling as if I were facing my doom I started up the stairs but as I ascended one by one my body began to get heavier and the effort to climb higher became greater until at the top I was climbing on my hands and knees, heaving my thousand-pound body up one stair at a time. When I got to the top and was about to take my seat next to the groom I panicked and, in a moment of distraction, made a break for it, racing down a back way and out the doors. My groom came after me and when I realized that there was no escape I collapsed into the grass and wished for oblivion. He came and laid down next to me as if we were jut companionably watching the clouds float by. Eventually I mentioned that we should probably go back and he just laughed and answered, "Why? We're already married." At which I felt like my life was over and the weight of the world was crushing my chest and then I woke up.

There was no misinterpreting that dream, but when I brought it to a local sheikh I found that in dreams bangles/bracelets are synonymous with religion. If the bangle is so tight you can't get it off it is a good sign meaning that it will be good for your religion, but if it won't stay on it means that which you were praying about is bad for your religion.

But I already knew it.

When it came to the decision to marry my husband I only made istikhara a few times but the dream I received in response was as obvious in its meaning as the other had been.

My dream began with me relaxing in an unending and perfect green field beneath an unblemished blue sky. Pretty much exactly the windows xp default wallpaper down to the giant hill, I kid you not. And this area I was contently chilling in was called Islam, as in thats what it was labeled on the map. Anyways, as I was hanging out I got a call from my family that my cousin (Oogie's older brother) had been killed on duty in Iraq and my family was in mourning. I knew I needed to be with them so I walked to the white marble wall that marked the border between Islam and Jahilya and hopped back into oblivion. In Jahilyah (its actual name in my dream) it was permanent dusk and there was no life, I immediately forgot about Islam and entered into a zombie-like state. I hooked up with my cousin (Oogie's younger sister) and began to go around with her from party to party. I never drank or partook in the sexual orgies and disgusting past times that marked everywhere I could see but I was a silent observer of it all. Eventually depression engulfed me and I left my cousin behind to wander looking for happiness (exactly like I had before I found Islam) until I realized that my phone had been incessantly ringing. I checked my voicemail and found messages from my husband-to-be saying that he knew I was not the person I had become, that what I was doing wasn't me, and that I needed to return. In that moment I remembered Islam and realized what spell I had been under and I set off back towards Islam. I came to the marble wall but getting back into Islam from Jahilya was going to be harder than leaving it had been. To leave I jumped a four-foot wall, but now between me and the wall, which had become now one hundred feet tall, was a gaping divide filled with hellfire. In order to cross the ravine and get over the wall I had to climb up a staircase of thin, razor-sharp silver wires. I dutifully began to climb and as I did the wires cut my hands and feet and I could look down straight into the hellfires and the demons waiting inside. But each step I climbed I shed my sins and my body became lighter until the wires no longer cut me and I felt as I were floating. I got to the top and rolled over to land back in Islam where my husband-to-be waited for me dressed in pristine white clothing. I clung to him crying about the terrible dream I had had about being stuck in Jahilya but he only brushed it away smiling with love into my face saying, "Don't worry habibty, it was only a dream. You are Muslim and you don't need to worry about a thing, its all over," and I woke up completely content.

From that moment I never feared the future with my now husband. I felt completely at peace with the decision to marry him and this peace has carried through to every part of our lives together.

God has granted me the supreme blessing of receiving my answers in such a concise manner. Not all istikhara is answered by dreams, not all of MY istikhara has been answered in dreams, but when it mattered I was given an answer there was no way I could deny.

Its been a long journey, but the blessings and rewards are great.

And I guess, if one is to believe my dream, Islam/Janna looks a lot like windows xp.

Also something I found out after I had that dream is that the soul must cross a bridge of razor thin wire between heaven and hell, each cut the soul receives removes a sin so by the time it reaches Janna it is pure.

I'm only reciting this from memory and not from an actual source as I find myself quite tired now and ready to go to bed.

To sleep, perchance to dream.

The Wind Is Coming

2008-05-17T20:22:00.003-05:00

I walked out of the store today into the fierce wind of a coming storm. I love these storms and these winds because they remind me of the beautiful, crazy, wild, and awesome thunderstorms of Minnesota summers. Hot afternoons broken by the relief of cool wind and rain, the smell of hot, wet asphalt, and the wild displays of lightening and ear-splitting thunder. They remind me of my childhood.

When the wind hit me this afternoon it brought to mind a poem I wrote many years ago which still remains a personal favorite:

The die is cast, the dead are born
Call out to the holy
The winds are
returning.

And I- I lie dead in a field of daisies
Kissing the sky
with an open mouth.
Swear love on the clouds as they pass the world by.
And I- I lie dead in the sky.

Wind, it brings change, destruction, devastation, renewal, it pushes the clouds, it moves the earth. When spring comes the wind churns the lakes to bring life back to the water.

In the movie Chocolat the wind keeps the protagonist moving from place to place like a vagabond.

The winds return, and I move. The wind and the storms remind me of home, of childhood, of that supreme peace that one remembers of days growing up. I will miss the miraculous thunderstorms of summer, I will miss the smell of fresh cut grass on saturday mornings and the purring of lawnmowers.

But thankfully I get to enjoy now: the beautiful afternoons of a flower-filled spring. And yes, the wind that comes before the afternoon thunderstorms and the sweet smell of hot wet asphalt.

The winds are returning and I will spread my wings and fly.

What, you want me to work?

2008-05-14T10:51:00.001-05:00

Random Wednesday will be postponed due to work sucking.

Will resume when boss is not looking, or I have quit.

Whichever comes first.

“Thank God our women are at home”

2008-05-13T12:53:00.005-05:00

Excerpted from the NY Times piece on Saudi youth, the men specifically.

'Suddenly, the young men stopped focusing on their food. A woman had entered the restaurant, alone. She was completely draped in a black abaya, her face covered by a black veil, her hair and ears covered by a black cloth pulled tight.

“Look at the batman,” Nader said derisively, snickering.

Enad pretended to toss his burning cigarette at the woman, who by now had been seated at a table. The glaring young men unnerved her, as though her parents had caught her doing something wrong.

“She is alone, without a man,” Enad said, explaining why they were disgusted, not just with her, but with her male relatives, too, wherever they were.

When a man joined her at the table —
someone they assumed was her husband — she removed her face veil, which fueled
Enad and Nader’s hostility. They continued to make mocking hand gestures and
comments until the couple changed tables. Even then, the woman was so flustered
she held the cloth self-consciously over her face throughout her meal.

“Thank God our women are at home,” Enad said.'

Excuse me if I thought the purpose of HIJAB (not niqab) is to set Muslimahs apart and protect them from harassment. So how is it ok for a "Muslim" man to harass a hijabed Muslimah?

I also want to call particular attention to the fact that Enad is smoking a cigarette, and that at the beginning of the story Nader is planning to ask a front desk girl for her phone number.

While the Saudi culture may be the base of their problems, the youth are the perpetrators, particularly the MALE youth.

I'm not an expert on the KSA or Saudi culture, but I can tell you from my point of view and from my interaction with Saudis I have yet to meet a bigger bunch of hypocrites.

Of course not all Saudis are bad, but the extent to which I have seen this or similar interactions play out in real life and before my own eyes leads me to believe that it is indicative of the population as a whole with the exception being just a few.

But who is more damned? The perpetrators of the evil, or those who allow the evil to go unchecked?

The people of Salah (a'lehi wa salaam) were damned as a whole for not stopping the actions of a handful of men.

This type of shit is what makes me sick of a lot of "Muslims." This is why I stand in the crowd and scream about the difference between Islam-as-culture and Islam-as-religion.

There is a difference, and the culture of the KSA is the biggest, ugliest, slimiest example of it.

Here is the article about the Saudi female side, although you may need to register to read it.

And here is the article about youth in Egypt.

My Laptop and I

2008-05-11T20:21:00.006-05:00

have had a very close relationship since the beginning of the violence in Lebanon. And while I sit here and curse the American media firewall against all non-American news, I just want to show some undying love to the people who blog in English about the fighting for the non-Arabic speakers like me.

Sandmonkey
Charles Malik
and The Angry Arab News Service.

The latter which gave me my one and only moment of laughter during this horror:

Commenting on the Saudi propogranda war-
"AlArabiya TV rolls out advocates for Husni Mubarak and House of Saud and Hashemite Kingdom who state (without irony) that they are opposed to Hizbullah because the latter is not democratic."

I too wonder how they could say that with a straight face.

But what I want to know is why were the Sunni militia told to stand down? Whats the ultimate game here?

Charles Malik writes here that it is Syria backing Hezbollah with the plan of resuming control over Lebanese politics, hokay, and this seems to be a general consensus. As'ad Abukhalil (Angry Arab) wrote :

"You can't analyze the situation in the Middle East only in pure sectarian terms. For example: NBN TV (Nabih Birri TV) yesterday reported that `Adil `Abdul-Mahdi (a leader of the pro-US, pro-Iranian Badr sectarian militia which, among other crimes, largely orchestrated the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians in Iraq) called Nabih Birri (the leader of the Amal sectarian militia which led the war on the Palestinian refugee camps in Lebanon, when Palestinian brothers and sisters were forced to eat rats to survive). So the leader of a militia that is implementing the US plan in Iraq, called and congratulated (?) the leader of the militia that is fighting the US plan in Lebanon?"

Which would lead one to believe that this may have been US-backed, but how in the hell could someone be "pro-US" AND "pro-Iranian" at the same time?

I spoke Thursday evening with the clerk of the Lebanese-owned cornerstore by my house who talked about Hezbollah being backed by Syria, or more specifically the pro-Alouwite (or shall I say Alouwite majority?) government in Syria and Iran. Which was news to me as I had largely ignored Syria and did not know the president is an Alouwite (shi'a for those who don't know what Alouwite is.. crazy ass shi'a.)

Anyways, so one could with confidence assume that Hezbollah, Amal, and the SSNP were backed by Syria and Iran (which Iran is so much of a given that I almost forgot to mention it,) but why US-backed?

And why were the Sunnis told to back down?

Abukhalil quoted from the NY Times,

""On Friday, numerous men in the Sunni neighborhood of Tarik Jadideh complained that they had been given instructions not to fight, and now felt humiliated. “Saad Hariri let us down,” said one young man in Tarik Jadideh, where the streets were still littered with broken glass on Friday, and blackened building facades bore witness to fierce battles the night before with rocket-propelled grenades and small arms. “We don’t want the Future Movement any more, or the whole Hariri family.” The man refused to give his name, because Mr. Hariri is such an important figure in the area. Another young man added: “What happened last night around midnight is that orders were given to desert our positions and go home.""

And Sandmonkey writes,

"I never thought that the Sunni neighborhoods would fall this quickly, nor that Hezbollah would control Beirut this easily. But here we are, and it all seems so…deliberate. Like M14 wanted this to happen. Like they wanted Hezbollah exposed. Their refusal to engage with the opposition fighters is making the latter look-and rightfully so- like thugs."

So who is playing who? Syria/Iran funds/arms the Shi'a militia with the idea of setting up a Shi'a-ruled puppet government (don't pay any attention to the sect behind the curtain...,) somehow with the backing of the US (never you mind the chest thumping the US has been doing about fighting Iran) and the Sunni officials tell the Sunni militia to back down and let Hezbollah make an ass of itself as the meanie on the playground.

Mmkay.

So my take out of all of this is that Hezbollah tried to take over Lebanon but, without an enemy to fight, found no ground... what is keeping them from completely over-running the government offices and setting up shop?

And the humiliation the Sunnis have endured, was it a master strike in this political game of chess?

Politics... oh politics.

Boy Wednesdays come around fast

2008-05-07T10:22:00.007-05:00

If only Friday afternoons came this quickly.

* So yesterday, I managed to get on the wrong bus.

Only me peoples, only me.

I left work like my tail was on fire and got to my bus stop earlier than normal so when I saw a bus for my route go past I ran to catch it delighted that I would get back to my car sooner. In the process of running (since it is apparent that I am unable to even walk and chew gum at the same time) I did not check to make certain it was the correct bus when I got on. I settled into the seat self-satisfied and called Rahma to apologize for blowing right past her on the street in persuit of said bus. At some point in our conversation I realized that either my bus driver had found a new, better, route to get back to the park and ride or I had managed to get myself on the wrong bus. Ending the call and inquiring of the gentleman sitting next to me I found, to my complete and utter chagrin, that it was in fact the latter and instead of heading towards my familiar east metro park and ride I found myself unceremoniously dumped on 252 and 694 in the far northwest metro.

In the pouring rain.

The Glorious Miss M, with whom I had a dinner date and was scurrying back to my car as quickly as I could for, came and picked my stranded a$$ up and we abandoned plans for delicious Pho Tai in favor of the fantabulous Afghani restaurant Crescent Moon, since we had so luckily found ourselves in that neck of the woods.

It was delightful, and semi-made up for my prodigeous blunder.

We also then went to JoAnn Fabrics to see if we could find resin and pendant frames in which we could create jewelry something like this and were informed, by the JoAnn CRAFT STORE(!!!) employee, that our project was "just too crafty." I didn't realize that was possible.

* There are a million Canadian Geese running around, and just yesterday I noticed that one pair is ahead of the game and already has a small brood of adorable goslings to look after. Aww.

And one goose this morning, possibly in an effort to look cool in front of his friends, decided to nonchalantly saunter across the road in front of me. Fortunately I break for living creatures because the way he stopped right in the middle to check out the very large vehicle moving quickly in his direction made me wonder if, for evolutionary purposes, it might be better to remove him from the gene pool.

I also get kind of emotional when I see dead Canadian geese on the road because they mate for life.

* There are always 'homeless' beggars standing with signs at the top of the off ramp my bus takes and more often than not it is one particular gentleman who looks just like Santa Claus, and when we passed him the other morning the thought popped into my head that if even Santa Claus is out of work then our economy really is f***d.

* When I was in Egypt last summer my husband and I were discussing superstitions in our respective cultures and I explained that Americans think the number 13 is unlucky so a lot of buildings, especially the old ones, will not have a thirteenth floor. It will always skip numbering from the twelfth to the fourteeth floor, which does not mean the floor is not the thirteenth floor, because sequentially it IS, but it will never be numbered 13. The building I work in is one of such buildings, we do not have a thirteenth floor, and we have gargoyles on the roof. Really ugly ones.

Anyone remember the Gargoyles cartoon from forever ago?

* I've been doing research on hypoglycemia and hyperinsulinism because I think I might have one or both. Anyone have these/ know anything about them?

* For awhile at this job I was one person doing the work of at least three. At the beginning of last week we got a second person from my temp agency and the clinic hired a new girl so for about a week and a half I wasn't running around like a chicken with my head cut off.

Then I come in today and find that they have ended the contract with the other temp girl for some completely unknown reason that probably stems from having their heads firmly lodged somewhere in their lower bowel system and here I am stuck doing the job of three people again because the new hire and her trainer enjoy shooting the breeze and hanging out more than they enjoy working.

I'm pissed. Its just not a good day today.

Since today seems to be my piss and moan day, feel free to do the same for yourself as needed in my comments.

Random Wednesday people, you only get it here.

A Weekend of Realizations

2008-05-05T08:47:00.006-05:00

I had a lot of things that happened over the weekend, not necessarily bad but that had a lot of impact, and well were just really interesting.

For one this weekend was the Festival of Nations which is a yearly celebration of ethnic and cultural diversity, one that they have been doing for 76 years here in Minnesota. I think thats pretty awesome. I had missed the past two years because I was in Arizona (which definately does not have anything as cool as that) and I anticipate missing next year since I will most likely be in Egypt, so I was keen to go this year. On saturday I called Oogie and dragged her along with me, she of the white is right mentality. Ok, not exactly like that- she actually isn't racist at all, but I have to say I am probably the most "ethnic" of all of her friends and we happen to be of the same blood. Anyways, we had a really good time, I always enjoy hanging out with her, and what I really like is that she was completely game for me to drag her to something she'd never go to on her own, and she was open to having a good time. Sure she didn't try the koshari I got from the Egyptian food stall, but she did give the mango milkshake I got from the Indian food stall a whirl. She watched the ethnic dancing with me, and wandered the bazaar and we had a really good time. She even laughed at the arab guys who were giving us funny looks standing in the line for the shuttle.

After the Festival of Nations and Oogie had dropped me off at home, I headed over to my friend Nadeem's surprise birthday party. His wife Fatima had called me on Thursday to invite me and I was delighted. He turned the big 3-0 this year, so it was a pretty big occasion, however it was at his parents' house, the same parents who are not terribly happy with his choice of religion. Nadeem is a dutch South African convert who was quite instrumental in my own conversion. At the party he was made to stand up and give a speech naming everyone there, how he met them, and how long he has known them. When he got to me he stopped and thought and we both realized that it has been quite a LOT of years that we have known each other. He said 8 or 9 years, but just this morning I was pondering that, and it has not actually been quite that long because frankly I'm just not old enough to have known him that long. Ha. At the party we put the date at Halloween of 2000 but in actuality it was Halloween of 2002; I hadn't even graduated high school let alone moved to Saint Paul in 2000, so it is quite impossible. But I remember meeting him because of the circumstances surrounding us at the moment.

I had worked for almost a year before meeting him with his first wife Linda, a Saudi-American Muslim and the woman who brought him to Islam, so I knew OF Nadeem but had never actually met him. Earlier in the fall of that year they had decided to get married, without her father's permission or knowledge, her father being in Jeddah and not there to oversee her actions. Understandably her father was completely incensed and against the marriage, some may even argue that Islamically she could not marry without his consent, but there it was. Of course we were all on Linda's side while she went through the drama with her family, but we were all against the decision she made to return to Saudia at her father's request to "discuss" the situation. We all told her if she went back they would never let her leave, but she still went and they never let her leave again. Immediately upon her arrival she was brutally beaten by her father and locked in her room, her American passport was confiscated and burned and for thirteen weeks she was terrorized. Nadeem spent two years and thousands of dollars trying to get her home, but in the end her father won, he had a local sheikh dissolve her marriage on the account that she did it without his consent and married her off to one of her cousins.

It was a few weeks after Linda left that I met him, and after that we became really good friends. I remember that he and I would spend hours discussing Islam and why he had decided to become a Muslim, and because he himself had come from my same situation he knew the answers for the questions I was asking as he had asked the same ones himself. We had become close during his darkest times after his marriage ended, and the day I stood up at his wedding to Fatima and said my final "I told you that you would find love again" to him, I felt like he was my family. At the party it made me think and remember the long journey both he and I have been through and how thankful I am for him, for his gorgeous wife Fatima (who is mashAllah a very beautiful Sri Lankan) and for their adorable little girl.

Maybe it wasn't the eight or nine years that we both thought it was, but sure as hell feels like it.

Returning back to what is so significant about the party being at his parents' house is that they are very unhappy with his religious choices, so much so that they have forbidden him to mention it to any of their/his South African friends, and they are also not terribly fond of anyone who reminds them that their son happens to be a Muslim. Like a certain friend of his who wears hijab. But as uncomfortable as I thought it would be I actually spent a lovely time deep in discussion about Islam and culture, and the differences between, with a South African couple. They knew almost nothing about Islam so I got a wonderful chance to right some misconceptions that they had, and explain some confusing things they had learned previously. I always enjoy talking about Islam, but I especially enjoy talking about it with people who are highly educated, it means I can go more in depth into topics than I can with people who don't understand the difference between internal versus public portrayal. I had a wonderful time and went home content.

And then came Sunday, as is the usual sequence of events, and a family dinner for my mother's birthday. I've come to dread public events where my aunt will be, yes that aunt, who still won't even stand next to me in public. I was not feeling well and certainly not in the mood to deal with anything she might say to me so I was tense before I even arrived. Luckily the dinner went off without a hitch (alhumdulillah) and in fact that only religious reference she made was about her satisfaction that my mom is dating a Catholic guy and that she hoped my mom would go back to the Catholic church "where she belonged." Nothing was said to me about where I belong. We also sat at different ends of the table.

However nothing lasts forever, this coming Sunday- Mother's Day- the family will be getting together at my aunt's house.

Joy.

The last place I want to find myself is on her home turf, and its REALLY unfortunate that I feel that way because I have always loved my aunt and been fairly close with her. She's never been my favorite person because she is so caustic, but I had never been on the receiving end of her wrath. Now I'm faced with the sincere desire to suddenly realize I have some other commitment on Sunday that means I can't go, but alas I cannot, nor would there be anything more important than a final Mother's Day with my mom and grandma before I leave. Instead I am stuck for the rest of this week dreading this coming Sunday and all it entails.

The other thing during the dinner I realized, and it probably is the hardest thing I'll have to deal with once I move to Egypt is my grandfather. He has Alzheimer's and Parkinson's and over the past one to two years has been rapidly degenerating to the point that he has a hard time getting up and walking by himself. He also has lost quite a bit of his mental capabilities and I'm worried that when I leave he may get to the point of no longer recognizing me when I come back. When I leave I may be saying goodbye to my grandfather forever and that scares me, and it hurts me.

I watched him slowly eating yesterday and he paused and looked up and caught my eye and smiled.

I don't want to say goodbye.

Da List

2008-05-02T13:05:00.004-05:00

In honor of moving to Egypt I wanted to make some lists. A list of things I will miss about home, and things I'm looking forward to getting away from; and a list of things I'm looking forward to in Egypt, and things I am not looking forward to in Egypt.

Things I will miss are in green, things I will not miss are in red

Home

1. I will miss my mom, my family, and my friends a lot.
1. I will not miss being badgered by various family members for becoming Muslim.

2. I will miss American food.
2. I will not miss all the preservatives/pestacides used in American food.

3. I will miss my car.
3. I will not miss paying gas prices.

4. I will miss hearing both of my languages spoken at all places around me.
4. I will not miss having people speak to me like I don't speak English because of my hijab.

5. I will miss having 200 random channels of English TV available and all the shows I am addicted to like the Medium, SVU, and Scrubs.
5. Actually there is nothing I will not miss about that.

6. I will miss being able to go out and drive around aimlessly like I do here when I'm really stressed or under pressure. I will also miss being able to get somewhere in a reasonable amount of time because no matter how much TCers like to complain about our traffic (especially since the 35W collapse) it doesn't hold a candle next to the hot mess of Cairo traffic.

7. I will not miss traffic cops catching people (occasionally me) for speeding.

8. I will miss Cub Foods.
8. I will not miss Cub Foods' produce.

9. I will miss my mattress. Lots. I mean a lot a lot.

10. I will miss the 4th of July fireworks and sitting on the grass with my favorite cousins.

11. I will miss my cousin Oogie (not her real name but a nickname we've called her since childhood) and sewing/watching movies/playing WOW/talking on the phone/going out to dinner/playing Wii bowling/playing zonk/playing hand and foot.... etc. And also her mom and dad who are some of my favorite people in the world. I know this counts as missing family, but she's like my best friend and deserves her own number.

12. I'll miss the births of a lot of my friends' babies (Carrie and Mer specifically).

13. I'll miss knowing my way around. Everything.

14. I'll miss being in control. HA! Thats gonna be a big one, I'm really going to miss being in control. Control of where I go, what I can do, what I can take care of, etc. Moving it Egypt is definately going to be a lesson in letting go.

15. I'm really just going to miss home.

Egypt

1. I'm looking forward to being with my husband. I might mention that one a couple of times cuz I'm REALLY looking forward to that one.

2. I'm looking forward to seeing my neices and nephews and all of my in-laws cuz I really do love them.

3. I'm looking forward to learning Arabic.
3. I'm not looking forward to not understanding until I do.

4. I'm looking forward to warm winters.
4. But I'm definately not looking forward to the summer.

5. I'm looking forward to all the new experiences, new places to see, new people to meet.

6. I'm looking forward to being in a Muslim country. REALLY looking forward to that one.

7. I'm looking forward to having my own kitchen to cook food in and play house -this time for real- with my husband.
7. I'm terrified of actually having to prove I'm a good cook.

8. I'm looking forward to koshari and really good lebanese restaurants.
8. I'm not looking forward to any other Egyptian food. Ok maybe maashi.

9. I am looking forward to fresh produce that actually tastes like food. Oh and halal meat.
9. Not really looking forward to the less than FDA-standard sanitation involved with both of the above.

10. Not looking forward to Cairo traffic. But I am kind of excited to see people riding donkeys up 6 lane causeways again. It tickles me funnybone.

11. I'm looking forward to being in the desert again. I miss that about Arizona, I'm really a desert girl at heart.

12. I'm REALLY looking forward to Arabic music. Not even kidding. When I came back from Egypt last summer I avoided radio stations for about five months. Music here sucks.

13. I'm looking forward to actually having a house of my own. I've always either been in my mom's house, or a roomie, or in a dorm room, so I never got the chance to interior decorate at will.

14. I would love to work in Egypt and am looking forward to that opportunity (inshAllah). I hope that I am given one.

15. I'm not looking forward to garbage in the streets.

16. I'm not looking forward to corruption or the loss of my basic human rights.

17. I'm not looking forward to people honking their horns 24 hours a day.

18. But I am looking forward to the smiles and warmth of the Egyptian people.

19. The ADHAN!!!! I'm looking forward to always hearing that. (thanks DawnUK I forgot one of the most important ones.)

20. I am looking forward to a completely new way of life.

Feel free to add any advice and/or extras to the list, I may have left out some things.

A Special Random Wednesday

2008-04-30T11:44:00.006-05:00

* This Random Wednesday is a very special one:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE WOMAN WHO GAVE ME LIFE.

You can thank/blame her as you wish.

* Why is it exactly that one half of my body has to be bigger than the other half of my body? I don't enjoy it.

Its down to shoes even! I could *almost* do two different sizes on my feet. And don't even get me talking about bras...

* I know that people love their dogs and religious issues with owning a dog aside I really just want to know why anyone would actually buy clothes FOR THEIR DOG.

For real, why?

And cats (Carrie) I think thats just downright cruel.

* Over lunch some of my co-workers were talking about the pigeon problem here in Minneapolis, and I was reminded of a friend who's Egyptian husband (accustomed to eating pigeons in Egypt) didn't understand why he couldn't catch the ones here. They're fat, lazy, and will often walk up to people hoping for some food. I wonder how friendly they would be if we could hunt them.

* My bus pass is up tomorrow, I'll have to shell out another $100 for a new one. I'm not happy about it, but it beats the hell outta driving.

* I really hate it when people have word-capture on their blogs for leaving comments. I might just be deficient in some way but I almost NEVER am able to get it to take my comment on the first try. I always type in the word they have, but the program hates me and spits it out.

My life is hard.

Ok! You guys know what to do. Sound off!

The Elephant in the Room

2008-04-29T09:49:00.005-05:00

I'm not sure how I'm doing with the move, I think its just that it really hasn't hit me. I'm excited to go to Egypt, I'm definitely excited to see my habib, but the fact that I'm going to be there for an undetermined amount of time still hasn't reached the surface for me.

Trip? Way excited. Not seeing my friends, family, and mom for a long period of time? Wha...

I feel like I have a concrete wall built up between myself and that reality. And its not as if I've never been away from home before. I moved down to Arizona with the full intention of living there for if not the rest of my life then a huge chunk of it. So I've said goodbye psychologically to Minnesota before, maybe thats why I don't feel the need to do it again. But I think what is getting me is the idea of no longer living in the United States.

Am I scared? No. Nervous? Ok, maybe a little. But its my lack of trepidation thats concerning to me. I should be scared, something...

I should be more emotional, I know I would be if I could only convince my psyche that this is real.

I am really moving to Egypt.

Fo' reals.

The other day my mom was talking about having a dinner party for me because "her daughter is moving away" and I was totally blindsided. Oh thats right, this is a slightly momentous occasion. I'm so focused on myself and getting things set up that I didn't think about the rest of my family- except when they are reminding me that they think I am moving to my doom and enslavement. I'm focused on everything I have to do, and all the days I have left, and my cousin's wedding.

There is so much I should be doing and feeling, but instead I'm putting my head down and trying to make it through each day until I leave.

48 days today. 47 days tomorrow.

I know there's an elephant in this room, I'm just having a hard time finding it.

I Love Spring

2008-04-29T08:19:00.008-05:00

Of course this spring kind of sucks around here, I woke up to 28 degrees this morning.

TWO DAYS BEFORE MAY!

But still I'm not bitter, spring means fresh fruit and veggies and that makes my tummy happy. I went to the grocery store Sunday night to get my weekly groceries and emerged with a beautiful bunch of asparagus, three scrumptious avocados, and two amazingly delicious mangos (and a partridge in a pear tree). Like I haven't had mangos this good since I don't know when and I haven't taken that much enjoyment from eating in a very long time as well.

I think I'm going to go tonight and see if I can get more.

I love spring, I just wish our weather would catch up.

Traditional May Day song:

Last May-day as I skipp'd the garland round,

Cheer'd by the merry hurdy-gurdy's sound,

I look'd, methought, with an unusual grace,

For Molly herself had wash'd and chalk'd my face

Anonymous c. 1773

Al-Farhan Released

2008-04-27T16:57:00.004-05:00

Saudi blogger Fouad Al-Farhan, who was detained by the Saudi government without charges for four months, was released on Saturday according to the BBC and another well-known Saudi blogger Ahmed Al-Omran who blogged the release on his site Saudi Jeans.

Alhumdulillah.

Journalism is not a crime!

Speaking your mind is not a crime!

Fight censorship for a free world.

Ps- this is my 100th post!

A little less dependant

2008-04-24T16:25:00.004-05:00

I was raised by my mom on our own.

Her and I.

Me and her.

I relied on her and she relied on herself.

My father was gone and I have no brothers.

I was raised by an independant woman... to be an independant woman.

But now I find that independant is not what I'm supposed to be.

And I struggle to become a dependant me.

This Made My Day

2008-04-24T14:04:00.003-05:00

CLIP FROM THE MOVIE TO EXPLAIN:

Wednesday and Random (Updated with even more delicious Randomness)

2008-04-23T09:22:00.007-05:00

* I looked for the price of flights last week and was so excited, and then I looked for the price of the same flight today and it has jumped by $400. Please, someone, shoot me now. I literally feel like I'm going to throw up.

Except now I looked for just a one way flight and its cheaper, which is the first time I've found that. Alhumdulillah. I might go home and book it tonight inshAllah. Before they raise it due to gas prices... again.

How do you say high blood pressure in Arabic?

* If I get the aforementioned flight (inshAllah) then I will have a layover in Amman, Jordan. I'm so excited about that you have no idea. I don't think that having a layover in an area means than you've been to that area, but I'm sure excited about being able to see it as we land.

* I HAVE THE FLIGHT. Alhumdulillah. I love my mom.

* I remember flying into Cairo and seeing the pyramids as the plane did a turn for landing. It was a spectacular moment. There was also a time when my husband and my inlaws and I were at DreamPark and hubby and I were riding the Condor. Everytime the ride would turn the pyramids would rise up against the desert at the edge of the park. It was the coolest thing I had ever seen but my husband, the born and bred Cairene who long long long ago ceased to be amazed by them, had the camera and it didn't occur to him to take a picture. Such a shame. Next time we go I will make sure to be well photographically armed.

* Every morning on the same bus I find myself in the same intersection with a tiny black car that has a big huge sign in its back window saying "NOT ONE MORE DEATH, END THE WAR IN IRAQ" and my insides brighten just a little bit. Now I'm just awed at the fact that we always seem to be in the same intersection at the same time. Every. Day.

* I just bought my first cd in like, I don't know, five years. And it was worth it. I discovered a (new?) band called Pacifika. They're from Canada (but don't hold that against them) and they play these absolutely wonderful fusion sunny afternoon type songs. I love it and you probably will too. Oh, but they sing in Spanish, though even if you don't understand the words, I think you'll understand the meaning. I highly recommend checking them out. They're first single is on youtube and its called "Me cai" and I recommend playing it but not watching the video because its nothing but the main singer making body contortions. And its kind of weird, but the music is good. There's also another video that has their second-best song on the LP called "Paloma" and its this great flamenco-flavored song, but I can't remember the video title.

* I'm still freaking out about flights but my mom promised to book the flight when she got home this morning. InshAllah.

Omg. Breeeeeeeeeeathe.

* OH! So I totally forgot but last night after work I had a serious craving for Pho Tai so I went over to Frogtown to one of the many Vietnamese "cafes" on University Ave. I went to one I hadn't been to since my first prom night SO many years ago, and on my way there stumbled across an Islamic Dawaa Center. In Frogtown. How awesome is that? And not only this but when I went into the cafe I was reassured by the waitress, without even having to ask or insinuate, that everything on the menu was only beef and chicken, no pork. Again how awesome is that? I will definitely go in there more often. I also enjoyed the 1980's Vietnamese lounge music, which furthered tickled my kitsch-bone when it turned into 1980's Vietnamese French lounge music duets. Awesomely cheesy.

I'm so discombobulated right now, I can't put two thoughts together. I might add more randomness later, but I'm looking to you guys to fill the randomness quota for today in my comments section.

You know you wanna.

I need to what?

2008-04-22T12:06:00.005-05:00

So alhumdulillah I've gotten so much done this morning, I took a half day off from work and went to the chiropractor- my back was so tight it barely moved- and then I went to the DMV to renew my license and to hopefully get a new passport. InshAllah I'll be 25 next month (egads!) and my license expires, I wish I could keep my picture from when I turned 21 (Hottie McSteam) but alas I could not, nor would I want to since me now= hijab and me then= none.

I renewed a month early because I wanted to, at the same time, apply for a new passport because I look very little like I did when I was 18 and took the picture, and also again because of the hijab.

And my hijab is the reason I left the DMV without a new passport but with a brand new chip on my shoulder. Apparently if I would like to keep my headscarf on in the picture for my passport I must write a sweet little letter to the passport authorities on why I'm wearing it.

Excuse me?

If an Indian woman comes in with a bindi in the middle of her forehead and a massively huge gold nose ring, do you ask her to write a letter? If a punk rocker comes in with bright green hair and 15 facial piercings, is she asked to remove them? Or write a letter stating her anarchist belief system?

What the #&^$ does it have to do with you OR the passport authorities OR the US government whether I wear this headscarf for religious or purely fashionable reasons?

What do they expect me to write?

Dear US Government,

I wear this scarf around my head because I'm a terroristic extremist who will stop at nothing to see the pigs of the kuffar goverment fall to their knees.

Sincerely,
Me

PS- I know where Osama is.

No.

I am an American who was born in a country where state should be completely separated from religion, and where my choice to cover my head DEALS DIRECTLY WITH ME AND MY PERSONAL CHOICE.

If I want to shave my head and tattoo it completely, do I have to write a letter in with my passport stating why?

Do Menonite or Amish women have the same problem?

Or is this hand-written permission from me for them to delay my passport process and mark me, once and for all in their big book of no-no, a danger to my society?

F**K THAT.

I walked out with my old passport, which is current through 2011, and left that idea behind.

And I wonder why it is that America is looking less and less American each day.

Dear God

2008-04-21T15:29:00.004-05:00

Dear God,

Thank You for making today the quietest Monday I have ever worked.
Thank You for making all of my patients full of laughter (minus that one psycho.)
Thank You for making my coworkers awesome even though I missed the bus and came in 15 minutes late.
Thank You for knowing that I needed a break and for easing my heart.

Truly Yours,
Me

PS- Triple Thank You for my chiropractor who gives a discounted price to those without insurance AND had open appointment tomorrow morning. That definitely brightened my day.

Today

2008-04-21T08:38:00.003-05:00

Today is a bad day. I don't want to go anywhere, I don't want to do anything. I don't want to be here working, I don't want to help people, I don't want to read, or write, or think.

I think I've hit my wall. The wall against all the stress, the loneliness, the worries, the planning, the goals, the expectations, and the world entirely.

I just want to walk, and walk, and walk, and find somewhere to get lost.

Today is definitely a bad day.

Poetic Justice

2008-04-17T12:19:00.005-05:00

I just want to acknowledge the poetic justice I find in using the economic stimulus check I will (inshAllah) be receiving to pay for my flight out of here.

They're paying for me to leave.

Thank you, Mr. Bush. I can't think of a better way to spend it.

Random Wednesday!!

2008-04-16T09:01:00.005-05:00

* ALI WON!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thats all I gotta say.

* There are some things I've noticed about bus drivers; and I mean everyone complains that they're a bit loony but its a tough job and I don't blame them. Heres the thing I have noticed though: the freaky-looking drivers (you know the ones that resemble picasso's work) are always way cool and down to earth, but the ones who look completely normal are absolutely crackers. Like I-will-follow-you-home-and-kill-your-dog crackers.

* Just to follow up on the city bus, do you remember your school bus driver from back in the day? Didn't they always seem old? Positively ancient? I remember my bus driver was like in her mid-30's but now when I look at the people driving the buses I can't imagine they're much older than the kids they're busing around. Yesterday the city bus I was on passed a school bus and I'm not sure the driver was much older than 11. I mean, of course she is but she didn't look that much older. It kind of creeps me out.

* Reason number 3,456 for why living in MN is so cool: Regions hospital is doing some major construction and, ever ones to squeeze ad space out of everything, they covered the orange plastic construction fencing with a very HUGE ad for the hospital.

Why is that cool? Because they're advertising with a picture of a hijabi.

Word up. Adveritising. With a hijabi.

Who would have thought we were more open-minded than most "Muslim" countries out there?

* I'm becoming like super anal about plastics, I hate them because its just a bunch of trash that NEVER GOES AWAY. Paper? Whatev, it disintegrates. Water conservation? Most of our water is recycled anyways. But plastic, oh plastic hangs around longer than our gene pool probably will. So I get mad when products like Benadryl Perfect Measure come out and people buy it. Quit being $&%#ing lazy and measure out your kid's allergy meds with a spoon.

I swear this kind of cultural attitude will be the end of our world.

* Speaking of trash, now that the snow is melted all sorts of trash that was ensconsed in said snow bank are out for the world to see. In the middle of the divide on 36 is a teddy-bear someone lost at some point. Face down and lonely. I notice him every day on the way to work. Poor teddybear.

* I got a chance to chat with the lovely Organica and it turns out she knows everyone I know, its kind of creepy.

* A few minutes ago one of the guys who works in Med Records popped his head in the room and says, "There's peanut-butter cookies in the break room." When I jumped up to get some I asked, "How did you know I love pb cookies?"

He laughs and says, "Cuz you a woman."

Ladies, they're on to us.

Ok miss muslimah and hijabi apprentice, happy? ;~)

Its YOUR turn everyone. Sound off peoples, whats your randomness for today?

Misery Loves Company

2008-04-15T08:23:00.003-05:00

I've had a migraine since yesterday and I can't seem to think my way through it.

Hopefully I can shake it before tomorrow so we don't miss Random Wednesday.

I know how sad you'd be.

If only someone would hit me with a hammer right between the eyes, somehow I think that would make me feel better.

Volounteers?

Ok

2008-04-12T10:38:00.002-05:00

The email me thing didn't work so well, so I will put my email here.

I'm a dork, what can I say?

mollyannelian[at]gmail[dot]com

Moi

2008-04-11T19:11:00.005-05:00

I published the dorky pic I took to put on my CV for Egypt on my wordpress account.

I had to share the inanity.

Email me for the pass, but this is a girls-only activity

....

2008-04-11T11:44:00.001-05:00

Dear God,

Please fast forward today to 4:30.
Thank You.

Your's truly,
Molly

Shaken

2008-04-10T13:26:00.010-05:00

Looking at the pictures of the riots in Al-Mahala I was startled by the youth of those involved, and one picture in particular stopped my heart.

all photos taken from here

The young boy looking back at the photographer looks a lot like my nephew and for a second I could imagine that it was him.

Him kidnapped and beaten.

Him held prisoner for days.

And as much as the situation had affected me before, just taking that fear and pain and suffering that I felt while only imagining that it could have been my nephew, and knowing that it wasn't, I tasted the tiniest trace of the fear, pain, and suffering of those who's children it really was.

I look through the other pictures and see the young men full of fury and pride and fear and excitement and the mass hysteria that comes with crowds, and I feel inside me a weak echo of the range of emotions on their faces.

Especially the young man in the middle who is glaring so intently into the camera, as if ready to go around again, to face the worst possible outcome, and for what?

Freedom?

Yes.

Rights?

Yes.

Because theres nothing left...?

Yes.

I feel pride when I see them fight, when I see anyone fight, for freedom from oppression with the only possible weapons they have: their hearts, their minds, and their hands.

And I'm shaken to my very core.

It's Random Wednesday Ya'll

2008-04-09T08:39:00.006-05:00

* Last week I was on the bus ride home when I noticed another woman from the corner of my eye who kept kept giving me surreptitious glances. I realized why when I glimpsed the cover of the book she was reading: Inside the Jihad

* Last week I was walking to the bus when I was ambushed by a ~~creepy~~overly-friendly somali woman with a very odd lisp. What I was able to understand from her heavy lisp (we're not talking accent here we're talking lisp; she turned c/k sounds into t sounds) was that she didn't want to marry (or had already married more than once) a Somali guy, and so could she marry my brother, please? (Assuming he was an Ameritan like me.)

My non-existant brother was very flattered but unfortunately unable to take her up on the offer.

* It is the end of winter (thank God) and, as usual, the roads in Minnesota have begun to resemble crater-filled battlefields. Weather in Minnesota is so tough on roads that road makers test out new road materials up here; if they can survive, they're good to go for anywhere else. This doesn't help me much when I'm dodging shetland pony-sized potholes and cracks that could swallow small cats.

* I finally went and got the necessary tax forms (procrastinor? me? nah) to do my taxes this weekend, and I really think it is idiosyncratic to have the statue of liberty on the front of the forms. Not now, not in this government.

Maybe I grabbed the tax forms meant for the rich people, that would explain the statue on the front. They're the only ones who are liberated from taxes.

But you know what the say, two things are certain in life: death and ....

* I hate it when people call in to make an appointment and then hmmm and haaa or even look around for their calendars. YOU CALLED TO MAKE AN APPOINTMENT, KNOW WHEN YOU HAVE TIME OPEN. Its not that hard of a concept, I'm not here to sit on hold while you dig through two feet of paper on your desk to find out when you're available.

Oh, and for those of you on the opposite end who have already decided you want to see Dr Soandso on Friday at 11 am, its not my fault if they don't have an opening. Get over yourself.

I feel mildly better.

* Hi, I'm Molly and I'm addicted to the Biggest Loser. And I hope Ali wins.

* I BOUGHT GLASSES!! Ahem, someone never sent me my glasses (s...) and I kept getting red eyes, eye pain, and the occasional icky infection because my eyes couldn't take almost a year of wearing nothing but contacts. I had no choice (something I'm slightly bitter about) but America's Best had a two pair for a deceivingly low price sale. I say deceivingly. Its kind of like the old joke: "the ice cream is free, but its $5 for the spoon". That deceivingly low price included the eye exam and the frames, if you actually wanted the pieces inside the frame that correct your vision... well that was a different story.

I knew it was too good to be true. I plunked down $200 but I get two pairs of glasses with an updated perscription. It all worked out for the better I guess, and I'll get them inshAllah in a week. I sure do hope I get those other glasses back (s...) since they have some sentimental attachment to them (please s). I'll upload pics when I get the new glasses and see what you guys think.

* Oh, I made a wordpress because I wanted to make sure I got my name and for protected post privilages. Don't worry I'm not gonna switch over to them because, well, I have decided that the wordpress format is of the devil. I've never had to work that hard on a website since my intro web development class 4 years ago. I failed that class for a reason, now I remember why.

I will, however, use it for protected posts like the aforementioned picture of me in my new glasses.

* I love coffee. Preferrably starbucks. Yes I know they are evil, but God their coffee is good.

Sinfully good some might say.

*sigh*

* Apparently my cell phone's text mssging program does not recognize the word "heist", I guess they don't want to be used for clandestined bank robbing schemes.

Pity.

Alright kiddos, you know the drill, anything random you want to spout, feel free to hijack my comments section.

Its all yours.

You know you wanna.

Hmm

2008-04-09T08:00:00.000-05:00

I got meme'd again, and since its random wednesday why not.

I got tagged by Alajnabiya(apparently because she ran out of other people who have never been tagged) for the 6 word memoir meme. Here are the rules:

1. Write your own six word memoir
2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like
3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post
4. Tag six more blogs with links
5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!
I'm totally not going to tag anyone else for this

Multicultural Muslimah loving life and world.

K O* ya Hosni

2008-04-09T07:59:00.002-05:00

Riots in Mahala, at the end you can hear them chanting "f**k you Hosni, f**k you."

this post has been censored at hubby's request.

*Sorry for the heavy language.

6/04/08

2008-04-07T10:20:00.009-05:00

Strike April 6th in Egypt, two were killed in demonstrations in Mahalla, read more HERE

Allah be with those who fight against oppression.

Happyness

2008-04-06T11:48:00.004-05:00

Usually I answer the comments on a post in the comments section, but I believe there is so much more for me to say about the comments I received on my post about missing Egypt that another separate post is called for.

Some questioned how I could miss a country I was not born to, others questioned what exactly I missed, and some questioned whether I was actually searching for a happiness I may not find there. All are valid curiosities and many are rooted in reality but, as seems to be a running theme in my life, I don't really fit into anything that makes sense.

Missing Egypt even though I'm not Egyptian, what do I miss? I have been to many foreign countries and have seen many cities and cultures, but there is something in Egypt that makes it different from anywhere else. Lets narrow this down to Cairo though, because when I talk about Egypt I am mostly talking about Cairo. What makes it different?

The life.

Cairo lives and breathes on its own as a city, it is the only place that I have been to where there is an active city at all hours of the day and night. I spent a whole day with my husband, and my brother and sister-in-law, and when it came to fajr there were still things for us to do: we sat on a bridge full of early-bird (late-nighter?) fisherman and families still in the street as we were and ate hummous. Prior to that we had been in a cafe on the nile that was filled with people at one in the morning, the streets had still been deadlocked with traffic and the bridge next to it had still been filled with groups leaning over the side. The small boats strung with lights and blaring loud music were still moving up and down the Nile until early in the morning. The city never sleeps.

During the day you hear the traffic, the ubiquitous junk dealer leading his donkey up and down the streets yelling through an ancient amplifier that muddles his words into a garbled mess of noise. No one could really tell me what he was saying but everyone knew that he would buy your useless junk. And the donkeys, oh the donkeys; next to the blare of car horns the second most common sound in Cairo is the braying of all the donkeys. What about the carts of neatly stacked watermelons? Everywhere just waiting even stacked on the sides of the road as we drove between Cairo and Alex.

The million restaurants, the ring of the koshary shops, buying cheese and foul sandwiches at two or three in the morning. The bazaars on every corner selling everything you could imagine. Or the tiny carnival I once spied while with my friend Merhan and her cousin and them taking me to it and paying for us to all drive bumper cars.

The smiles of the bumper car crew who grinned and welcomed me to Egypt. The smiles of everyone in the street, the warmth and passion with which friends argued, gestured, laughed, talked, cried, and watched everything that went on around them. Even though I didn't know them they were connected to me, to eachother, and to others they didn't know. Life, while poorer economically, was lived fuller for its very tenuousness. The food tasted stronger, the colors brighter, the air thicker even if it was with pollution, and I felt a million times more alive. Pain, love, happiness, and sadness were felt more vividly.

Thats what I miss, and moreover it is so different from anything else I have ever felt. When I walk through downtown Minneapolis now I get a wiff of that same feeling. Not as bright, nor vivid, nor passionate as Cairo, but for a split second I feel a bit more alive. And the fact is that despite being surrounded by people I am completely alone. No one is connected here, friendships are not expressed as fully, no one smiles, no one laughs, no one sits and talks just because they can. Here life is about point A and point B, in Egypt life is about the trip between the two. Thats what I miss.

I've been to other ginormous cities. I've walked the midnight streets of Madrid and never found what I found in Cairo. I've walked the midnight streets of Paris and not found what I found in Cairo. I've been to Istanbul and found that people affect the same coldness and individuality of Europe and America, and while in Athens I found the same sense of living life as I found in Egypt, but I could not stand the rudeness; while close to Egyptians in passion the culture was still basically different and offensive in many ways. The Greek were passionate but almost eager in their passion to offend you.

Everyone I have ever met who has been to Egypt returns saying that they had never met a culture so warm and welcoming. Thats what I miss. Smiles, I miss. Laughter, I miss. Being hugged to the bosom, of a matron I had just met, with joyous abandon, I miss. Being handed babies to kiss like a presidential hopeful on campaign, I miss. Listening to the curses and shouts and laughter and arguements of those around me and those in the street, I miss.

Sitting here staring out into an empty street, shuttered houses of people I've lived next to for six years and still never met, knowing that unless I go to the house of friend I will not be greeted with anything but wary aloofness, I feel completely alone. The sense of belonging to a whole, I miss.

And that has nothing to do with not being born in Egypt, and everything to do with finding a home there anyway.

And my pursuit of happyness; sure I am a person who can never be 100% happy in one place and its a curse (?) that I've dealt with for a long time in my life. When I lived in Minnesota I ached to be somewhere else, when I lived in Arizona I love it but missed Minnesota, in Minnesota again I ache for Arizona. When I am in Cairo I am sure I will miss both places at the same time. Do I think I will find some happiness in Cairo? I am certain of it. Do I think I will find the be all and end all of happiness there? I doubt it, but I am open to the possibility. I am a wanderer by nature, I don't know that this will ever change. And I don't find that missing someplace detracts from my enjoyment of being where I am at the moment. In Arizona I found a happiness I could only find in Arizona and I partook of it wholeheartedly, and in Minnesota now I find so much fulfillment in my family and friends and wonderful ummah here even though I miss Cairo and Arizona that my desire to be elsewhere does not keep me from enjoying the beauty I have here.

Everyone is always pursuing happiness but, with the exception of when I first went down to Arizona, I don't believe that a place will ever bring me a peace I can't find where I am. My peace, my home, my happiness exists within me and I carry it wherever I go. And I think I am blessed to have pieces of happiness waiting for me wherever I end up.

That being said Egypt is my home as much as Arizona is my home and Minnesota is my home, and all for very different reasons.

That is, I guess, the nature of my own happyness.

Memory of Egypt

2008-04-04T15:19:00.001-05:00

In keeping with my 'missing Egypt' mood. Something written when I missed and remember my husband.

I can taste it, the dust in the air poignant, stagnant, choking, breathing, living dust. Laughter in warraq the smoke of trash burning, the bark of the dogs. Horns and donkies side by side somewhere, but here, just him and I. I can taste his sweat and he pulls my hair, hushed love above the dirt streets. No, alleys. It is an alley where the bawebs' children play. Women peddling fateer and sweets. Below, loud voices. But above the caucaphony hushed, quiet, hurried love. He pulls my hair, heavy lidded eyes. I love you, he says. Awy, awy, awy, I reply, hushed by lips and laughter in warraq. Hushed, sweet, sensitive love, I love you, he says. Awy, awy, I reply.

Homesick

2008-04-03T15:57:00.007-05:00

When I see pictures of Cairo I feel like I'm looking at pictures of home. I have no claim to Cairo but through my husband, and I only spent eight weeks there last summer, but its very essence has become so ingrained on my spirit that I feel like I will always be connected to the city just as I am connected to my birthplace.

I don't negate its ugly side, and I don't pretend to ignore the harsher reality beneath the bright lights, but when it comes down to it a piece of me still exists there and probably always will.

So when I think of moving to Egypt this summer I don't feel as if I'm moving to a foreign country, I feel like I'm going home.

I don't speak the language and so many of the finer nuances of the culture escape my American-bred literalness, but when I think of being there this sense of loneliness and desire squeezes my heart inside.

Ana Baheb Masr.

Check out the smog yo, I don't miss that.

This is just a cool pic

Its Random Wednesday!

2008-04-02T12:26:00.005-05:00

* Yesterday I got lost trying to remember where to catch my bus back home (the Mpls' one-ways making it impossible to have drop off and pick up on the same block) but was able to -finally- find another stop for my bus. But there's always reason for everything right? As I was just about to get on the bus, one foot on the step and everything, when I heard someone yell my name. I stepped off the bus and looked around to see my dad from a block away waving and yelling my name. Needless to say I missed the bus again. It was cool, I talked to him until the next bus came, kissed him, and headed home.

Remember kids, everything happens for a reason.

* I think having to wake up before eight a.m. is evil, fajr is something different because you can sleep again afterwards, but being up and functioning before the sun is something I am adamently against. Sometimes rebels have to suck it up, put on suits, and give up revolution in return for a steady paycheck. I intend to inistigate anarchy from the inside. I'll let you know how it goes.

* I complained about my last position because it didn't have any windows and I felt like I was being entombed for eight hours a day.

I have decided that windows that open up to a narrowed view of the parking ramp next door really isn't any better. But at least I feel like I can breathe.

* I miss working with M, she'd be the cherry on top of this sundae. That and cheaper bus fare. (sorry about your test honey, but good luck on thursday!)

* You need to go to this website and keep this family in your prayers. I am friends with the wife, who is an AMAZING woman with an absolutely golden heart. She's one of the few Egyptian women in the masjid who actually make me feel welcome and kind of treat me like I belong. They don't deserve this, please pray for them to win their hearing. I've never met her husband, but I believe he is the one who does the translating of khutbahs and dars (halaqas) and the things I have heard about him are nothing but outstanding. Good people don't deserve bad things.

Unfortunately a part of growing up is realizing that the boogeyman is real (and much meaner than five year-olds could ever imagine) and that fairytales don't exist. No one ever lives happily ever after and no fairytale shows Mr and Mrs Cinderella during tax time.

* I also have not done my taxes yet.

Now, remember guys, another thing about random Wednesdays is sounding off on your own random thoughts in my comments section.

You know you've got annoying thoughts that don't really matter or apply to anything always buzzing around in your head. Let them free.

Dooooooooooooooowntown

2008-04-01T08:34:00.004-05:00

You can always get it dooooooooowntown.

I started my new job yesterday (btw people I'm not that flaky on jobs I'm just a temp worker) and it is immensely better than my last position. And even cooler I'm working DOWNTOWN Minneapolis which is a pain to get to in the morning, but oh so worth it. My last position was also in Minneapolis, but in the ghetto and not near anything cool. Here I'm in the thick of things, surrounded by cool bistros and sky scrapers with endless possibility of fun times. If only my husband were here and working in the same area, so many places for us to explore. I even have a Starbucks on my walk from the bus stop to my work, which is a blessing and a curse all at the same time.

But really, really? I went last night to buy a bus pass thinking its gotta be cheaper than paying cash each time I got on, only to drop $76 for a 31-day pass. Sweet mother of Daisy! I sucked it up and figured it was cheaper than driving (definately cheaper than parking downtown) and good for the earth. Whats $76 when you're cutting your carbon emissions?

Only to get on the bus this morning and be told I need to pay 75 cents extra because its an EXPRESS bus.

....

I was pissed. Luckily I walk right past a transit office on my way to work as well so I slipped in there only to find that if I wanted to by a 31-day for the express bus I needed to cough up $104 not $76.

I might have turned purple at this point. I'm not sure.

$104 for 30 days. Are you serious? That comes to about $4.52 each day (weekdays yo, I ain't about to come down here on the weekends on the bus) which ok, so thats an average of $1 less a day. Still.

My pocketbook hurts.

And, just to add some insult to this injury, prior to this job starting I was thinking that if I was going to ride the bus at least this position would be spring and summer so I'd have some beautiful weather to be tromping around the bus stops in.

Yea. Yesterday we had a freak snowstorm that dumped six inches of snow on us. Snow (mixed with sleet as the temp hovered at 32/0C all day) and slush I had to slosh through- in my inadequate mary janes- to get to the bus yesterday evening and dig my car out of.

Not cool. But, the upside was that I was not the one driving through the slush and traffic to get home. Nope, I had an insane bus driver to do that. And now, I know that buses are (almost) the biggest thing on the road, but the way the driver drove made me think he considered himself the godzilla of 35W. He was driving one of those accordian buses and as he flew past a tiny two-door car (who was driving quite sanely for the condition- blinding sleet/blizzard) he cut over in front of them so close that I could almost imagine the tail end flinging that little car off the road behind him. Around about the time he played chicken with a semi and dropped one side of the bus off the road I just closed my eyes, turned up my ipod, and imagined I was someplace else.

It was an adventure.

If only I could figure out a way to drop down the price of riding the bus.

And hey, I just want to put a proposition out there for the powers that be:

If you're gonna raise gas prices and thereby raise the price of EVERY OTHER THING ON EARTH, do us a favor and raise our salaries as well.

kthanxbye.

@*#&!

2008-03-30T17:34:00.002-05:00

I know you can make password protected posts darnit, but how the heck do I do it????

Grrrrrr.

Help?

OMG! Its Wednesday!

2008-03-26T19:46:00.003-05:00

I totally forgot. Random Wednesday guys!

* About four years ago I used to always shop for organic, especially when I was eating mainly raw fruits and veggies and lost around 70 lbs. Maybe because back then I was a carefree college student with expendable cash and few bills that I never really realized how $&@ing expensive organic produce is. Or maybe four years ago organic was not the trend that it appears to be now so then they were thankful for shoppers and now they're just bleeding us for all we're worth.

Fact of the matter is I don't get paid enough to buy organic.

Which really sucks because non-organic produce tastes like plastic and deeply diminishes my enjoyment in eating it. This is up there on my top ten list of things that suck.

* Today I had to go get a ~~mug~~headshot to attach to my resume. I'm planning on applying for some positions in Egypt, inshAllah, and apparently you must have a picture of yourself on your CV. Imagine if you had to do that here:

"Wowza is that guy FUGLY! He's definately not getting the job."

Really though, why? How based on looks can a country be? And as ethnocentric as this is going to sound: I'm thanking my lucky stars that I'm light-skinned, blue-eyed, and American because it will help me get a job.

I feel like I'm moving to live in the US pre-civil rights.

PS is anyone here good with photoshop? One of my eyes came out all squinty in the picture and the ghetto place I went to take it didn't even have a digital camera. Even in EGYPT they could show me what it looked like before they printed it out, but not this place. Oy.

* I love going to Barnes and Noble and curling up on the comfy chairs and reading. Its in my top five list of favorite things to do, especially when it involves drinking a latte at the same time. I went to a local B&N and got a Starbuck's, but at this location they had actually had the baristas invent their own latte flavors and name them. In honor of one of my favorite movies "Robin Hood Men in Tights" I ordered it's namesake, which also happened to have my fave flavor of hazlenut. It was a good time had. And considering it was just a bit after I signed up for the gym it was my last sin before sainthood. I'll probably go tomorrow and read some more since this is my week off.

* I'm going to have to start taking the bus to this new position next week because parking in downtown Minneapolis can cost as much as a one room apartment. I'm not really looking forward to it, but there's a park and ride from the mall next to my gym. There's a reason for every rhyme. Oh and I long ago decided rush hour traffic is bad for my health and that I really don't share well with others. Its my road people, so get out of my way.

Its better for everyone if I take the bus.

* When I was in Mexico all the venders kept giving me super good deals on stuff because I spoke Spanish. You know, the raza discount. If only I could speak Arabic and get the same thing in Egypt. *sigh*

* I actually can't think of that many random things today on such short notice. I know I have more. They maybe possibly be added on Thursday.

I'm sleepy right now.

After eating my entire Easter basket in 2.3 days...

2008-03-26T11:44:00.004-05:00

I decided enough was enough and I joined the gym. My back was aching, I was feeling completely rundown, and I was depressed at the vaguely blob-like shape I was taking on. I'm a woman not an amoeba, thanks.

Oh and the "you having baby?" question I got while in Mexico last week really lit a fire under my rotund tuckus.

I went yesterday and checked out the women only Lifetime in Rosedale, expecting the price to be somewhere near atrocious but in fact found that it is only around $50 a month. Considering cholesterol and blood pressure meds would cost me a lot more than that in the future I decided it was a good investment. Plus I just really like working out, despite what my weight is trying to tell you.

I also love Lifetime Fitness, I blogged about my love of their cleanliness but I just cannot explain how much better it is for my psyche to workout with them. I've gone to Bally's, I've gone to 24hr Fitness, and I've checked out Gold's gym, but the energy, lighting, and disgusting locker-rooms always chased me away. But Lifetime, oh Lifetime, not only do they supply you with towels (which all the other places do not and please I don't want to schlep my towel around with me) but their locker-rooms are huge, cozy, and stocked with little things like lotion, soap (sage rosemary thankyouverymuch), and hairspray. The showers are such a luxury that I remember going to workout at the Lifetime before just because their showers were so much nicer than my one at home. I'm not even kidding.

And before I get too loquacious on their ammenities (awesome machines people) the best part of it was how many MUSLIMAHS I saw there. I mean, sure its a matter of logic- this is probably the only women only gym here in the TC not counting Curves- but I was SO excited to see them. When I went in the afternoon to check it out I counted a least four muslimahs working out. These chicks were hardcore working out in a woman's gym IN HIJAB (wha?) which I deem unnecessary, but hey, to each her own. And then when I went back in the evening I saw five MORE. These girls did like me and removed the headgear in the locker room, but I was so excited. I chatted a bit with a Palestinian girl who came in about the same time as me while we were working out. She had a bit of a chuckle while I had a heart attack on the elipses machine (why is that thing so thorough?) and it felt so good to have the camraderie. When I went before I was on my own, did my thing, and went home without talking to anyone. And yeah, I don't really plan on having any heart to hearts while walking the treadmill (besides the fact that I have a hard time talking between huffs and puffs) but its nice to smile at someone and have them smile back.

It was awesome. Alhumdulillah.

And sure, I feel like a walking muscle cramp today, but I feel SO GOOD. I'm so happy to be excersizing again.

Oh, and girls. I'm not tracking my weightloss in actual pounds. Before I went last night I had my mom measure my "womanly curves" and I will go by inches lost. Because really I don't care if I'm 250 lbs if I can fit into a size 6. Know what I mean?

I'm looking forward to feeling healthy again, inshAllah.

Now I'm off to the co-op. Healthy eating here I come.

Oh! They gave me an AWESOME Lifetime fitness water bottle too, for free. Its way cool. What, me? A sucker for free stuff? Nawww...

Bunny who?

2008-03-23T18:00:00.004-05:00

Well its time again for an awkward holiday dinner with my Christian family. Today is Easter and is, for me, one of my least favorite holidays. Even when I was still Christian I disliked Easter and I don't know why. While I feel fine sharing a big family dinner on holidays like Thanksgiving, which is a completely secular holiday, and Christmas, which is a slightly less secular holiday, when it comes to Easter I have very little desire to even attend a family ~~showdown~~ chowdown.

But I did because I love my family and love spending time with them.

This morning my mom, who loves making Easter baskets and laments my Islam most on the loss of making them for her future grandchildren, had one waiting for me. Oh well, chocolate is chocolate, especially when it is Lindt chocolate, so I quickly got over it and we headed over to my grandparent's house. My mom insisted on listening to her Christian muzak station on the way over "since it is Easter Sunday" so I popped in my earphones and rocked some vintage Sherine on my ipod to drown out the inanity.

One thing that saves my sanity, and that of everyone else in the family, is that I can take off my hijab once I get inside the house. So we arrived and I shucked it off quickly and had a fairly good time and lots of good food until my aunt had those last ten glasses of wine that put her over.

I love my family, I love my aunt- who incidentally is the one who refuses to be seen with me in public with my hijab- but she drinks... a lot. Her and my uncle both will routinely kill 5 or 6 or maybe 10 full bottles of wine between the two of them at family dinners. And I know at home most evenings my aunt will finish at least one bottle herself or two if it was a bad day. Usually she's a friendly drunk who tells everyone she loves them. The first time she saw me in hijab was at a wedding she got soased at and told me that she'd love me anyways no matter what. Sober, her tune changed quickly.

But I digress. Today once she crossed her limit she began to needle me in the socially inept way drunks have. She completely missed the dirty looks all the clear-thinking people in my family shot her, or the awkward silences that descended when she said something particularly insensitive. She decided it was really humorous to tell me that when my marriage dissolved there would be plenty of good Catholic boys waiting for me.

Rip on my Islam if you want, but don't ever talk smack about my marriage.

I ignored her as much as I could, but her volume control mechanism had disappeared five glasses of wine ago and when I ignored her she just talked louder. She had dropped that oh so funny "find yourself a good Catholic" line three or four times when everyone else was teasing my mom about having a date tonight, but I ignored or parried each one of them until she finally cornered me and I glibly replied that I was already happily married (alhumdulillah.) To which she then baldly ~~said~~ yelled, "Well when that one ends like I know it will, there will still be some good Catholic boys waiting for you, or even some Lutheran; I could deal with a Lutheran. But not a Baptist, it would take me awhile to be ok with a Baptist."

Awkward family silence.

Drunken giggle from my aunt.

And then my grandmother turned the conversation to politics, which we all know is such a safer topic of discussion.

It was time to leave so my mom could make it on time for her date (tee hee) and I put my hijab back on and edged towards the doorway hoping to escape a confrontation with my already belligerant auntie. No luck. She caught sight of me and bellowed, "Oh my Gawd Molly, will you please just get over it already?!?"

When I walked over to give my grandmother a kiss she smiled at me and said, "you do look cute in it."

And then they both ~~stalked~~walked me over to the door talking about my (inshAllah) upcoming move to Egypt. Both my grandma and aunt are convinced I will lose all human rights in an Arab country and will become a slave chained to the oven and popping out Arab babies. My aunt defends her position, "I've read those Khalali books!" And by Khalali she means Khaled Husseini which must mean she knows everything about Islam, Muslims, and Arabs.... right? Besides being just one more example of Islam-as-culture not Islam-as-religion, both books take place in Afghanistan not Egypt.

sigh

It was a tough day.

But I have a bunny-shaped chocolate to comfort me.

Oh and just to get completely off-subject for a second: how disturbing is it to eat cross-shaped chocolates? Seriously? Eat them?

I just couldn't see any Muslims chowing down on a gourmet Quran-shaped chocolate bar.

But thats just me.

I hate Easter.

Ya'ani?

2008-03-14T19:51:00.003-05:00

From Al-Abasseya Weekly:

Wife Murders Husband for Injudicious Use of “Ya’ani Eh?”

Late Tuesday night Umm Tamer had finally had enough and during the a’asha meal hit Abu Tamer on the head with a pot containing macaroni we beshamel, the heaviest casserole known to man. Witnesses (Tamer) say that while dishing out the entree Umm Tamer had been complaining that Abu Tamer was spending too much time in the streets with his friends and not bringing enough of his salary home. When Abu Tamer replied, “ya’ani eh?” Umm Tamer lost control and hit him with the hotdish. During the grand jury inquisition the judge was swayed by her testimony that Abu Tamer always asked “ya’ani eh” whenever he wanted to dodge the issue in their arguments and she was unable to stand it any longer. She was cleared of all charges on the ruling that injudicious use of “ya’ani eh” contributed to a momentary psychotic break and as such Umm Tamer could not be held responsible for her actions. In the press conference when Umm Tamer was asked if she felt any remorse over the death of Abu Tamer she replied, “Ya’ani eh..?”

*"ya'ani" means something along the lines of "what" or "I mean"- "ya'ani eh?" can be translated as "what do you mean?"

**I wrote this, as far as I know it never really happened.

Ya no...

2008-03-14T12:27:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I find myself filled with an unerring sense of ennui and trepidation, a depression that has no face nor source nor logic to it and is, as such, a more fearful enemy. When I probe these feelings for the center I find nothing but fear, and maybe it is this fear that gives birth to my unease and my unease that in turn gives birth to my depression. It is fleeting and yet devastating. Momentary as the cloud of locusts that descends and departs again within a day but leaves the earth behind it scarred and barren, it comes and goes within hours or at most days. In the more recent months I find that these episodes come on the heels of problems of money. Is it money then that is the root of my unhappiness?

This one is born of anger as well, and a sense of hopelessness. Those “friends” or “family” I would have counted on in years gone by abandoned me in the days of their ease and now, when confronted with the face of poverty, return to me with hands out and fake smiles.

“Why haven’t you called us all this time? You forgot us. Nos has olvidado, no nos quieres ya.”

When it is them instead who forgot me, left me behind, and deleted my calls.

Sí, los he olvidado, y con razón. Yes, I have forgotten you, and when I send you this check I will forget you again. When you didn’t need me you never called, and now that you do I find your number three or four or five times in my phone per day; do not placate me with words of tenderness. Hijada querida, nuestra adoptive, la tremenda Molly… ya no soy.

I peel off bits of my skin, shedding like a snake, becoming someone else, someone whole and yet broken, someone different in spite of the memories that surround me like mosquitoes on a summer’s eve. I am not you any longer, I am not me, or her, or them. I speak many languages and find no home for any of them.

I speak English but I am not American. I wear hijab and pray towards Mecca but I am not Egyptian like my husband nor do I speak Arabic. I speak Spanish but carry no blood or reason or remnant in my life that explains why.

My identity shifts like an ocean’s tide.

But beneath I am me despite having no mould within which to fit myself in comfort. Instead I forge my way through this world with nothing but my heart and my God Who knows who I am and what I am and from where I come and to where I will return.

I have no frame of reference but my own.

I fit myself to no one but who I choose to be.

Ya no soy su hijada.

Hoy no soy quien fui ayer ni quien seré mañana.

Ayer, ahora, mañana y siempre, me nazco cada día en forma nueva.

I am who I am, I will be who I will be, and I will walk the paths that God places before me. But today I find myself empty but for what others wish for me to be.

And tomorrow I will have forgotten this fleeting moment of unsettled ennui.

But today, I am not what you would want me to be.

Riding ze microbusses

2008-03-13T14:56:00.003-05:00

Amnesiac just posted a blog in which she described a ride in a microbus.

As well as being an absolutely hilarious read it is the closest example I have found written down of what it is like to ride in one:

. . .we rejoined a motorway which cuts its way through the moon-like topography of the Beni Suef desert and raced along to a stirring soundtrack of Sha3by and chillout music recorded off Nogoum FM. The driver was as usual a 22 year-old who looked like he had just imbibed Colombia’s entire annual Cocaine production and who drove accordingly. We came so close to the bumper of vehicles that I could probably have counted the driver’s nasal hair in his rear view mirror if it wasn’t for the sudden velocity with which our microbus driver veered out from behind the car in front and overtook it.

I am not of a nervous disposition when it comes to driving at breakneck speed with boy racers but did experience a slight heart flutter when the microbus threatened to veer off the road at 100 km an hour when the driver fumbled with the cassette player, or when he spurned the steering wheel and expressed his disgust at something by clapping his hands together for what seemed like 89 hours.

Check out her blog, she works as a journalist in Cairo and talks about some of the more serious political rumblings of today's Egypt.

Los Ocampo!

2008-03-13T13:01:00.002-05:00

Los Ocampo has pozole de pollo!!!!

SCORE!!!

Its my new favorite place.

Also my bosses suck, so I can't be typing away as much as before. I'll catch up with comments tonight.

I hate this job, thank God tomorrow is my last day!

I think we should do Random Wednesdays

2008-03-12T08:37:00.002-05:00

I am thinking that every wednesday should be random Wednesday. You know its the worst day of the week, so why not ramble about completely inane and useless things?

It sounds good to me.

* I was reading the bbc this morning and ran across this "Newsworthy story". Big American newstories involve polititians and prostitutes but apparently in Briton talking on your mobile phone while driving is worthy enough for some front page action.

I'm not saying we should downplay the small things, but really? Talking on your mobile phone? And what really had me was the fact that someone got worked up enough over it to whip out their mobile phone to take a picture.

..and then send it into the police.

..and then it gets put on the front page of bbc international.

Personally, I just don't get it- I stick my phone into my hijab and keep going. Instant handsfree.

(pic to be inserted here)

* One day, after a particularly hilarious but odd conversation with my husband, I realized that we're a lot like 'I Love Lucy'.

Except the part of Ricky is played by a handsome Egyptian. Otherwise all else is the same: I'm nutty and annoying and red-headed.

* Speaking of nutty: I don't know if its just me but 99% of the converted muslimahs I've met have been a bit on the quirky side. Like myself. And when I say quirky I mean really cool laid back chicks with great senses of humor and an understanding and appreciation of the odder parts of society.

I mean, I've met stick in the mud muslimahs who act holier than thou and 'haraam' the most harmless things. (I don't like them very much.)

But most of us are a little bit off, in a good way.

* I got asked if it was a 'chador' that I was wearing by a patient this morning. And then I spent a good five engrossed minutes in explaining the intricacies of muslimah outerwear. I told the patient to come by after his appointment and I'd quiz him on vocabulary.

* Organic Muslimah had a post about whether to support a Muslim business that allows their patrons to bring their own alcoholic beverages but does not actually serve/sell it.

Just to one-up that I guess, I walked into the Muslim-owned corner store by my house and was confronted by a glass case filled with one-hitters and bongs.

At the look I gave the brother working behind the counter he burst into laughter and said, "I know sister, I know, I had a deep discussion with the owners about it and once these are gone, khalas no more."

One down, alcohol and pork still to go.

But it sure is nice to be greeted with a Salaam everytime I go in to buy milk.

* I'm planning on moving to Egypt for a little while inshAllah this summer, however the situation with food prices is making both my husband and I sweat. InshAllah everything will work out, but why do economics have to suck worldwide? I mean, not that we're dealing with anything too detrimental to daily life right now in the US, but it seems like everywhere is feeling a crunch.

* Sometimes the cutest old people come into the clinic and they are just joys to chat with. I had one adorable woman from Austria tell me that I reminded her of her sister who was a nun back home in the Old Country (comparison to a nun number 1,243). She went on to say, "The mother superior asked me to join them as well, but you know, I just couldn't handle that headscarf business."

The celebacy would have done it in for me.

* And last but not least I recommend that everyone should check out Artemesia Rants' blog. Her writing style is amazing and her topics are hard-hitting and thought provoking. Check her out, she's a must-read.

Alright, now I want to call on any readers who have random tidbits they'd like to sound off on. Use my comments and make my day!

And let me know what you think about Random Wednesdays.

Seeking Ibrahim's (pbuh) Father

2008-03-10T09:00:00.013-05:00

I met my dad this weekend. He's alive alhumdulillah and apparently in good health and still working. Last week after work I went to his apartment with Mariah, who kept me company, and managed to slip in through the locked door by ambushing someone who lived there. Thankfully Minnesota is still a friendly place where neighbors let strangers into locked buildings.

Err... good or not I'll let you be the judge, but it got me in.

I went down to his apartment and knocked on the door for a good five minutes but got no answer. The last I had heard was that he was working the early morning shift and would have been home by that time so I freaked out just a little.

In desperation I slid a note under the door asking him to call me and hoped like heck he'd notice it. He did and he called me the next day from work.

He has no phone because he's broke. Why he's broke while still working and not paying bills I have no idea. If he's using, I have no idea.

But we made a date to have lunch on Saturday and then he said he would come with me to a cookware demonstration so I could win the "free" vacation they promised me if I showed up with a guest. They were some nice pots, but I was there for the "free" vacation.

We went to Quang's Deli on Eat Street in Minneapolis and partook of their wonderful pho tai. (Make it a point to stop there if you're ever in the Twin Cities.) And then on to the cooking/trying to sell us stuff we don't need demonstration and then I dropped him off home again.

And, like a dad should, he also put oil in my car and fixed my burned out tail light.

It was about as normal of an afternoon as anyone could get with their parent. He talked about work, the guy at work who annoys him to no end, and his female co-worker whom he's madly in love with (for the past two years every single time I've seen him he's talked about her.) I told him about my plans and talked about my husband, and also got in some of my own work frustrations. It was a good afternoon and I'm glad he's alright, but there's this wall in my mind between him and I. I want to reach out more, but I've forgotten how.

Why do I still try? What is it that keeps me thinking about my father? Why don't I- can't I- just let it go?

Its because everytime I think of giving up I remember that he is my father. And I remember that for the sake of Allah we must respect and care for our parents (they are on our head as my husband so arably puts it.) And then I remember the prophet Abraham (Ibrahim), peace and blessing upon him, and his father and the trials he went through in his relationship with him.

Taken from Forever Muslim:

Narrated Abu Harairah: The prophet Mohammed Swas said, “On the day of Resurrection prophet Ibrahim Sw will meet his father Azar, (the idol worshipper). Azar’s face will be dark and covered with dust. The prophet Ibrahim Sw will ask him: “Didn’t I tell you not to disobey me?" His father will reply: "Today I will not disobey you." Prophet Ibrahim Sw will say to Allah swt: "O Lord! You promised me not to disgrace me on the Day of Resurrection; and what will be more disgraceful to me than cursing and dishonouring my father?"

Those of you who know this hadeeth know that I have cut half of it off, be sure that I am not forgetting it but I will finish it after I make my point. Abraham loved his father, an idolator and sculptor of idols, enough to stand before Allah (swt) and plead on his behalf despite all the things his father had done and said to him.

The history:

Taken from here.

All was finished between Abraham and his people [after he tried to tell them about Allah] and the struggle began; the most amazed and furious was his father (or his uncle who had raised him), for as it is well known he not only worshipped idols but sculpted and sold them as well. Abraham felt that it was his duty as a good son to advise his father against this evil so that he could be saved from Allah's punishment.

From the Quran:

He (the father) said: "Do you reject my gods, O Abraham? If you stop not this, I will indeed stone you. So get away from me safely before I punish you." Abraham said: "Peace be on you! I will ask Forgiveness of my Lord for you. Verily! He is unto me, Ever Most Gracious. And I shall turn away from you and from those whom you invoke besides Allah." (Ch 19:43-48)

When Abraham (pbuh) brought the Truth of Allah to his father Azar (or uncle- the man who raised him) he instead threatened to stone and kill Abraham for his belief and for rejecting what he had taught him.

The parallels in this story to mine and many other converts' stories are astounding. Consider that Azar was a sculptor of idols as well as idolator, should he have begun to follow the Word of Allah he would have lost his very livelihood as well as rejected the beliefs of his fathers.

How many still continue to follow Christianity or Judaism or any other religions only because that is what their parents taught them? How many Muslims follow bid'ah because that is what their parents taught them? And how many have heard people say, "Sure Islam makes sense, but I can't work in banking/liquor stores/tobacco/etc if I convert"?

But I digress from how this applies to me. Abraham (pbuh) risked physical violence because he felt it was his duty as a son to save his father from the hellfires, and even in the final days he will stand before Allah and plead for his soul. Threats of murder will not have deterred him from his duties as a son.

And while Abraham's (pbuh) intercession will not save his father, who stayed an idolator until his death, he will still try.

So what can I truly say deterred me from caring for my father? When I stand before Allah and am accounted for how I treated my parents, can I make the excuse that he's hurt me in the past? That he let me down? That he robbed me of my childhood?

Who am I? I am no one. And my parents are on my head from now and for the future if not to lead them to Islam, then at least to care for them in their old age.

And there is a wall in my heart I'm not sure how to take down, but brick by brick I need to make my way through it.

InshAllah.

I just don't know how.

A poem is never finished, only abandoned. ~Paul Valéry

2008-03-09T15:47:00.003-05:00

I am never satisfied with my writings, I go over them a million times and revise them a million and one only to end dissatisfied and hopeless.

And then I abandon them to whatever criticism I may receive, throwing them into the trash in my mind with helplessness.

Why am I never satisified?

I guess I'll just stop eating.

2008-03-07T09:51:00.005-06:00

So I've mentioned before that eating seems to be getting in the way of my weight loss.

My cousin, and lifelong best friend, is getting married this summer. Actually both my cousins, sisters, are having a double wedding together on their parents' wedding anniversary which also happens to be their grandparents' wedding anniversary as well. If their kids get married on the same day in the future it will be four generations with the same anniversary. A pretty cool tradition, I say.

Anyways, last night the brides, bridesmaids, and the mother of the brides got together to look for dresses at David's Bridal.

It was painful. I mean, I love getting new clothes, especially pretty dresses, but trying stuff on is demoralizing.

And I realize, now, that a true diet is in order. I had been eating more sensibly, trying to stay away from fast food- which really isn't my favorite anyways- and half-heartedly counting calories. But, well, yeah.

There seems to be an issue with eating food, it gets in the way of losing weight. I also want to go to the gym, however doing that is tricky with hijab. I don't want to work out with it on, but my only choice would be Curves. Which its not a bad gym I guess, I just would like all the bells and whistles too you know: a sauna and hot tub, a pool to swim laps in, and I'd rather not work out in a cramped closet.

I used to work out at Lifetime, before I was Muslim, and I loved it. I loved working out and I enjoyed the time I spent there. The lockers were well-lit, clean, and big, all of the machines were new and shiny and worked well, and the entire place didn't reek of BO because they have a good air exchange system.

Is that too much to ask of a gym?

Maybe I should work out in hijab just for the luxury of having those things.

I don't know.

But I want to work out, I want to lose weight, I want to feel better about myself and how I look in absolutely God-awful fru-fru dresses.

But first, I need to learn how to survive by not eating. Because apparently thinking about food causes me to gain weight.

*sigh*

I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' no babies

2008-03-05T13:03:00.004-06:00

Everyone around me is pregnant or with newborns.

I'm not even exaggerating.

I'm going AZ (inshallah) in two weeks and three of the five of us are pregnant.

I am not one of the three, by the way. In case you were wondering.

I just found out yesterday that my friend had her baby on leap day. MashAllah. I know five more muslimahs from my masjid who are in the family way and going to pop pretty soon inshAllah.

My bestest friend Muslimah Lotus has a bun in her oven too, mashAllah.

Shushu who got married a month after me is also awaiting the stork.

As well as about 5 women who work here in the clinic, and one doctor who is out today giving birth.

I'm not sure, but whatever water they drank from did not fill my cup. (Mariah: high five- no babies!!)

During lunch the topic of the day in the break room was labor and epidurals. Old moms were telling new moms what to expect and exchanging ~~horror~~ labor stories.

And me, well, I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' no babies.

Is it just me or is EVERYONE pregnant?

My husband as a baby, mashAllah, as I ~~threatened him~~ promised.

Necessary Beat Downs

2008-03-03T15:28:00.005-06:00

If this is how life is in Egypt, I'm going to lose my mind.

I am trying to somehow give my FIL the power of attorney for me in Egypt to set things up legally before I get there. My husband tells me I need to go to the Egyptian Embassy to get it done.

Hm, closest Embassy is in Chicago... right around the corner right? I've never been to Chicago in my life, let alone to drop everything for a "day trip". Its like 400 miles away. Not close at all.

So he tells me to call the embassy to see if there's something I could do from where I am.

Alright. I look up the number and on my break go out and try to call. Except here's the thing: the number listed for Chicago goes unanswered and has NO VOICEMAIL OR ANSWERING SERVICE. There's nothing on the line to even let you know the number is for the Chicago Egyptian Embassy.

Those of you who are from Egypt or have spent a significant amount of time in Egypt are nodding your heads at this point. Typical for anything vaguely Egyptian.

So I get the numbers for the big head honcho Embassy in Washington DC figuring that it has to be impossible to not reach someone in the MAIN headquarters.

And I do. The receptionist (of the year I'm sure) parrots me the same number that went unanswered.

No, theres no one answering. And no voicemail (seriously what kind of !&*%ing embassy doesn't have a voicemail?). No, really, I'm certain no one is answering.

She transfers me to the "commercial consulate" and I get a voicemail (!!) but I call her back because I want a real live person to talk to.

Oh the injustice of my request.

When I called the direct line she reluctantly gave me I actually get a real person (finally) who answers with an oh-so-professional "alloo?"

Uh, I'm sorry, is this an Embassy?

Yes.

Oh, ok here's what I need...

Well, did you call the Chicago Embassy?

..... Yes. No one answered.

(Really, I promise no one answered.)

I explain to her what I need.

She tells me that I need to call the Chicago Embassy.

..... Seriously. No one answered.

She huffs and puffs and then finally consents and lists all the things I need to do to give my FIL the power of attorney for me. Apparently I need to jump through fifteen fire-rimmed hoops, on one foot or it doesn't count, on the first day of the new moon, spin around and touch my nose, and then send "them" (actual word she said) a $25 money order.

I'm sorry, I need to send them a $25 money order? And secondly who is "them"?

I am informed curtly that: Yes I did need to send "them" a $25 money order, and I need to call the Chicago Embassy. Click.

She hung up on me.

...hung up.

I will beat you down nasty Egyptian Embassy lady, and then I will mess you up again.

And when I got back to the desk, ruffled feathers and all, M looked on the website and tells me that the Chicago Embassy is only open Mon-Fri 9am to 1pm.

WTF!?! How on earth do they manage to work Egyptian hours in America?!?!

..... I'm done.

If this is how life is in Egypt, I'm letting my husband do EVERYTHING.

But I will beat that embassy lady down myself.

The art of women...

2008-03-02T22:03:00.002-06:00

I watched The Other Boleyn Girl with my mom tonight and in one scene the mother of Anne says to her "you must learn how to control men by letting them think that they are the ones in control, that is the art of women."

I leaned to my mom and said, "Thats how the Arab women do it."

Among the couple in front of us, the woman turns to look at the man who bursts into laughter, nodding a bit sheepishly.

And a woman behind us comments rather loudly, "Well things don't change much, do they?"

No, things don't change much at all.

I do want to make one comment about the injustices of life: the king sleeps with whatever woman he fancies and no one says anything; the queen is accused of sleeping with another man and she's executed.

Just saying...

At least in Islam they both get stoned.

Disconnected.

2008-03-02T10:42:00.002-06:00

I called my father's cell phone and its "temporarily out of service."

Take of that what you will, I suppose.

...and the guilt sets in.

Why I Hated Greece

2008-02-29T09:49:00.012-06:00

I'm bored at work so I'm going to blather about my trip last summer to Greece prior to going to Egypt. I also spent a couple of days in Turkey so I might tag on some stuff about turkeys.

Why Greece? Why now? Probably because I promised all my myspace friends a detailed account of my trip and never produced it. I've now pretty much all but abandoned myspace for blogger, basically because myspace is blocked by my employer and blogger is not. And also because myspace is a bunch of bells and whistles and I can just ramble in blogger. Much like I am doing now.

Back to Greece. I have hated few places in my life, Kaukauna being one of them and most of the places in Greece being the rest of them. Sure, the views were maginificent, the villages quaint and picturesque, the beaches more fabulous than any I had hitherto seen before, and the wild interiors of the islands being small pieces of quiet solitude. If it weren't for the Greek I would have loved Greece.

The fact is that as a group of people the Greek are loud, rude, and arrogant. They think their men are the most handsome, a fact I vigorously deny and in fact saw very few good-looking men in Greece; and their women the most beautiful, if one goes for wrinkly old women with bottle-blonde hair of shades I never imagined could exist, and in such foofed-out quantity, wearing clothing tighter than bathing suits (which would have left more to the imagination) and more make-up than a Revlon counter.

In fact most of their women looked like the cuchi-cuchi girl (with more wrinkles and less plastic surgery):

So besides the eyesores of brightly-colored spandex mini-dresses the women ages 40 and up wore, and the rude men, and the quadruply rude taxi drivers, I had never seen so much public sex in my life. My mom and I, innocently walking down a side street to go to Kerameikos one of the oldest cemetaries in Athens (WAY cool and a definite must-see in Athens, even better than the Parthenon and with way less tourists) we were greeted by a couple making whoopy against a marble wall. They hadn't even tried to hide themselves behind a tree, they chose the most out in the open place to do it.

Then there's the abuse my mom and I both endured, because despite Greece living on tourism they are remarkably rude (can I use this word more to describe Greek people?) and ill-mannered to tourists. As well as practically pillaging their pocketbooks. And they apprently hate Muslims, to combat the abuse I had to remove my hijab for my own safety.

Again I would have loved Greece if the Greek people didn't get in the way. I loved driving their winding, cliff-clinging roads in the tiny but surprisingly maneuverable peugots we rented. If I had had a dime, and the space to attempt it, I probably could have turned those cars on one. I loved crawling along the side of an incredibly picturesque cliff to burst out overlooking a hidden cove beach with a tiny village attached to it.

I also saw my lifetime fill of pasty white, topless and wrinkly, Swedish/German/British women on those beaches. Evidently Greece is to Europe what Cozumel/Acapulco is to the U.S. A cheap place to lay on the beach and tan your private bits.

And probably my most ardent hatred involving Greece and Greek people was the astounding amount of times I was fed pork without realizing it. At least until I had put some in my mouth, to which I immediately detected the essence of pig and spit it out. It ruined my appetite for days at a time. However, often not being able to speak enough English with the waiters or cooks, and not reading Greek, I had to take my chances. By the end of the cruise I was mainly vegetarian.

The cruise my mom and I were on started in Istanbul, which was a massively huge city filled with beautiful buildings, but which, despite having some 11 million people, had only two (count 'em TWO) mosques for women to pray in. The Blue Mosque and the Eyup Sultan Mosque were the only international mosques in the city and therefore the only mosques with areas for women to pray. Clearly "Turkish" mosques are no-woman's land and I would have been struck dead by God, or more accurately beaten down by the men I would have disturbed by my offending presence, if I entered. The look on the taxi driver's face when I told him I wanted to go to this AWESOME and ANCIENT looking mosque on the top of the hill by where my ship was anchored was priceless. I don't think he had ever heard of or considered a woman praying in a mosque like that. What a turkey.

He then expounded on the virtue of a hijabless Turkey where women had the choice to wear it or not. I then asked if his wife worked outside the home, to which he gave me a "what are you effing crazy?" look and answered, "why should she?"

Oh, my, the delicious stupidity of gender inequality. She has the right to wear the hijab or not because "Turkey is a secular European country" but she had better not want to work outside of the home because thats just crazy-talk.

The atmosphere I mainly felt during my two days there was one of utter confusion. Muslim? Secular? European? Asian? I couldn't quite figure it out. It was Turkey. And now that I have been there, I can't say I will ever want to return.

Then the cruise hopped a few of the Greek Islands, which again were WONDERFUL except for those pesky Greek people. My favorite was Mykonos. Go there if you can. Its gorgeous.

Then we crossed the big blue Mediterraneanand landed in Alexandria and spent two days there. Once I had been in Egypt, in the bosom of my then husband-to-be and my best friends there, I was miserable in Greece wanting to be back in Egypt.

I definately recommend seeing Greece but only if the country is devoid of actual Greek people. Because its a beautiful country on its own.

And visit Egypt. Maybe Turkey if you really want to, but if you're a woman don't expect to be able to pray anywhere.

But everyone should visit Egypt. Everyone.

I promise to post pics when I get home.

These pics are all taken by me and my mom and are therefore our property so
if you take them and post them somewhere else give me credit!

The Blue Mosque, Istanbul. A little bit tilted...

Inside the Blue Mosque

The Haga Sofia

The quaint downtown on Mykonos,
the paths were as topsy turvy as Alice in Wonderland.

The interior of Mykonos, perfect peace and solitude

Mykonos again, it was my favorite island

Santorini is overrated, beautiful, but overrated.

Qaitbay Citadel in Alexandria Egypt

Qaitbay Citadel

ZOMG look! Its a pyramid!

Back in Greece (pics are in temporal order), the beaches are truly magnificent

Church next to the Kerameikos Cemetery

A 2,000 year old tombstone WITH THE NAMES STILL ON IT. Too bad I can't read ancient Greek, anyone know what it says?

Someone who died in the Peloponnesian wars.

The Parthenon from the Kerameikos Cemetery

Inty Aasel Part Two- cuz' there's two of them

2008-02-28T20:52:00.013-06:00

My neices Gameela and Nunu*

Gameela

Nunu

Just so you can see how irresistable they are, mashAllah.

*obviously not their names.

The Color of Our Souls

2008-02-28T09:18:00.008-06:00

"Do our souls have skin colors?" he asked folding her tiny five year-old hands within his large, age-marked, callous palms.

She looked at him perplexed, wrinkling her tiny forehead in concentration.

"Have you ever seen your own soul?" he prodded further, looking into her eyes as they watched him intently.

"No..." she ventured finally, uncertain whether or not she ever had and what a soul looked like.

He smiled at her benignly in his wonderful grandfatherly way and she smiled back, bubbly with happiness that she had figured out the right answer.

"Poppy," she climbed into his lap and rested her head against his wide chest listening to his heart beat. He smelled like cinnamon. "Have you seen your soul?"

"No sweetheart, I never saw m'soul. But I just wonder whether we should be judgin' people by the color of their skin, or the pureness of their souls instead."

Later she peered deeply into the hallway mirror at herself trying looking past her blue eyes and brown curly hair to see if she could see her soul. Wondering maybe if it had a skin color.

(c) Molly Ann Elian 2008

Disconnected Verses

2008-02-27T10:15:00.002-06:00

Used one of my pieces as a "visiting writer" post on their site.

Check out my work "The Opening" posted on Disconnected Verses.

I'm so excited, let me know what ya'll think of my creative writing skillz.

Inty Aasel

2008-02-26T15:45:00.005-06:00

For a brief second today I was strongly reminded of a moment with my 2 year old twin neices.

Mr MM had them on the webcam and was asking them:

"Meen dee?" (Who's that?)

And N said,

"Tante!" (Aunt)

To which G grabbed the mic and, practically swallowing it in her excitement, said,

"Inty aasel!" (You're honey!)

*sigh*

I miss Egypt just a little.

I Done Been Tagged

2008-02-26T13:03:00.002-06:00

Assignment: Write 6 things everyone should do before they turn 18. Oh that seems so long ago...

Da Rules: List 6 actions or achievements you think every person should accomplish before turning 18. I'm going to kind of adjust the age a bit, lets say to 20 years old cuz everyone knows you can't do much when you're underage. There are no conditions on what can be included on the list.At the end of your post, choose 6 people to get tagged and list their names.People who are tagged write their own blog entry with their 6 suggestions.Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged.

1.) You absolutely must speak a second language before you turn 18 because both your brain starts getting too old to be able to fluently speak it and because your aptitude for accepting opposing ideas becomes smaller. I think cultural/linguistic immersion should be mandatory in schools k-12.

2.) I also think you should travel to a foreign country at least once. I barely made the cut off myself traveling to Spain and France during my eighteenth year. Canada doesn't count, Mexico does. The catch here is that it be culturally and linguistically different. Once you're over eighteen I think you should spend a period of at least 2 months living in said foreign country.

3.) Rebel. I don't mean do something dangerous, or illegal. I mean do something that challenges your assumptions and the assumptions you were spoon-fed growing up. Move outside your comfort zone and learn something. Join a hippie commune or backpack through a mountain range working odd jobs as you go. Work as sheepherds in New Zealand. Something.

4.) Join a cause. Have a REASON for living and something to fight for. Realize that the world is big and bad but not everyone within it needs to be. And be religious; understand God and God's place in your life and live righteously.

5.) Vote once you're eighteen. And vote intelligently. You're never too young to understand whats going on.

6.) Most importantly, make a list of 100 books you want/should read, and then read every single one of them. And then make a list of 100 more.

I'm not going to tag anyone because I honestly don't know of anyone left on my blogroll who hasn't done this tag. Feel free to gank and post it on yours gentle reader.

I Hate Hotmail

2008-02-26T11:57:00.003-06:00

So I'm packing up and moving my emails someplace else.

Like gmail.

Those of you who have my email, its the same but @gmail.com instead.

Those of you who want my email for nefarious or any other reasons, click contact on my profile page.

Up yours hotmail.

Gah..

2008-02-25T08:10:00.005-06:00

Today is going to suck at work. I had meant to post at some point during this afternoon but work is really going to suck instead.

And I forgot my lunch at home.

Sad, sad, sad.

*pout*

****** lets make this post more random

I walked into the bathroom after one of our doctors this morning and was almost knocked over by the pervasive stench of raw vodka.

Hm...... He LOOKED sober... maybe it was his aftershave...

******

Why is it so yummy when I dip my french fries into MCD's "ice cream"?

******

Despite laughing uproariously about it in Egypt, and teasing my husband everytime he said it, I have been infected by the dreaded "ya3nee" that peppers all Arabic-speakers' conversations and monologues.

Ya3nee, I just can't get rid of it.

******

I have a coworker who insists on calling me Molly-olly. I just might get physically violent if she does it again. I should probably warn her.

******

Someone mixed a large handful of small paperclips in with my large paperclips. This is cruel and unusual torture and therefore illegal by the Geneva Convention. Just saying... I could press charges.

******

I had a bunch of other random thoughts buzzing around in my head. When I think of them I'll add them on.

Too Many Phone Calls and a Lack Thereof

2008-02-21T13:24:00.007-06:00

I think its interesting that within a week of posting about my many father-figures I have had two very significant things occur.

The first was at a party for my two cousins (sisters) who are having a double-wedding this summer. I happen to be the MOH of one so I, of course, was there. As was my grandmother: the long-suffering parental unit of, and bail-source for, my father. She asked me if I have spoken lately with my old man and I admitted that I hadn't spoken to him in about a month, to which she stated that she wasn't going to call him again until he called and apologized.

err?

It appears my dad has stopped paying his bills and the creditors are hounding my poor defenseless, and decrepit, old grandparents as my father doesn't like to update his address and their's is his last-known residence.

This is generally a big fat signal that my dad is using again. Joy. Apparently when my grandmother called to scold him into paying his bills he hung up her.

I'm assuming that if I try to call his cell phone it will be turned off, and because I haven't spoken to him in so long I have no idea if he has lost his job.

I don't want to call him because I feel that if he needed to speak with me, or wanted to for that matter, he knows my number.

Then again if he sold his phone for crack money, he wouldn't have it written down.

And... I wouldn't be able to get a hold of him either.

My only anxiety out of this situation is the possibility that he has overdosed, or been evicted, or committed suicide. Being mildly reclusive means that not many people would knock on his door to see if he's ok, and if his dealer looked for him and found him dead there's a slim chance that it would be reported to the police.

These are the things that float around in my mind, occasionally bumping into the rebellious I-won't-call-until-he-does thoughts.

I think I must drive over there after work.

And secondly I got a call from my Padrino (godfather) last night. The one I haven't spoken to in roughly a year. The family that doesn't ever call me to ask how I am, or to let me know they're going to Mexico... or coming back from Mexico... or anything.

And what did he call me for?

Money. Apparently the family business took a nosedive and they're hurting financially.

I just feel so dumped on. Please, ask me how I am from time to time, or make sure that MY life is going ok. Don't call me only for money and think that feeble attempts to find out about my life are going to change the fact that I left numerous un-returned phone calls a year ago and never heard anything since.

And what hurt my heart the most was the shame I heard in the voice of what I know is a very proud man.

But out of all of this at least I have a walee (Islamic guardian) who demands that I come over to his house at least once a week so that they can feed me because I apparently am too skinny.

And I have a husband who loves me more than the world.

Alhumdulillah for everything.

To Hijab or To Not Hijab

2008-02-19T10:53:00.005-06:00

This is such a sensitive issue that I'm sure I'll get a flutter of angry comments regarding it, but I would like to preface it by stating that I am NOT God (in case anyone was confused) and I can NOT judge nor will I willingly judge anyone. There are pious women who do not cover, and completely black-hearted women who do. I have met both. If I offend you, this was not my intention. And if I offend you deeply, you might want to explore why the subject is so sensitive to you. I welcome any and all comments or discussions that this might bring up because I will attempt to outline my opinion while keeping both sides represented.

I am a hijabi. Does this make me a saint? Certainly not. Does this make me better than you? No, I would never be so vain as to ever consider it. I have my inconsistencies and my own sins and the fact that I cover my body and my hair does not automatically make me the best Muslim out of a group.

But every Muslimah who does not cover is submitted to a silent discrimination from the Ummah. It is assumed that they lack deen (faith) and are not good people. This is often ungrounded and unfair.

Or there are times when they actually suffer discrimination against the scarf from their families or their culture. I met one such sister whose husband refuses to allow her to cover although it pains her to not submit to what she considers the will of God. Or another Turkish sister I knew whose mother threatened to turn her out of their house if she took the hijab.

While I believe that every sister has her personal reasons for covering or not for covering, I can say that I, for one, don't agree with not wearing it.

Why?

Because its mandated by God. Simply.

Now, there are definite obstacles that many of us face. Like the sister whose husband doesn't allow it; I would absolutely not tell her to leave her husband in order to wear hijab. Why cover one bad by instigating another? Or the sister from Turkey who would have no place to live, and on her own with two small boys it would be a miserable life, what should she do?

Surely hijab is obligatory yes, but only God can judge their situations, and some are terrible situations, and then make the final call.

But the other sisters who are not in situations like these, I truly cannot understand what their motivation for unveiling is. What is in this world that can drive them to ignore something written in the Quran?

I am not saying that they are less pious for it, I'm just striving to understand why they make that decision.

And I have to be honest that, with the exception of a few convert friends- who deal with family issues that keep them from wearing the hijab- and a few sisters I know who are in similar situations to the two I mentioned above, most of the women that I know who do not veil do not pray as well or adhere to many other pillars of Islam.

While in Egypt, where wearing the hijab is as cultural as it is religious, I found many women who covered but did, said, and believed things that made my hair curl. I was sexually hit on by a woman who confessed that she ached to remove it but couldn't because her family wouldn't allow it.

But here in the US I have found that it is a different story. Many of those women, who are forced into hijab by society back home, take it off here and leave a religion they didn't believe to begin with behind in the process. While myself, and many other women, fight OUR society in this country to be able to wear it.

I have faced obstacle after obstacle. I have been shunned for it. I have lived penniless because of it. But, except for a miserable five week period, I could not bear the thought of removing it.

I'm not saying it makes me a saint, but I am using myself as an example. I have dealt with family shunning me, I have been without a job, I have been harassed, I have faced discrimination, but most of all I have taken pride in following my religion and, for me, wearing hijab was the easiest commandment to fulfill, second only to the commandment to believe that there is no God but God.

I am not saying that it is ok to judge someone's piety by the hijab because obviously this is both faulty logic and obviously not our place to do so. But I can honestly stand up and wonder what exactly is the reason that some chose not to.

Please, enlighten me. I am not here to judge, but to understand.

If you do not wear the hijab, why?

Because to me it seems like both the hardest and yet still the simplest decision to make.

I want to know, and I want to understand.

wink wink nudge nudge

2008-02-18T10:19:00.007-06:00

I just had a patient call to ask what time his appointment is this morning and where we are located. As I am explaining it to him I can hear doors closing, faucets running, and children laughing in the background.

At the end of the call he tells me, "I'm stuck in a traffic jam so I might be a little late."

Uh.... sure you are.

Apparently I was born yesterday.

****

After my past few, very serious, posts and their subsequent publishing/accolades I tried to convince myself that I would make this a "serious" blog with "serious" topics. (On my off-days I dress like Jorge Ramos and stand in front of a mirror discussing world politics.)

Then I remembered that its very hard for me to be serious two days in a row.

So for those of you coming to my blog expecting deep and profound thoughts, I apologize.

It will just be an extension of me:

Weird. Random. Usually absurd. And only occasionally on the mark.

Anything else is a fluke of nature and/or heavy medication.

****

I just got this wiff of memory from the last elections when I was in my community college.

The Republican Students Association (or whateva it was called) brought in someone to campaign for the Reps about a week before the elections.

The only thing I remember about the delegate was the fact that he was wearing foundation and blush, and that he had quite obviously gotten hair plugs put in because his scalp was sprouting tufts of hair in a perfect 1/2 inch by 1/2 inch grid.

Why did I remember this?

I have no idea.

A Thousand Fathers But My Own

2008-02-16T00:17:00.003-06:00

Who is a father, exactly? What little parts put together make one whole? Muscle, bone, tissue; is it a body? A thing of genetics? Or is it of heart? Love? Responsibility?

And among this, who is my father?

As I've grown older and gradually left the young child behind, this issue of father has become less and less important. I don't think about it, I don't ache for it, and I don't search as I did when I was young and vulnerable.

And so the other day when I was filing with a coworker, and in the give and take of our personal discussion, I let drop that my father was a drug addict, it almost seemed to me like I was discovering this fact anew.

As if I had long ago catagorized, compartamentalized, and filed it away like library reference books. It was me, but it no longer had any effect over me and it startled me as it hung in the air between us.

Oh yea, thats right. My father is a drug addict.

My coworker seemed as startled as I was, though with more reason as it truly had been hitherto unknown to her.

"You dont seem like someone who would have dealt with something like that," she observed, "I would never have known that about you."

Maybe I come across too urbane for something so bourgeois?

"Yea," I replied, "I guess its not something I think much about anymore."

Whether my father continues to be a drug addict, a highly-functional one if he is still using, or if he has somehow cleaned himself up I can never really know. I don't think a child should be privy to that sort of knowledge or insight into the fallibility of their parents. I made a choice a few years ago to no longer put myself in that situation.

But there were years and years before that where I was the one who dealt with his short-comings directly.

He left my mother and I when I was nine. He had been using hard drugs for a year or two prior to this but as a young child I never knew. Even having been brought to drug houses with him meant nothing to a sheltered girl from a small city, I had no idea what the grown-ups were doing locked away in that room filled with odd smoke. What made an impression on my young memory was the toddler left to run around in what had to have been a diaper one day or two old.

At nine I didn't know what drugs were, or what they did to you, all I knew is that one day my daddy never came home. And I was left with a void I had no choice to to search for alternatives to fill:

My thousand fathers.

My first substitute was a kind man from Colombia who went to the same church as my mother, a born again Christian after the divorce, and I. He showed me kindness like I imagined a father would, hugs when I needed them but really nothing more. I was eleven and I wasn't sure what exactly I was supposed to be looking for, prior to this my father had been supplied without effort on my part.

I soon moved on to another virtuous man who belonged to the church and later became our landlord. He treated me like a daughter without me having to work for it and I became good friends with his own biological daughter attempting crudely to fashion a family from what little I had to work with.

Eventually when I was fourteen we moved away, returning to Minnesota and to our family. Returning me to a wounded father I had briefly gotten to know during my summers spent back home. A father who fought deep depression and often locked himself in his room, emerging at two or three in the afternoon without thought to whether I had been able to feed myself or do something productive with my day.

One Easter Sunday when I had been sent back to Minnesota for the holiday he roused himself enough at 11am to give me some money and send me walking a mile to the store to buy food since there was none in the apartment. I think I was twelve, maybe thirteen at the most.

Returning to Minnesota brought me back to my biological father but left me devoid of what father really meant. In the most crucial years of my life I turned to my writing and my studies in an attempt to find meaning. Both of us wounded, my father and I sought to paste together a relationship from the fragments we had left.

There were many happy, golden moments where we were content in the present. Afternoons of speeding with the windows down and him teaching me how to drive his beat-up stick-shift pickup in the Walmart parking lot while at the same time clutching a Mountain Dew bottle between my thighs as all good drivers can.

But there were as many days when I would be waiting until midnight for him to come pick me up for our weekend only to finally admit that he wasn't coming, that he was somewhere in his drugs again, and that in two or three days he would call from some payphone penniless and hopeless for someone to come pick him up. It would be two days after that that he would get over his shame enough to call me to apologize. And it would always be the same promise to never do it again.

Eventually it happened so much that I no longer believed him, a final breach of trust that would eventually emerge many years later in other relationships.

And eventually it got to a point where I was the only one left in the family who was trying. At fifteen I became adept at calling rehab clinics to get him checked in even though most times he refused. And each time the receptionist would be provoked enough to ask, "Just how old are you exactly?"

"Fifteen," I would reply sheepishly as if it were my own faults that put me there.

I was older than I should have been.

While continuing the feeble attempts at making some semblence of family out of the ruins of our relationship I still sought that support of a father figure from other men around me. I had a father I was supporting but I needed a father who supported me.

When I was nineteen I was brought to a Mexican-Catholic Church and introduced to my Godparents. I was accepted and embraced without a single word and called la hija adoptiva (adopted daughter.) I found a father and a family unit to cling to with all the ferocity of a shipwrecked sailor miles from shore. I took the relationships, the ethnicity, the culture, and the identity from my first real example of a stable household and made them my own.

Those years with them will always be some of my most precious but some three years later I would again be introduced to an even stronger father figure who would have as much of an affect on me as my Padrino (Godfather) but in a completely different manner and at the exact moment when my relationship with my biological father became the weakest.

I was introduced to my walee (Islamic guardian) when I was 21 and from the instant I met him and his family I felt a peace that I had never once encountered among the other fathers I clung to. I felt a sense of unconditional love and acceptance, a guidance, a teaching presence, and the foundation of support I had been searching for those twelve years gone.

A month after I met them my biological father disappeared and was gone for a year.

The juxtaposition of losing my father and finding Islam played out strongly in my identity of who I was and who I wanted to be. I spent hours driving around the roughest neighborhoods in Minneapolis hoping to find him alive, terrified that at any moment, during the coldest part of the winter, I would hear on the news of some John Doe found dumped in the river or frozen to death on the street. And by the time that he returned, again penniless and hopeless at a payphone for my grandmother to go pick him up, I had said goodbye to him in a multitude of ways in my mind.

When I got the call from my grandmother's house and heard his voice I broke down in tears and dropped everything to drive out to see him, I was twenty-two years old.

I hugged him and I kissed him and I cried to know that he was alive but I had come to a decision during the year that his choices in life would no longer have anything to do with me and my life. I had said goodbye to him in that time he was gone, in the second abandonment he had put me through, and that goodbye was more powerful than anything else. I had decided it was enough.

I told him that if he ever left again that I would not search for him or attempt to contact him in any way. If he continued to make these type of choices he would lose whatever connection we had left.

Maybe I scared him straight, who knows, but since then he has not committed the same error. What he does in his alone time no longer concerns me, and maybe its that break that means I don't have any idea when he disappears or reappears because he is no longer letting me down. And he is no longer letting me down because I refuse to allow him to let me down.

He is my father and he always will be, but I no longer pay for his sins. We still have wonderful afternoons and meet for lunch or dinner, but our relationship is not the typical one of a father and a daughter. And when I look for paternal support I find it on the shoulders of the thousand fathers I found without him.

I find it in the home of my walee.

So what makes a father? Is it a blood bond that never breaks? Or is it the support and love that one may give to another freely and without the ancestral ties?

Is fatherhood genetic or emotional?

My idea of fatherhood comes not only from my biological father but from the father-relationships I sought comfort in while growing up.

I found a home in my thousand fathers.

**This post relates directly to the idea of fatherhood, but I would not be who I am today without my mother. She is an amazing woman who sought to provide me with house, home, mother, and father all at the same time. I found a father in my mother as well.

You like me! You really, really like me!

2008-02-15T08:23:00.008-06:00

I had some good news brought to me on my sickbed yesterday, my post "Three Years And All My Life" was posted on Ijtema.net, a site which showcases Muslim voices and talents in the blogosphere. So I'm guessing that I have a lot more traffic on my blog than I had before, so to all of you who are new to my site, thank you! I hope that my idiosynchresies make someone else, besides myself, smile. Alone, I crack myself up all the time.

And I also found out that I have been considered in the final round of the Muslim-American Relationship Anthology! If my writing doesn't fail me now I could possibly become a published author along side many of the best female Muslim-American writers. InshAllah.

Some of my greatest dreams are coming true, alhumdulillah.

So, to everyone who reads me, and comments, and partakes in the general chaos that is my mind and writing, thank you.

*And thanks to M, who is my unofficial editor by virtue of having to sit by me all day at work. Pity her, its a hard life.

Who-Wha? The life of a new day in new shoes.

2008-02-13T14:56:00.010-06:00

So I have what is colloquially termed as 'the crud' which consists of random aches, pains, nausea, and other icky-no-good things but which cannot actually be attributed to an AMA-recognized disease. Mine also came conveniently packaged with sores on the back of my throat which spawned overnight while I was sleeping. I don't recall eating barbed-wire last night for dinner, but apparently I did because my gullet feels like a battlefield. I decided to slap my two fifteens together and go curl up on a couch somewhere secluded in the massive patient waiting room. And evidently its normal in some people's world to approach unknown women curled into armadillo-like balls and strike up a conversation.

Strange/Creepy Man: So, how are you? (a la Joey Tribbiani + x5 creep factor)

Me: *sitting up immediately and searching for my shoes* Oh, just fine.

Creepy McCreepster: Oh no, you don't have to leave.

Me: *with a shudder and a new world record for putting on shoes* Well, I should be getting back.

C McC: So, are you waiting for a doctor?

Me: *getting up to leave* No, as unprofessional as this sounds I actually work here.

I instead pestered a CA and commandeered an unused consult room that I could securely lock with a couch upon which I sprawled haphazardly like a dying walrus and proceeded to snore away my break. Much better and more comfortable than having to demurely roll myself into a ball in a public place. Thank you, Creepy McC.

I emerged from this cave looking bleary and tousled, much like a receptionist who just had a quick amorous scuffle with the mailroom clerk- without the clerk or the amorous scuffle.

I was generously offered the afternoon off- I wonder if this is more because my coworkers want to fumigate my station rather than actual altruism- but I decided that spending the next few hours fighting with my stomach about unloading the mashed potatoes I was able to choke down for lunch would go better if I was paid for them.

Call me capitolistic.

And just to make my day so much more enjoyable I am walking around in new shoes which haven't been stretched to fit my feet giving me cramped toes and blistered heels. Payless was having a BOGO sale and it prompted me to finally retire my favorite red and black shoes (which have long ago seen their best days.)

(rockstar shoes)

These shoes have been loyal to me for five years, crossing many borders and seeing many sights. They've taken me to three continents and carried me through many airports. They were also the worst shoes I could wear out of my arsenal because with their platform soles and my curved feet I constantly rolled my ankles at random moments to the point that my husband actually looked at me and asked, "are you sure there's not something wrong with you?"

But I digress, these shoes have been the object of much envy and admiration through the years, and I will miss them.

And with the BOGO sale I am now the proud owner of a sophisticated pair of heeled mules and these devilish(ly cute) mary-janes which are causing me so much suffering today.

(the SOH shoes)

(and by SOH I mean Spawn of Hell which I lovingly named them on the long hike back to the parking ramp.)

I knew they were going to be trouble-makers and stood for a good 5 minutes this morning deciding which shoes to wear today. However since the mules looked positively preposterous with my wicked-awesome flagrantly-colored toe socks, I opted for the mary-janes. It usually hurts to look this cute.

So farewell to the marvelous red and black shoes I long ago named Mickey.

It was a good five years.

Can I go home and sleep now?

Work it girl!

2008-02-12T19:40:00.000-06:00

Seriously peoples,

Look good for Jesus.

(You've GOT to be kidding me.... the virtuous vanilla really cracked me up.)

Three years and all my life

2008-02-11T10:10:00.000-06:00

Its coming up on three years of being Muslim for me, only three years. See, I feel like its been my entire life already, like I was never anything else but Muslim. How is this that in three years I've lived one whole lifetime?

Maybe it was because I was half-Muslim for about 4 months before I took the plunge.

Maybe it is because the sleeping soul inside of me was Muslim long before I ever existed.

Maybe its because I really was recreated and born again the moment I took my shehada.

I don't know, but to me its been a lot longer than 3 years as a Muslim.

Its been my whole life.

* * * *

I don't remember the exact date I took my shehada, I think this is better and it may have been subconsciously intentional to not mark the day. I feel like to have marked it would mean I would have had to celebrate it every year that it came around. Like a birthay, I guess, which it is in its own right. But I don't think it is the day which is remarkable, but the event instead that changed my life.

As I said above, I playacted at being Muslim for about 4 months before I actually converted. It was like I knew I was, but my heart hadn't yet told my brain. I had never really been in denial before then so I didn't realize that while I was putting on hijab for an Islamic History class at the U I was really being who I was, and everything else was just an act.

I don't know how to explain it, its a singular insanity that is all my own.

I would be at halaqas in abaya and khimar and when other sisters asked me, "So, how long have you been Muslim?"

I would pause for a second and then answer quite matter of factly, "Well, actually I'm not."

What a strange creature I must have seemed.

And when that moment finally came where I realized that my thinking had changed from "if I ever became Muslim..." to "when I become Muslim..." it hit me like a bucket full of cold water. I probably even made a funny face.

I had denied it while living it for far too long.

I was reborn in my life the moment I took shehada. Wiped clean like a slate pockmarked with ground-in chalk. I swear I even felt like I sparkled from the inside. And thats when the real change began.

I made baby steps, I stumbled a lot, I never fell down but I emerged with the same scars an adolescent would carry on her knees. Bruised but still striving to become a fully-fledged adult. I even carried my Muslimness like the awkward limbs of a post-pubescent, unsure and wobbly, and not exactly comfortable inside her skin.

I grew and I rebelled, and I hit the point where it was fight or flight. I took off my hijab and tested the strength of my convictions, and in the end the only person I could rebel against was myself.

I put the hijab back on unhappy with the absence of what truly defined 'me' and I knew at that moment that there was nothing on earth that could make me return to what I had been. Not even the empty promises of a spit-shined dunya could tempt me away from the beauty of my religion.

And the instant I stepped out of my door and faced the world with my hijab again, the stares of my uni mates who had seen me with and then seen me without and then saw me again with, I grew up in my Islam. Like a graduation, I had passed.

I married my soulmate, possibly the only man who can tell me what to do and still have me love him for it. My patient teacher, my lover, my best friend, and my confidante.

With him I fulfilled the final half of my deen.

And in three years I find myself an adult in my Islam, having lived an entire life in so short a time.

So pardon me if, when asked, I reply that I have been Muslim my whole life.

Because in a sense, I truly have.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

2008-02-10T12:56:00.001-06:00

EGYPT WINS THE AFRICAN CUP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MABROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK YA MASR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ya Masrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

2008-02-07T19:34:00.000-06:00

مبرووووووووووووووك يا مصر

Congratulations Egypt!!!!!!!!!!

"Pardon me, you're icky."

2008-02-07T09:58:00.000-06:00

Its a very slow day at work so I'm going to blog about something that really bothers me.

As a hijabi, despite some of its setbacks, I find that non-Muslim men will respect me more than "Muslim" men will. I, however, use the label "Muslim" in a mainly loose and generally ethnic fashion.

Non-Muslim men* usually regard me with the same disquieted, nervous, respect that they regard nuns with: as a God-bound woman who will rap their knuckles for misbehaving. There is nothing overtly sexualized or needy in their gaze because, to them, I am relegated to an untouchable realm of femininity. This is exactly the reason for wearing the hijab, and during my closeted Muslim days when I would wear it in Arizona and take if off when I returned to Minnesota I would study the differences in how I was treated and looked at. Needless to say I got lots of free stuff from random males (coffee, sodas, etc) when I was not wearing the hijab, but had more doors held open for me and more quiet gaze lowering when I was.

Free stuff with leering gazes VS disquieted respect. Hmmm, tough choice (not).

But I find that "Muslim" men regard the hijab in total contrary fashion. For them it does not say, "please, respect me," it screams, "I'm Muslim and available for you to look and accost me at your leisure!"

Working here in the hospital we have a valet service that is made up of 75% Somali** men. I hesitate going past the front enterance because of the way I am watched as I walk, and I attempt to enter the meditation room at random times for prayer in order to be there when none of the valets are praying. One brother, who seems to be the quasi-imam, has possibly the best attitude towards me (in that his gaze does not hold some sort of sexuality) but he still thinks it is quite alright to come up to me and engage me in random conversation for no reason at all. I made sure to mention my husband at various points in his interrogation.

Since I took the hijab I cannot count the number of times that I have been approached by "Muslim" men to ask me if I was really Muslim. Uh no, I wear this scarf for the sunscreen effect...

"Oh," says he, "MashAllah sister, mashAllah. So... how did you come into Islam?"

"Blah blah blah shortened synopsis of story blah blah," as I edge away towards my car/door/any exit nearby.

"MashAllah, mashAllah! So sister, are you married?"

When I was not married I would answer that I was engaged and/or any other thing that would mean continuing to pester me would not in any way be productive for him. Some of them got the hint and took their leave, some of them were obtuse and continued to follow me wherever I was attempting to flee to.

Now that I am married I must admit that the big shiny ring on my finger has greatly decreased the number of men who approach me. But it hasn't ended.

The other day I was driving, to the mosque for Arabic class incidentally, when I realized that the taxi in the lane next to me had slowed down to drive by my side. I ventured a look to find the driver waving to me and smiling in a very suggestive "please write your phone number in lipstick on your window so I can call you" fashion. Again 75% of our taxi drivers are African Muslim men**, and in response I shook my head in disgust and flagrantly broke traffic laws by speeding up and leaving him in my dust. Sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Once, a few years ago, I was walking to the grocery store in Tempe, Az, and took a short-cut through the liquor store parking lot. While doing so a car that had been parked there, quite close to the front doors, came roaring around to cut me off. Leaning across the passenger seat to leer up at me through the window was a crusty old Arab praising my jilbab and khimar saying that the girls at home didn't take hijab as seriously as we converts did. He also then offered me a ride to wherever I was going.

I declined.

Really is it too much to ask that the "Muslim" men out there acknowledge the true purpose of hijab and lower their gaze? True Muslim men wouldn't look a hijabi in the eyes while talking to her let alone watch her walk down the hall or accost her in the streets.

One example of a true Muslim man: I was helping out at a bazaar at a Muslim commmunity picnic when a friend of mine came up to me with her husband to say hello. While I sat and talked with her he stood about 5 feet away watching his feet and patiently waiting until we finished talking (C you know I'm talking about your habib). He never spoke to me, or looked me over, or interrupted our conversation. Some non-Muslim women would consider this disrespect, as if he considered me too low beneath him to greet me. But they misunderstand the true intention of his actions, he in fact respected me so much as to consider himself disrespectful to force his attention on me. In this lays possibly the deepest misunderstanding of Islamic culture and the hierarchy of the sexes within it.

I wear hijab because I don't want men to look at my body or my beauty and desire me. I am, in totality, for my husband and my husband only. Thats why I wear hijab, and it pleases my God.

So, please, pardon me, but you're icky.

Fear Allah.

*Not all non-Muslim men respect hijab. There are the knuckle-dragging chauvinists who think hijab is a personal affront to their right to oggle women at any moment of any day. They are usually of the species that refer to Middle-Esterners/Muslims as towel-heads. I also once, while sitting at a bus stop innocently waiting for the bus, was approached by an Hindu Indian who, after telling me about his new wife and bragging about his great job, complemented my kohol and asked for my phone number.

I declined.

**Not all the "Muslim" men who accost me are Somali or of African descent, it was just in these particular cases that they happened to be. There are bad Muslims of every race.

Check out UmmAbdurahman's blog about the same phenomena.

Gag.. And in other news

2008-02-06T10:19:00.000-06:00

Drug reps are slimy!

Drug reps are slimy!

Drug reps are slimy!

They make me want to take a bath whenever they are within 5 feet of the front desk.

Their lizard smiles, the soul-less eyes, the I'll do anything to make you buy my drugs attitude.

They're like legalized dope dealers but with less conscience.

I do like the pens and the coffee mugs though and they bring us food all the time.

I feel dirty now.

In other news:

I caucused last night. Minnesota had a record-breaking turn out this year and the Dems definately beat the flood-water pants off the Republican party. I think something like 200,000 Dems turned out to caucus while Reps could only muster a pathetic 70,000. I know my own Rep mother went home without caucusing because she would have had to miss "The Biggest Loser" *dramatic gasp* if she went to vote.

It all goes to show that the Dems are much stronger in this state than the Reps. The Dem candidates have won this state every presidential race since 1972.

Yep, I'm a proud Minnesotan.

Sound off.

And in one more random turn of topic, the "No" calls have stopped (alhumdulillah for arabic). Woot.

3araby?

2008-02-04T16:18:00.000-06:00

I used my non-existent Arabic today at work.

How marketable is that?

For the past week almost everyday I have been receiving a phone call.

Me: M***** ***** Institute, this is Molly.

Caller: No.

Awkward silence and background noise.

Me again: M***** ***** Institute, this is Molly. (No really, I'm not kidding.)

Caller again: No.

Me: ¿Hello?

Caller: No.

Awkward silence. And I hang up.

Today they took a different route, they called twice. But this time they rounded up enough English to ask "Somali?"

The first time after going through the same routine negation that we had done daily she asked "Somali?" and I answered "No" and hung up.

The second time in I answered in exasperation, "La2, msh Somali." (No, I'm not Somali)

Caller: Mefishe Somali? (There's no Somalis?)

Me: La2, mefishe Somali.

And I hung up. Hopefully this will take care of the problem. I don't like to be informed daily that I am not Molly and I apparently don't work at M***** ***** Institute.

Sometimes we need to be reminded...

2008-02-04T11:22:00.000-06:00

That there are other things worse than those we are going through.

If you get a chance, check out this blog Impossibly Blue Skies and remember that no matter what happens in life: from God we are created and to God will we return.

Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi rajioon.

Making Nice With the Joneses

2008-02-04T08:34:00.000-06:00

I'm getting a little bit tired of this situation with my hijab. Not with wearing the hijab, but with other people having a problem with me wearing the hijab.

As my grandmother once informed me, I am pushing my beliefs onto other people by covering my own head.

Seriously, how does that work exactly?

Three separate incidences this past weekend:

On Friday after work I went over to meet my mom and my aunt, who had gone shopping that morning, for lunch. Once my aunt realized I would be coming with them, and that I would of course be wearing my hijab, she found that she had an urgent matter she needed to attend to instead. My aunt loves me, I have no doubt about this, but she would prefer to never spend time with me rather than overcome her own narrow-mindedness.

On Saturday my father's side of the family threw a birthday lunch for my great-grandmother, but I wasn't invited. I'm still blood the last time I checked, but I guess when I converted my genes did too.

And the third incident was just yesterday when I went over to my grandmother's house for the Superbowl party. I had assumed it was a family-only party but I was anxiously informed by my grandmother that she had invited the next door neighbors as well. I'm fairly certain these were the neighbors she hates because they're bigoted and stuck-up and treat many of the people in the neighborhood badly. But she invited them, and on top of that she was so worried about what they would think that she demanded that I don't go downstairs with my hijab.

"You know, they're just so against this." (add in thick Minnesota accent as you please)

Well no actually, I didn't know that, but thats beside the point. I don't care what they think about it because I don't know or like them. I offered to leave and go home, an option I would have gladly taken her up on at that moment, but she demurred and I stayed, hijab and all.

If I'm not willing to take off my hijab to spend time with my aunt, who I actually love, I'm certainly not going to do it for some stuck-up neighbors that I'm not even fond of.

I'm getting sick of this, I'm covering my own head so GET OVER IT.

What kind of people get stuck on someone dressing modestly but are quite alright with people walking the streets and showing up on TV half dressed? What kind of people complain about teen-pregnancies and the hyper-sexualization of the world today, but can't get over a simple scarf?

Where do your morals lay?

I know where mine do, and its not in making nice with the snobby Joneses.

Sorry.

Caucus? Well, Caucu!

2008-02-01T20:30:00.000-06:00

Oh, politics, politics everywhere.

I'm not sure but, have I ever mentioned that I hate politics?

I'm putting myself out and calling it right here: an Obama/Clinton ticket for the Whitehouse. I'm certain of it especially after Thursday night's debate in LA. Reading the transcript of the debate you can really see them foreshadowing it. If they haven't already come to an agreement I'd be incredibly surprised because the overall impression that I got from the debate was "look we're friends and we agree on EVERYTHING!" and Clinton really took a low key backseat on most of her points. I feel that she allowed Obama to take precendence and come out stronger.

I have to admit that I have a lot more hope walking into Super Tuesday than I did before. And I, also, have to admit that I'm eating a bit of crow. I'm not sure what it was that made me dislike Obama so much from the beginning, but now that I have read more on his political standpoints I am finding myself agreeing with him.

And honestly I think that an Obama/Clinton ticket could be an awesome thing for my country.

Maybe, just maybe, I can see a bit of hope on the horizon.

What is everyone's take on the candidates? Who do you think is the best candidate for Prez?

ps- Why do we have to host the Republican Convention? We didn't do anything wrong! We don't deserve it!

I thought all Muslims were terrorists?

2008-01-30T14:47:00.000-06:00

Two minutes ago I had an adorable old man with a great sense of humor check into the clinic. After sharing a few laughs with myself and my co-worker he asks me, "Whats with the head thing? Whats with the scarf?"

I smile and say, "For my religion."

His face darkens, "Oh no, don't tell me... Muslim?"

I smile wider, "Yes!"

He shakes his head like like it was a tradgedy, "But I thought all Muslims were terrorists?!"

I tip my head and put on a sweeter smile, "Do I look like a terrorist??"

He answers, "I won't say anything." And walks away grumbling.

Do I look like a terrorist to you?

I wore my cutest pink today and everything.

In Memorium

2008-01-30T09:05:00.000-06:00

I have said more than once on my blog that living in Minneapolis, Minnesota is good for Muslims for many different reasons.

This brother, Hesham Hussein, was one of those reasons. Many schools here owe their existence to him and a handful of other hard-working brothers and sisters who spend their lives trying to make our community thrive.

And its blossoming at an unbelievable rate.

But last Sunday in Saudi Arabia we lost our central force, the sheltering tree one might say; our bridge between the Muslims and the non-Muslims.

Inna lillahi wa inna ilahi rajioon.

Our garden will never be the same.

Egypt, Advertising, and the Hijab

2008-01-28T11:50:00.001-06:00

There's a lot I want to say about this article from Arab Media & Society but work is just busy enough to keep me too occupied to make it cohesive if I tried.

So read up, and I'll post my notes later this afternoon when we're all sitting around and picking our noses here.

***EDIT***

I don't have time at this moment to devote my full attention to this so its going to be shelved until I have time or until this weekend.

Qu'est-ce q'il y a?

2008-01-27T19:48:00.000-06:00

So, how glad are you that you're not the back office "trader" from Society Generale?

Losing 4.9 billion Euros ($7,100,000,000.00) could really ruin your day.

Makes me glad I'm me.

PS

2008-01-25T10:45:00.000-06:00

You NEED to read this.

Guau! Qué telefonázo!

2008-01-25T09:08:00.000-06:00

Why is it that commercials in Spanish are so much cheesier than their English counterparts? Listening to our local AM Mexican station, La Invasora, this morning on the way to work I could do nothing but laugh at the commercials. The voices, the scripting, the absurdly chipper delivery, why is there always so much cheese?

Guau! Qué telefonázo!
Wow! What a telephone!

I guess I would chalk it up to the romantic side to the Spanish language that just really does not exist in English.

In Spanish its perfectly sensible to cradle your infant son and refer to him as "mi rey, mi cielo" which translates into English as "my king, my sky."

My sky?

Yes, my sky.

It is a culture in which naming your son Inri (i.e. in the Christian tradition the four letters written in Latin on the plaque posted above Jesus' head as he hung on the cross) is entirely acceptable.

Its a tradition of romanticism that I adore. I can say things in Spanish that mean so much more than the things I can say in English (and not be sneered at).

Te adoro mi vida, mi cielo, mi corazoncito.
I adore you my life, my sky, my little heart.

You just can't pull it off in English.

Its a lot like Arabic in which you can refer to your loved one as various body parts: heart(2albi), eyes(3eini), liver(Iraqi dialect as far as I've found and can't remember what the word is); or as various celestial bodies: the sun(shamsi) or the moon(2amari). One of the most common- and overly-used- romantic phrases that I found was "eh el 2amar da?" which roughly translates to: "What a moon is this?" and is used to admire a woman's beauty comparing her to the moon.

I was once told I had a very round face. To me it meant that I looked like the michelin man, to her it meant she was telling me I was beautiful.

The most romantically surreal you could go in English would be to say that someone is the apple of your eye.

I think both languages are wonderfully expressive and rich with layered meaning. My Spanish is a thing I treasure, and learning Arabic is my beloved goal.

I just don't understand why the commercials have to be so cheesy... but maybe thats my pragmatic English side.

Mr MM ya habibi, nour 3eini, roh 2albi, bahebak geddan.
Te amo mi cielo, mi vida, mi alma.

Tuya la chonchita.

Just can't say it the same in English.

Weakly Randomness

2008-01-23T12:40:00.000-06:00

I've got a lot of tidbits and things to sound off on. Sorry for the chaos, but you'll soon see how my mind works.

A dialogue between myself and a gentlemen I checked into the clinic earlier as I'm walking towards the cafe for my lunch:

Man: Hey my mom used to always wear those scarves, but you don't see it much nowadays.

Me: *a bit confused* Oh really? Where's your mom from?

Man: Alexandria.

Me: *surprised* Alexandria, Egypt?

Man: Uh, Alexandria, Minnesota.

Me: Oh....

Man: Why, where are you from?

Me: Here, but I'm Muslim.

Man: Oh...

Me: ....

Man: ....

Me: So uhm, have a nice day!

Why the news makes me laugh sometimes:

1.) Not that this story really is something to laugh about because someone actually died, but when I was watching the news it illicited a very loud snort. One man shot another man after they "exchanged argumentative text messages."

First we date via myspace, then we send fightin' wurds by text.

When I think of two men fighting via text messaging brings to mind the image of two gay men slap fighting.

But thats just me. Its sad because the other man died (inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi rajioon) so just remember kids before you send that next text telling someone you're gonna kick their a$$ you might just have to put your money where your fingers are.

2.) Heath Ledger has died (see above dua) and in retaliation to losing the limelight Britney Spears went out again with the same "Muslim" papparazzo who had just appeared on a gossip show talking about his relationship with her.

And then the Feds, realizing that Britney's antics are no longer distracting the world media from our freefalling economy, decided to drop an interest rate the largest single amount in 25 years.

And it did nothing.

3.) When talking about afore-mentioned economic crisis the news played a 2 second clip of Pres Bush talking about something that must not have mattered because they didn't introduce him or play him for very long.

Also no one is quite sure when he arrived home again.

Some random things I've noticed about Masjids lately:

1.) You will never see creative parking like that at masjids during jummah time. All streetspace/parking lots within walking distance suddenly become little pieces of the Middle East where triple parking is perfectly normal. Someday it will be the Muslims who invent how to park cars on top of eachother and utilize it.

2.) The sisters enterance will never be obvious. At a new masjid sisters will circle the building three times before being directed to the door hidden behind a bush. Make time for it.

3.) Above rule will change during jummah. Good luck finding where the sisters have been moved to in order to make room for the extra men.

And finally something random about me:

I will automatically be drawn to something red. Its my new favorite color and my husband is the one who picked up on it before I did.

Good job habibi. Keep being so good at guessing what I like. It will pay out in the long run.

I should have stayed in bed today

2008-01-22T10:34:00.000-06:00

This is one of those days where it clearly would have benefitted me, and the world at large, to stay in bed. I forgot my cell phone and my work badge at home this morning, my hijab won't stay pinned, and none of the machines will work for me.

I'm not crabby so much as resigned to my fate for today.

But can I at least go home and go back to bed?

It would benefit us all.

Also I think I lost my readers. *tear* Am I so boring?

Is it Friday yet?

I have just been informed by my coworker (who I adore and is the only reason I stay in this job) that I am, now, officially the biggest dork she's met.
Woot! I've accomplished something today.

What are everyone's thoughts today? How is your day going? Feel free to complain on my comments section. I think its a bad day for everyone so let it out.

Esta Cancion

2008-01-19T23:42:00.000-06:00

Me lleva la sangre y me hace llorar.

This song stirs my blood and makes me cry.

Despedida(the goodbye or the one who left)- Shakira

Translation provided by me.

No hay mas vida, no hay
There is no more life, there is none

No hay mas vida, no hay
There is no more life, there is none

No hay mas lluvia, no hay
There is no more rain, there is none

No hay mas brisa, no hay
There is no more breeze, there is none

No hay mas risa, no hay
There is no more laughter, there is none

No hay mas llanto, no hay
There is no more crying out, there is none

No hay mas miedo, no hay
There is no more fear, there is none

No hay mas canto, no hay
There is no more song, there is none

Llévame donde estés, llévame
Carry me to where you are, bring me there

Llévame donde estés, llévame
Carry me to where you are, bring me there

Cuando alguien se va, él que se queda
When one leaves, the one who stays

Sufre más
Suffers more

Cuando alguien se va, él que se queda
When one leaves, the one who stays

Sufre más
Suffers more

No hay mas cielo , no hay
There is no more sky, there is none

No hay mas viento, no hay
There is no more wind, there is none

No hay mas hielo, no hay
There is no more ice, there is none

No hay mas fuego, no hay
There is no more fire, there is none

No hay mas vida, no hay
There is no more life, there is none

No hay mas vida, no hay
There is no more life, there is none

No hay mas rabia, no hay
There is no more anger, there is none

No hay mas sueño, no hay
There is no more dream, there is none

Llévame donde estés, llévame
Carry me to where you are, bring me there

Llévame donde estés, llévame
Carry me to where you are, bring me there

Cuando alguien se va, él que se queda
When one leaves, the one who stays

Sufre más
Suffer more

Cuando alguien se va, él que se queda
When one leaves, the one who stays

Sufre más...
Suffers more...

Sufre más...
Suffers more...

Pink Elephant

2008-01-16T15:19:00.000-06:00

I wonder how I look to people? How do I appear? I'm an obviously white and accent-free (regional accent aside) Muslim girl. I smile at the patients, I joke with them, I'm blatantly American and I sometimes completely forget that I am wearing a headscarf and in this small way may not be just like them.

I believe that people will only treat you as differently as you allow them to. I guess when I forget that I could be considered different it leaves no room for the patients to remember I'm different or to act on it. And at the end of our interaction it is just like any other between two Americans.

Except that I'm Muslim.

I'm at ease with who I am, but I wonder what is inside of their minds when they walk away from the desk...

Gray: Of Work and Coffee

2008-01-15T11:11:00.001-06:00

As my head continues to pound I must finally admit to myself that I am addicted to caffeine. Coffee, O Coffee, why must I hate you yet love you so? Like a crack addict I break down and feed the monster.

I find myself falling into a bleakness in these darkest, grayest months of winter. I wake up and leave for work before the sun has risen and I get out and drive home once the sun has set. Working in the black hole of this clinic filled with negative energy and people who just don't care, and then leaving the hospital to the gaunt and hopeless torn-down ghetto of Minneapolis covered in a thin layer of ash-colored snow.

My world is a lot of gray. Gray is the world when I get up. Gray is the world when I lay down. Gray is even the color of my dreams when I dream them at night.

I want to love my job. I want to love what I do. I want to wake up every morning and look forward to getting something accomplished. Doing something that is meaningful, something that just might change the world even just a little.

In the bleakness of winter it seems like I make no mark and tomorrow is the same as the uselessness of today.

You don't want to be a Muslim?

2008-01-14T10:03:00.000-06:00

Ok. So don't.

My little cousin is dating a Muslim. I am currently the only Muslim in my entire family (that I know of) so this would make her a non-Muslim. Christian to be exact, Lutheran if you really want to get specific.

When she saw me at our family Christmas party she came over and gave me a hug and commented on how pretty my hijab was. And then she confessed that her boyfriend is a Muslim and that he wants her to be a Muslim.

What?

I asked her if she believed in it and she said no. "Ok," I said, "so don't be a Muslim."

Just to let all of you, who believe that Islam was spread by the sword, know: we don't want forced conversions. We don't accept forced conversions. If someone is forced to convert without belief and against their wishes then its quite obvious that they are not really Muslim. End of story. We don't have the baptisms where someone's outsides are washed and they magically become Christian like the Roman Catholics did in the New World. Its an internal choice made from the heart and if its not your choice then you're not Muslim, even if you just do it to make your significant other happy.

I have an issue with men who date non-Muslims and then pull out the "I can't marry you because you're not Muslim" card when they want out of the relationship. I mean, this breaks all sorts of moral codes above and beyond the religious striction against dating. I myself have been at the receiving end of this line although it was not said as a way out but as a sort of blackmail against me.

"I love you but I can't marry you unless you're Muslim."

Oh really? I ended up converting, but it was not for him. In fact I remember saying to his face "I'm going to become a Muslim, but this doesn't mean I'm going to marry you," and I later turned down all the proposals he made for me. So you're not going to marry me unless I'm Muslim? Well, I'm Muslim and I'm not going to marry you anyways.

I converted for myself, for my heart, for my love of God, and because I knew it was right. Sure, if you look at the percentage of women who convert because they married/dated a Muslim its very high. In fact most Muslims when they first meet me assume that I converted for my husband and their first question is "where is your husband from?"

But that doesn't make it ok for a man to say that he won't marry his non-Muslim girlfriend unless she converts. Whats the point of having a spouse who says they're Muslim but really aren't?

On the upside my cousin told me that her boyfriend has never said "convert or else" and has even gone so far as to say that he would marry her no matter what but that he wants their kids to be raised Muslim. Spouses of two different religions bring up a whole other set of problems for their children, but we'll leave that for some other blog. I'm happy to know that he makes her happy and treats her well no matter what religion she is.

And thats good for him because I'd take him out at the knees if he ever tried to force her to convert.

For right now I'm content to be a source of knowledge and support for her when she has any questions. I'd love for her to be a Muslim, but only if she herself decides thats what she wants.

Its the only right way to do it.

Thank God its Friday

2008-01-11T09:06:00.000-06:00

Last night I had a dream where we were having primary elections in this gated community we all lived in and the person I hated the most out of all of the candidates won. I was furious, who the hell was I going to vote for now? I certainly wasn't going to vote for him. It was a depressing dream and an even more depressing wake up. I'm so preoccupied with politics that they are even invading my most precious of vacations.

*sigh*

I also hate my new job.

*le sigh*

Thank God its Friday.

Just Stating The Obvious: Why Bush Will Accomplish Nothing in Israel

2008-01-09T18:43:00.000-06:00

So, the really funny thing to me is that even most news sources have pretty much written off Bush's visit to Israel. In fact except for reading the BBC and AlJazeera I probably would not have even known Bush was in Israel. Why? Because Britney losing her mind means a lot more to this country and this country's media, obviously, than a fake attempt to "bring peace to the Middle East." Although really, I don't think Bush or anyone involved actually believes that they are going to do anything of consequence on this trip let alone bring peace to the region. Especially when they are so keen and proactive on destabalizing it instead. And just to further unacknowledge the trip the media here is also now in the grip of the 2008 election primaries- they're so focused on who the next president might be that they've pretty much forgotten the old (who is still current and still f**ing our country up).

What they are trying to find an outlet in celebrity insanity for is to cover up whats really going on: the recession that this wonderful and imperishable country is currently in. We're losing jobs. Our currency has taken a complete nosedive to the point that Europeans have started to take vacations in the US because its so cheap. And there are a lot of people I know who are locked into houses they can't afford on a salary that hasn't risen in proportion to inflation and rising gas prices because the housing market is at an almost complete standstill.

The goverment won't admit that we're screwed because thats bad publicity. So far the Bush administration hasn't made any statements on Merrill Lynch's findings, Bush is focused on lessening the chance of the country falling into a recession rather than addressing the all too obvious proof that we're already there. The conspiracy theorist in me wonders if Britney's convenient loss of rationality isn't gov't backed (in true wag the dog fashion) to distract the nation's focus.

But these are all issues here on the homefront. Nice cozy problems for Bush to ignore when he comes home from his tax-payer-sponsored vacation to the Holy Land. What I want to discuss is the curious and yet unsurprising disregard that the U.S. media is holding this trip to Israel in. I haven't heard a peep about it on the local news and a quick stop by CNN (no matter how painful it was to type that website in) turned up not a single mention of Bush in Israel (on the front page headlines at least). There was something about Bush calling Iran another bad name but nothing about the possibility of Bush solving all of the Middle East's problems.

One would think that the first presidential trip to this ravaged land in nine years would merit some kind of flurry of forecasted outcomes. But it seems that everyone has given it up for a lost cause. Why? Hm maybe it was because they all made a fuss about the Annapolis peace talks last month and the only response that got on Israel's part was to funnel more money into building more houses on an illegal settlement within the West Bank. Of course the end to the "peace talks" was blamed on the Palestinians and their inability to control Hamas. I only heard about the continuing construction of the illegal settlement by watching Link TV (check it out) finding a link about it was a bit more trouble.

So why will Bush accomplish nothing in Israel?

Because no one is willing to address the real problem.

Israel.

I told you it was obvious.

I'll let SubZero Blue wrap it up for me:

Of course in the end, the failure of any peace negotiations will be pinned on the Palestinians, as usual, and things will go on like they have been for years; until we approach the end of another US president's term and they suddenly feel like leaving on a bright note: that they at least gave Middle East peace a shot.

I don't know why we even bother let our hopes get lifted by these peace conferences, agreements, negotiations and crap anymore. It's obvious that until Israel is held accountable for its actions just like Palestinians are, there will be no peace!

Well said.

Free Fouad 2

2008-01-01T15:49:00.000-06:00

Saudi blogger Fouad Alfarhan is still currently in jail. Please get the word out! Not enough of a fuss is being made about this. I'm lucky enough to live in the US and to be able to criticize my government at free will, but I don't think I will always have that right. Since the Patriot Act was passed our freedom of expression has been slowly squeezed into a smaller and smaller box. How much can we allow?

Make some noise friends, kick up some dust. And sign the petition HERE for his release.

More info:
Free Fouad
Fouad's Blog (in arabic)

You know what....

2007-12-28T13:15:00.000-06:00

Sometimes the people who represent our religion make me sick. Scratch that, a lot of times they do. I'm here at work, bored to tears, and I decide to just read through some of the answers on Islam Q&A. I figure that there is no better way to spend your time than to educate yourself on Islam. As I'm reading though, I find myself getting sicker and angrier with almost every answer they give. Previously I had been quite a fan of the site, using them often to back myself up in debates, but as I probed deeper into what the site had to say about women I got downright pissed off.

ISLAM DOES NOT EQUAL MISOGYNY!!!

And why, on earth, do these sites try to prove that true Islam means women stay home, don't make a sound, virginity is everything, and anything else kufaar? OH MY WORD if I were a cartoon steam would be coming out of my ears. If I ever needed proof that this site (and others like it) is run and answered by Middle-Eastern men who assume their back home culture is Islamic because it happens to be a Muslim country then this would be it.

Consider this: a new convert to Islam asks about praying at work and praying where her coworkers can see her. And their answer to her is "But if she is in a place where non mahrams could see her, she must cover all of her body including the face and hands." And in another answer to the same type of question this is what they replied, "It is clear from your question that you work in a place where there is mixing with men. Mixing leads to many evils and things that are forbidden, as is clear to anyone who has insight. . . it is not permissible for a woman to study or work in a place where there is mixing between men and women, and it is not permissible for her guardian to give her permission to do that."

Excuse me? You've got to be joking. Of all the blind, short-sighted, and small-minded answers to give... I work. I HAVE to work. I have no choice on this. I also work in a place where "men and women mix" so... what? I lack insight? Its haraam for me? I live in the US, even IF I was able to find some sort of job that was only women the chances of it paying any sort of decent wage are almost non-existant. I seek refuge in Allah from the idiots of this world.

I don't even know what to say. Its like when someone says something so obviously stupid that you're not even sure where to begin because its wrong on so many different levels.

Or leaving the topic of men and women working together, lets investigate this website's idea of niqaab (the veil covering the face). For one thing its obvious from the first question that they consider niqaab to be fardh (obligatory). Number one indication that they are narrow-minded and bigoted and only interpret hadeeth to suit their own desires. But here a pregnant woman who was wearing niqaab began to have breathing problems from wearing it and was advised by her doctor (who is also Muslim, female, and wears niqaab) that she could take it off if it poses a problem. Their answer, "Women still wear the niqaab (face veil) and khimaar (headcover) and we do not see any of them complaining about it or finding it too difficult. Perhaps what has happened to our sister – or others – is because of the quality of her niqaab or khimaar, or because of the way it is worn. If a woman is wearing a thick niqaab then that may make it difficult for her to breathe or to see, so the solution in that case is to make it thinner." And then once they are done insulting the sister asking the question, who according to them is weak and should suck it up and wear a thinner niqaab, they go on to insult the doctor who obviously doesn't know what she is talking about, "It would be a good idea for you to refer to a doctor who has more experience than the doctor you are currently seeing, and perhaps they will be able to find a solution to your breathing problem that she has not come up with."

How do you counter something so absurdly disgustingly wrong?

And then, just to add the cherry on top lets see what they have to say about virginity and widows. This is their answer to a wonderful Muslim man who married a widow with children with sincerity in his heart to do good in Allah's eyes and help the widow and her orphaned children but instead got anger and rejection from his family. Thank God they acknowledged his goodness in marrying her, but then they go on to say, "Marriage to a virgin is encouraged in sharee’ah and is better than marrying a previously-married woman."

WHAT SHARIAH DO THEY HAVE? SUBHANALLAH!

They go on to narrate a hadeeth Al-Bukhaari (4052) and Muslim (715) narrated that Jaabir ibn ‘Abd-Allaah said: The Messenger of Allaah (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) said to me: “Have you got married, O Jaabir?” I said, “Yes.” He said, “To a virgin or to a previously-married woman?” I said, “To a previously-married woman, O Messenger of Allaah.” He said, “Why not a young girl with whom you could play and she could play with you?” I said, “My father was killed on the day of Uhud, and he left behind nine daughters. I did not like to bring to them someone like them, and I wanted to bring a woman who could look after them and guide them.” He said, “May Allaah bless you,” or he said good words to me. According to one report he said, “You did the right thing.” And according to a version narrated by Muslim, “Then that is better. For women may be married for their religious commitment, their wealth or their beauty. Choose the one who is religiously committed, may your hands be rubbed with dust (i.e., may you prosper).”

Which directly contradicts their previous statement that it is shariah to marry a virgin.

Allah save us from those who seek to pervert our religion.

I will never use this site again.

Anyone know of any other sites like this with truly knowledgeable Sheikhs who answer?

SubhanAllah I am disgusted.

What will Pakistan do now?

2007-12-27T10:35:00.000-06:00

Benazir Bhutto has been killed in Pakistan, and you know that these "extremist attacks" are merely smokescreens for Musharraf's actions.

This is why I hate politics. They just make me so MAD and I can't do a single thing about it.

I don't mourn Bhutto particularly, what I mourn is the opportunity for Pakistan to have a fair and democratic election. The world has abandoned all pretenses that what Musharraf is doing has any relation to democracy as no true democractic politician removes all judges from power and places his own lapdogs in their places.

And in the meanwhile the US continues chasing it's tail and barking at shadows while we all go to hell in a handbasket.

What will Pakistan do now?