When I went to visit home, after my first extended move away to a new city, everyone was shocked by my weightloss. For over a year, I struggled to lose weight, and I felt pudgy and large, in almost any outfit that I wore. Although I was always fairly well proportioned, and knew I was beautiful, I disliked my size.
I have now shrunk, and have lost over 20 lbs. My pants no longer just slip down; I have a few pairs that will actually fall right off if I walk in them. While visiting my mum's house, I tried on pants that I had worn in high school - 6 years ago, that now fit me once again. I grab at my sides, and my flanks, looking to grab skin or fat, and nothing is there by taut flesh against my bones; my fingers grasp nothing. My rounded face (chipmunk cheeks) which once embarassed me has also skimmed down, making my eyes and lips even more dramatic features on my face.
And people that I haven't seen keep noticing. "Have you lost MORE weight?!", etc. And I cannot pretend that I do not love every minute of it. I love enjoying and feeling good about my body. I love when others take note of it and express it to me. It is a sensual pleasure that I haven't experienced since I was 16 years old.
I also realize how many years I lost covering up my body and thinking myself virtuous for it; being brainwashed by countless 'muslim religionites' who made my salvation their business. People who had no problem imposing their ideas on me, because they believed every bit it of it was absolutely and objectively correct. People who would give you books, or other such gifts, believing that they will go to heaven for passing on the message to you, or to gain heaven reward points. Yes, some people are that literal, and yes, for the past 12 months I've still been trying to get over this, to de-colonize my mind. That type of cleansing takes along time. Reading blogs written by other people who have gone through this is helpful.
I wonder though, what happens to those young women and men who find themselves in families that think like this? Who, rather than encouraging free thought, impose, impose, impose, and shut out the outside world.
Even if not in a religious context, what happens to these people when it comes time for them to move beyond University, and find employment, and excel in a career, to form friendships and relationships? How can they do this without the tools, without years of support and guidance.
I remember having a good friend in my early years as an undergraduate student. She seemed to have so much potential, yet continually trapped herself with her own superficiality. She would graze the surface of moving foward, but never do so, and at several points she expressed fear to me. She had a brother who would berade her for wearing jeans if they were too tight, even though she explained that she had difficulty finding loose jeans in her size. This same brother would tell her she is dressing like a "whore", and would often bring her to tears. He would also play religious recordings early in the morning to wake her so that she could pray. She would spend hours in the library, even if she didn't need to study, just to avoid going home. How does years of living like that impact her future? To live in such disrespect is an awful reality of so many young people.
I hope she, and so many others are able to break from their familial mentalies, and learn to grow and develop into their own selves. I know I'm trying, and I know it's a struggle worth fighting for.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
“Stood in firelight, sweltering. Bloodstain on chest like map of violent new continent.
Felt cleansed. Felt dark planet turn under my feet and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in night.
Looked at sky through smoke heavy with human fat and God was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever, and we are alone.
Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves; go into oblivion.
There is nothing else.
Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose.
This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It’s us. Only us.
Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world.”
Alan Moore, Watchmen
Felt cleansed. Felt dark planet turn under my feet and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in night.
Looked at sky through smoke heavy with human fat and God was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever, and we are alone.
Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves; go into oblivion.
There is nothing else.
Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose.
This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It’s us. Only us.
Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world.”
Alan Moore, Watchmen
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Too Long
Today was the last day of a job that I've worked at for far too long. Once you loose the respect for your own job, the position itself, the structures and policies of the company, all that is left is a feeling of futility. Carrying on for the sake of carrying on, when internally recognizing its meaningless is not healthy, and it hasn't had a good effect on me. My mind is still spinning from my day and all that went on, and I realize that it will take a few days for me to wind down from the last 6 months.
Things that I had to say, after years as a successful University student, simply were not heard at the company. I worked in the social services field, naively thinking that I could make a positive difference for people and communities, but then came the reality of the way things operate. Abuse allegations were pushed aside, the needed changes not implemented - at least not changes great enough to prevent future issues. But sure, we have to start small, we cannot over-react, as I was often accused of doing. Frustrations. Miscommunication. Mistrust. These words describe my most recent work experience.
So cliche, but I felt like a caged bird in that place. And on my last day, I couldn't have flown out any faster.
It was expressed best when my supervisor said, "it's almost like you're thinking, this isn't the job I signed up for, this wasn't what I wanted."
"YES!" I blurted as a response, before she barely finished speaking her last word. "Exactly."
"Wow", she responded, "I wasn't expecting such a quick response."
-----
I know that job satisfaction is quite common, but I hope I never again settle and stay in a job that I dislike for as long as I did this time (6 months). What makes it worse is that so many of the employees are constantly patting themselves on their backs, thinking that they are helping people by virtue of working in the social services industry.
Things that I had to say, after years as a successful University student, simply were not heard at the company. I worked in the social services field, naively thinking that I could make a positive difference for people and communities, but then came the reality of the way things operate. Abuse allegations were pushed aside, the needed changes not implemented - at least not changes great enough to prevent future issues. But sure, we have to start small, we cannot over-react, as I was often accused of doing. Frustrations. Miscommunication. Mistrust. These words describe my most recent work experience.
So cliche, but I felt like a caged bird in that place. And on my last day, I couldn't have flown out any faster.
It was expressed best when my supervisor said, "it's almost like you're thinking, this isn't the job I signed up for, this wasn't what I wanted."
"YES!" I blurted as a response, before she barely finished speaking her last word. "Exactly."
"Wow", she responded, "I wasn't expecting such a quick response."
-----
I know that job satisfaction is quite common, but I hope I never again settle and stay in a job that I dislike for as long as I did this time (6 months). What makes it worse is that so many of the employees are constantly patting themselves on their backs, thinking that they are helping people by virtue of working in the social services industry.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Intoxicatingly Beautiful Poem
Just when I had almost successfully disconnected myself from my own emotions..I read one of my favourite poems and it lit me up again, even if only momentarily.
And then there were also his words, springing onto my phone at the most random moment. 'That is where you are wrong. I didn't walk away because I didn't care, I walked away in guilt, because I couldn't face things.'
And here, I paste the poem, with words that lifted me.
I Want to Be Inside You
Pierre de Ronsard
A hundred times I wish I could transform myself
And become an invisible spirit that hides inside your heart
And seeks to comprehend your scorn
Which seems to me so cruel.
I would become master of your emotion.
I would discover the pulse of your nerves
As they flow through your flesh and change
Your disdain. And then I would know you.
In spite of yourself, against your will
I would be a part of your desires and your terms.
And I would chase the coolness from your veins.
So perfectly, love could set fire to you,
Then, when I saw them burst into full flame,
I would step out and be a man again.
And the original, in French:
J'ay Desiré Cent Fois
Pierre de Ronsard
J'ay desiré cent fois me transformer, et d'estre
Un espirit invisible, afin de me cacher
Au fond de vostre coeur, pour l'humeur rechercher
Qui vous fait contre moy si cruelle apparoistre.
Si j'estois dedans vous, au moins je serois maistre
De l'humeur qui vous fait contre l'Amour pecher,
Et si n'auriez ny pouls, ny nerfs dessous la chair,
Que je ne recherchasse à fin de vous cognoistre.
Je s¸aurois maugré vous et voz complexions,
Toutes voz volontez, et voz conditions,
Et chasserois si bien la froideur de voz veins,
Que les flames d'amour vous y allumeriez:
Puis quand je les voirrois de son feu toutes pleines,
Je me referois homme, et lors vous m'aimeriez
And then there were also his words, springing onto my phone at the most random moment. 'That is where you are wrong. I didn't walk away because I didn't care, I walked away in guilt, because I couldn't face things.'
And here, I paste the poem, with words that lifted me.
I Want to Be Inside You
Pierre de Ronsard
A hundred times I wish I could transform myself
And become an invisible spirit that hides inside your heart
And seeks to comprehend your scorn
Which seems to me so cruel.
I would become master of your emotion.
I would discover the pulse of your nerves
As they flow through your flesh and change
Your disdain. And then I would know you.
In spite of yourself, against your will
I would be a part of your desires and your terms.
And I would chase the coolness from your veins.
So perfectly, love could set fire to you,
Then, when I saw them burst into full flame,
I would step out and be a man again.
And the original, in French:
J'ay Desiré Cent Fois
Pierre de Ronsard
J'ay desiré cent fois me transformer, et d'estre
Un espirit invisible, afin de me cacher
Au fond de vostre coeur, pour l'humeur rechercher
Qui vous fait contre moy si cruelle apparoistre.
Si j'estois dedans vous, au moins je serois maistre
De l'humeur qui vous fait contre l'Amour pecher,
Et si n'auriez ny pouls, ny nerfs dessous la chair,
Que je ne recherchasse à fin de vous cognoistre.
Je s¸aurois maugré vous et voz complexions,
Toutes voz volontez, et voz conditions,
Et chasserois si bien la froideur de voz veins,
Que les flames d'amour vous y allumeriez:
Puis quand je les voirrois de son feu toutes pleines,
Je me referois homme, et lors vous m'aimeriez
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Sartre Says:
The 20th century existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre wrote, in Being and Nothingness, “The obscenity of the female sex is that of everything that gapes open.”
No further comment.
No further comment.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
On Consciousness, and Nihilism
It is difficult to deny the degree of nihilism that I have absorbed like a dry sponge, once light, now heavy and weighted. I could deny it all that I may, but the moment I move, or the moment anyone applies any pressure, the water comes out in gushes.
That's how I feel. Dead, un-moveable, like a stone. I go to work, I talk to people, and I smile and nod. I really force those smiles and nods. But I mean, what else can I do? I am getting paid for my time there, and people would start to find me negative and problematic if I had a genuine look on my face. Reflecting what I am feeling on the outside would not be pretty, it would look horrid. Instead, I am conscious of my happy-perky-smile and agree with you, why don't you just shoot me now mask. This mask is exhausting to wear. It erodes at me, at the person inside.
I became so mentally and physically exhausted after I completed all of the requirements for applying to do my Master's at McGill. I was relieved, and saw the strength in myself for putting everything together for my dossier, so well, and in such a short amount of time. I don't think I've ever experienced a crunch like that before. After it was all over, I felt like an athletic runner who crosses the finishing line at such a fast speed that they must continue running to slow their momentum before they are able to stop.
Right after I completed everything, after staying awake all night on consecutive nights and then working full-time, I was to board a plane to Montreal. I was so worn down however, that I caught a very bad cold. On the morning of my flight, I woke up with such a strong sense of dread that it took me almost an hour to budge. My throat was dry and the soreness seemed to soak into the deep muscles and membrances of my throat and sinuses. My head was pounding, my nose was as stuffed up as it could be and I felt over heated. I had to will myself so very hard to get on that plane, but my sense of dread did not leave me for one moment. And maybe for the good, because that dread acted as a warning for what awaited me in Montreal.
My city that embraced me, my city that made me feel elated just to walk down its streets and exist in and amongst the ambience, never felt so cold, or so dark. My Montreal, I saw you in a different light, and infact, when I was there last, I did not experience any of your light. There are times, that I wish I were of vulgar and crude nature so things are unable to hurt me as much as they do. When you have a poet's soul, you are bruised so easily, because you are ripened to feel every nuance, every detail that most can block out.
I spent the first night in Montreal in my apartment bedroom, taking cold medications and sitting on msn. I watched a documentary on YouTube that was created by a former porn star turned anti-pornography advocate. I ate a tastey Shish Taouk sandwich and fries, I blew my nose. I fell asleep at 4am and didn't wake up until 2pm the following afternoon. I then spent the rest of my day arranging my clothes and shoes in the closet. The amount of clothes and shoes that I packed for my vacation turned out to be even more ridiculous than it seemed when my Mum first commented on the shear amount of stuff that I packed. It would turn out to be even more ridiculous after I left Montreal 5 days early, spending only a total of 3 full days there. Two big, fully packed suitcases for 3 days. Right-o.
And of the incident? And of idiots 1 and 2? More will be written about that later. I had to get out all of the surrounding details first.
Back to reading, 'A History of Misogyny.' And what a sad and brutal history indeed. And it's not even history, it is the present, it is the reality of patriarchy that has seeped in so discreetly amongst societal institutions, human relationships, politics, sexuality, and fantasy. More on this later, as the radical feminist warrior is born.
I am brought now, to remember a quote I once heard, although I do not remember who said it. "Those that die for their ideals die once. Those that don't, die a little bit everyday." - Unknown
That's how I feel. Dead, un-moveable, like a stone. I go to work, I talk to people, and I smile and nod. I really force those smiles and nods. But I mean, what else can I do? I am getting paid for my time there, and people would start to find me negative and problematic if I had a genuine look on my face. Reflecting what I am feeling on the outside would not be pretty, it would look horrid. Instead, I am conscious of my happy-perky-smile and agree with you, why don't you just shoot me now mask. This mask is exhausting to wear. It erodes at me, at the person inside.
I became so mentally and physically exhausted after I completed all of the requirements for applying to do my Master's at McGill. I was relieved, and saw the strength in myself for putting everything together for my dossier, so well, and in such a short amount of time. I don't think I've ever experienced a crunch like that before. After it was all over, I felt like an athletic runner who crosses the finishing line at such a fast speed that they must continue running to slow their momentum before they are able to stop.
Right after I completed everything, after staying awake all night on consecutive nights and then working full-time, I was to board a plane to Montreal. I was so worn down however, that I caught a very bad cold. On the morning of my flight, I woke up with such a strong sense of dread that it took me almost an hour to budge. My throat was dry and the soreness seemed to soak into the deep muscles and membrances of my throat and sinuses. My head was pounding, my nose was as stuffed up as it could be and I felt over heated. I had to will myself so very hard to get on that plane, but my sense of dread did not leave me for one moment. And maybe for the good, because that dread acted as a warning for what awaited me in Montreal.
My city that embraced me, my city that made me feel elated just to walk down its streets and exist in and amongst the ambience, never felt so cold, or so dark. My Montreal, I saw you in a different light, and infact, when I was there last, I did not experience any of your light. There are times, that I wish I were of vulgar and crude nature so things are unable to hurt me as much as they do. When you have a poet's soul, you are bruised so easily, because you are ripened to feel every nuance, every detail that most can block out.
I spent the first night in Montreal in my apartment bedroom, taking cold medications and sitting on msn. I watched a documentary on YouTube that was created by a former porn star turned anti-pornography advocate. I ate a tastey Shish Taouk sandwich and fries, I blew my nose. I fell asleep at 4am and didn't wake up until 2pm the following afternoon. I then spent the rest of my day arranging my clothes and shoes in the closet. The amount of clothes and shoes that I packed for my vacation turned out to be even more ridiculous than it seemed when my Mum first commented on the shear amount of stuff that I packed. It would turn out to be even more ridiculous after I left Montreal 5 days early, spending only a total of 3 full days there. Two big, fully packed suitcases for 3 days. Right-o.
And of the incident? And of idiots 1 and 2? More will be written about that later. I had to get out all of the surrounding details first.
Back to reading, 'A History of Misogyny.' And what a sad and brutal history indeed. And it's not even history, it is the present, it is the reality of patriarchy that has seeped in so discreetly amongst societal institutions, human relationships, politics, sexuality, and fantasy. More on this later, as the radical feminist warrior is born.
I am brought now, to remember a quote I once heard, although I do not remember who said it. "Those that die for their ideals die once. Those that don't, die a little bit everyday." - Unknown
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Is it really too much?! - 2 -
And I imagine vividly, punishing the unworthy cowards, for my mental exhaustion, and for wasting my time. The sadism of my mind is not subtle - it is explicit, and my mind seems to crave unleashing this angst on those who deserve it. Who deserves it? Usually the ones that were part of my mirage, and especially the ones who claim to be of strength (and of worthiness), but, who after having their minds picked, turn out to be utterly pathetic. I imagine directing this anger and punishment towards them as my adrenaline rises, and I hear their pathetic meanderings, pleads, etc. I imagine exposing them to themselves, for the little sissies that they are. After all, their ridiculousness was obvious to me, but it takes time for them to realize this. Stripping away every facade, until I bring them back to their pure essence.
Why are they so ungrateful?
I will be the mirror of your soul, alright, but don't expect to be pleased with the image I reflect.
Why are they so ungrateful?
I will be the mirror of your soul, alright, but don't expect to be pleased with the image I reflect.
Is it really too much?! - 1 -
Is it really to much to find someone that does not sicken me once I delve into their psyche?
To find someone that matches my intellectual curiosity, even halfway?
For someone to be truly moved by art, regardless of the form?
To understand that I am a princess, and that I expect more from someone else than I ever intend on giving? For someone to respect that kind of honesty? To be strong enough to handle me in all of my moods, and moreso, to enjoy it?
Is this a tad to much to ask, or is it just that the individuals I have met so far cannot rise to the challenge?
At times, I am so bored that I try to create a mirage for myself, and construct them as stronger than they are, so that I can at least be momentarily amused, and be lifted from the emptiness of my own life. But that mirage soon dies, everytime, and I am faced again by those that will never be enough for me.
Is it too much to ask, that someone brings me to my own limits, and lifts me out of the framework of my own mind? That I can find someone to trust enough to do this, but firstly, someone who is worthy of even my consideration?
I cannot even live my true nature until I find this person. I cannot explore. All I can do is look out of myself, as through a window, at what is out there. It is a kind of torture, the torture of the mundance, the banal. And it just makes me dislike the shallow cowards that I have come across even more. Because instead of my exploration or growth, they benefit from the ideas and the exploration I give them (exactly the opposite of what I need - and very exhausting, indeed). But in the end, what have I gained? Even worse, most cowards cannot even comprehend the goodness of their experiences, they are just so narrow and limited that even opening them up becomes boring to me.
What I wouldn't give to find someone that releases me. No mirage, no illusion, pure and undeniable connections that are what I need. The ability to find someone so worthy that I will never need to doubt or question, so trust can grow, so I can really live out my essence. My dominant, and ever beautiful and intelligent alpha male...
Is that really too much to ask for?
To find someone that matches my intellectual curiosity, even halfway?
For someone to be truly moved by art, regardless of the form?
To understand that I am a princess, and that I expect more from someone else than I ever intend on giving? For someone to respect that kind of honesty? To be strong enough to handle me in all of my moods, and moreso, to enjoy it?
Is this a tad to much to ask, or is it just that the individuals I have met so far cannot rise to the challenge?
At times, I am so bored that I try to create a mirage for myself, and construct them as stronger than they are, so that I can at least be momentarily amused, and be lifted from the emptiness of my own life. But that mirage soon dies, everytime, and I am faced again by those that will never be enough for me.
Is it too much to ask, that someone brings me to my own limits, and lifts me out of the framework of my own mind? That I can find someone to trust enough to do this, but firstly, someone who is worthy of even my consideration?
I cannot even live my true nature until I find this person. I cannot explore. All I can do is look out of myself, as through a window, at what is out there. It is a kind of torture, the torture of the mundance, the banal. And it just makes me dislike the shallow cowards that I have come across even more. Because instead of my exploration or growth, they benefit from the ideas and the exploration I give them (exactly the opposite of what I need - and very exhausting, indeed). But in the end, what have I gained? Even worse, most cowards cannot even comprehend the goodness of their experiences, they are just so narrow and limited that even opening them up becomes boring to me.
What I wouldn't give to find someone that releases me. No mirage, no illusion, pure and undeniable connections that are what I need. The ability to find someone so worthy that I will never need to doubt or question, so trust can grow, so I can really live out my essence. My dominant, and ever beautiful and intelligent alpha male...
Is that really too much to ask for?
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Human Nature
Lyrics, Madonna
Express yourself, don't repress yourself (repeat 5 times)
Chorus:
And I'm not sorry [I'm not sorry]
It's human nature [it's human nature]
And I'm not sorry [I'm not sorry]
Im not your bitch don't hang your shit on me[ Its human nature]
You wouldn't let me say the words I longed to say
You didn't want to see life through my eyes
[Express yourself, don't repress yourself]
You tried to shove me back inside your narrow room
And silence me with bitterness and lies
[Express yourself, don't repress yourself]
Did I say something wrong?
Oops, I didn't know I couldn't talk about sex
[I musta been crazy]
Did I stay too long?
Oops, I didn't know I couldn't speak my mind
[What was I thinking]
(chorus)
You punished me for telling you my fantasies
I'm breakin' all the rules I didn't make
[Express yourself, don't repress yourself]
You took my words and made a trap for silly fools
You held me down and tried to make me break
[Express yourself, don't repress yourself]
Bridge:
Did I say something true?
Oops, I didn't know I couldn't talk about sex
[I musta been crazy]
Did I have a point of view?
Oops, I didn't know I couldn't talk about you
[What was I thinking]
(chorus)
Express yourself, don't repress yourself (repeat twice)
Express yourself, don't repress yourself (repeat twice)
(bridge)
(chorus)
(chorus, with the following spoken substitutions)
[I'm not apologizing]
[Would it sound better if I were a man?]
[You're the one with the problem]
[Why don't you just deal with it]
(chorus, with the following spoken substitutions)
[Would you like me better if I was?]
[We all feel the same way]
[I have no regrets]
[Just look in the mirror]
(chorus, with the following spoken substitutions)
[I don't have to justify anything]
[I'm just like you]
[Why should I be?]
[Deal with it]
Express yourself, don't repress yourself (repeat 5 times)
Chorus:
And I'm not sorry [I'm not sorry]
It's human nature [it's human nature]
And I'm not sorry [I'm not sorry]
Im not your bitch don't hang your shit on me[ Its human nature]
You wouldn't let me say the words I longed to say
You didn't want to see life through my eyes
[Express yourself, don't repress yourself]
You tried to shove me back inside your narrow room
And silence me with bitterness and lies
[Express yourself, don't repress yourself]
Did I say something wrong?
Oops, I didn't know I couldn't talk about sex
[I musta been crazy]
Did I stay too long?
Oops, I didn't know I couldn't speak my mind
[What was I thinking]
(chorus)
You punished me for telling you my fantasies
I'm breakin' all the rules I didn't make
[Express yourself, don't repress yourself]
You took my words and made a trap for silly fools
You held me down and tried to make me break
[Express yourself, don't repress yourself]
Bridge:
Did I say something true?
Oops, I didn't know I couldn't talk about sex
[I musta been crazy]
Did I have a point of view?
Oops, I didn't know I couldn't talk about you
[What was I thinking]
(chorus)
Express yourself, don't repress yourself (repeat twice)
Express yourself, don't repress yourself (repeat twice)
(bridge)
(chorus)
(chorus, with the following spoken substitutions)
[I'm not apologizing]
[Would it sound better if I were a man?]
[You're the one with the problem]
[Why don't you just deal with it]
(chorus, with the following spoken substitutions)
[Would you like me better if I was?]
[We all feel the same way]
[I have no regrets]
[Just look in the mirror]
(chorus, with the following spoken substitutions)
[I don't have to justify anything]
[I'm just like you]
[Why should I be?]
[Deal with it]
Sunday, January 18, 2009
You
You are vulnerable, and I wonder who has taken care of you these past few years.
The family failed you, the system didn't do its best.
And here you are; weilded into a person who struggles to be. Your very being is a defense against the outside world pushing itself in. All of these years, with a voice that many chose not to hear.
The look in your eyes when you recognized my father, your brother was a standstill of hope; it was a glistening of light as we stoood in the dingy hallway of your apartment. Both of us had never witnessed eyes transform like that. Such hope can only stem from great despair.
I am seeing the world through a lens of surreal expressionism that holds me in a fiery of emotions..
And I am always meeting situations that froth out my core from underneath -
The only difference now, is that I don't fear the exposure, and I will not censor, edit or change to appear more pragmatic or rational.
The family failed you, the system didn't do its best.
And here you are; weilded into a person who struggles to be. Your very being is a defense against the outside world pushing itself in. All of these years, with a voice that many chose not to hear.
The look in your eyes when you recognized my father, your brother was a standstill of hope; it was a glistening of light as we stoood in the dingy hallway of your apartment. Both of us had never witnessed eyes transform like that. Such hope can only stem from great despair.
I am seeing the world through a lens of surreal expressionism that holds me in a fiery of emotions..
And I am always meeting situations that froth out my core from underneath -
The only difference now, is that I don't fear the exposure, and I will not censor, edit or change to appear more pragmatic or rational.
For Cecelia, My Aunt
I found Celinka.
After 17 years, I have found an aunt, with a mental/developmental disability, who has been living alone, forgotten by my family. I was a small child the last time I had seen her at a family gathering. It is a wonder she knows who I am, a wonder she remembers us. And a miracle, a miracle, alhamdulilah that I found her.
"There is a story in here somewhere", my father tells me. "A story worthy of a book, a book written by yours hands." And maybe, maybe someday I will be brave enough, and apt enough with my words to do justice to our story. Words are a beautiful construction, my most cherished thing in this life.
I wish I could live 1000 times over in this feeling. In my father's joy and sorrow at our discovery, in Cecile's pleasure about our re-surfacing. In the lifting of so much pain. In forgetting the fear to look pain at its face, and at its core, and to say, I will fight you, I will overcome you and our lives will brim with so much good, and so much light.
Time has a different meaning in contexts like these. 17 years are conquered by a moment not held within the limits of any standard measure of time.
At a time when I needed perspective more than anything, God hath handed me a platter of rich learning, and a lesson like no other. What do money worries, and saving accounts mean when you are filling up the grocery basket of one who has an empty fridge? Money then turns into a soft hand, a gentle touch, a nurturing voice, and an embracing hug.
My family has known pain and abuse for generations, and our roots are not yet un-tangled.
M: Did you eat all of your candy, or just a little bit?
C: All of it, I couldn't help it!
C: I am sleeping with Elmo and Sylvestor.
M (thinks): There couldn't have been a better use for my tickle-me-elmo, and stuffed sylvestor than to go to one who will enjoy them more than I did as a child. Giving this gift, and giving and receiving this love is unconditional good.
Thank you God, and thank you Cecelia, for trusting us and for letting us back after all of this time. I want nothing more than what is best for you, khair.
After 17 years, I have found an aunt, with a mental/developmental disability, who has been living alone, forgotten by my family. I was a small child the last time I had seen her at a family gathering. It is a wonder she knows who I am, a wonder she remembers us. And a miracle, a miracle, alhamdulilah that I found her.
"There is a story in here somewhere", my father tells me. "A story worthy of a book, a book written by yours hands." And maybe, maybe someday I will be brave enough, and apt enough with my words to do justice to our story. Words are a beautiful construction, my most cherished thing in this life.
I wish I could live 1000 times over in this feeling. In my father's joy and sorrow at our discovery, in Cecile's pleasure about our re-surfacing. In the lifting of so much pain. In forgetting the fear to look pain at its face, and at its core, and to say, I will fight you, I will overcome you and our lives will brim with so much good, and so much light.
Time has a different meaning in contexts like these. 17 years are conquered by a moment not held within the limits of any standard measure of time.
At a time when I needed perspective more than anything, God hath handed me a platter of rich learning, and a lesson like no other. What do money worries, and saving accounts mean when you are filling up the grocery basket of one who has an empty fridge? Money then turns into a soft hand, a gentle touch, a nurturing voice, and an embracing hug.
My family has known pain and abuse for generations, and our roots are not yet un-tangled.
M: Did you eat all of your candy, or just a little bit?
C: All of it, I couldn't help it!
C: I am sleeping with Elmo and Sylvestor.
M (thinks): There couldn't have been a better use for my tickle-me-elmo, and stuffed sylvestor than to go to one who will enjoy them more than I did as a child. Giving this gift, and giving and receiving this love is unconditional good.
Thank you God, and thank you Cecelia, for trusting us and for letting us back after all of this time. I want nothing more than what is best for you, khair.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Greece Objects Arms Shipment to Israel
http://http://www.upi.com/Top_News/2009/01/13/Official_Greece_objected_to_arms_shipment/UPI-18501231904167/
Official: Greece objected to arms shipment
WASHINGTON, Jan. 13 (UPI) -- The U.S. military says it canceled the shipment of ammunition from the Greek port of Astakos to a U.S. stockpile in Israel after Greek officials voiced concern.
Geoff Morrell, a Pentagon spokesman, said the 325-container arms transport was canceled at the request of the Greek government. Israel can ask for permission to access to the stockpile.
"I think the Greek government has some issue with the offloading of some of that shipment in their country and we are finding alternative means of getting that entire shipment to its proper destination in Israel," Morrell said.
He added that the decision to replenish the weapons cache was made before the Gaza conflict erupted.
"I don't know if they had a security problem or a political problem or some other kind of problem. But for whatever reason, there was an objection raised at some level and so we will find an alternative means of flowing those munitions into Israel and to our U.S. stockpile that exists there, and has for decades now," Morrell said.
Official: Greece objected to arms shipment
WASHINGTON, Jan. 13 (UPI) -- The U.S. military says it canceled the shipment of ammunition from the Greek port of Astakos to a U.S. stockpile in Israel after Greek officials voiced concern.
Geoff Morrell, a Pentagon spokesman, said the 325-container arms transport was canceled at the request of the Greek government. Israel can ask for permission to access to the stockpile.
"I think the Greek government has some issue with the offloading of some of that shipment in their country and we are finding alternative means of getting that entire shipment to its proper destination in Israel," Morrell said.
He added that the decision to replenish the weapons cache was made before the Gaza conflict erupted.
"I don't know if they had a security problem or a political problem or some other kind of problem. But for whatever reason, there was an objection raised at some level and so we will find an alternative means of flowing those munitions into Israel and to our U.S. stockpile that exists there, and has for decades now," Morrell said.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
In Someone Else's Words:
All paid jobs absorb and degrade the mind.
- Aristotle
Jobs, by definition pay us to do things we wouldn't do for free. Jobs are almost always a means to an end. Be that end money, "work experience", work references, prestige, or honour, none of them are complete ends in and of themselves.
If we take the common example of working for money, we find that just as the job is the means to the end (of money), the money is a means to an end as well(usually tangible goods) such as food, clothing, shelter, leisure activities, etc. Once these things are obtained, what sort of end is reached, and, is this end a final end, or merely another means?
If acquiring and having stuff and stability were truly the end, and thus the ultimate meaning of life, we would be a pretty sad species, wouldn't we? To merely collect, and to claim ownership over things, only to put up our feet and rest, marvelling over each of our own tiny kingdoms. (which really end up looking so dreadfully similar, it is a hilarity that western culture admires itself as severely individualistic).
But what of the time whenst the mind will wonder, and will wonder "why?" That inherent search to go beyond the material/tangible accomplishments is some type of nagging proof that this is not enough, this is not an end.
It's like the example where working couples save their money all year to go away on a vacation, then whilst on the vacation, the tourists are unable to clear their minds and really relax. That the leisure of consuming, and ultimately becoming a state of being (call-it-luxury), is really not leisure at all, infact it may very well be nothing at all. It is nothing more than a slow awakening to the unanswered and ignored questions about life, that will re-surface in the gaps away from work.
Rather than take seriously these questions, such as searching for the ultimate end, and learning to live a life where people seek the ultimate end (or meaning), people unequiovcally redirect their attention back to narratives they have been told and have had culturally engrained in them, such as the "work ethic." It's good to work hard, because it's rewarding, and you reap what you sew. Working hard builds "character." This type of attitude, this type of easily reproduced statement cuts off so much thinking and reflection right at the root. Anything that cuts off the ability of the human mind to think is abhorrent.
The type of work that should be done, and is critical in this age, at this time of such simultaneous growth and loss is of the up-rooting sort. First, to find the courage and the time, and then the will, to uproot all of our assumptions, and all of the things we have been made to believe are true, and function to our benefit. We need to locate these assumptions, these narratives, at their very roots, and begin the gentle tug that it takes to lift them from their place in the earth. Next, a careful examination needs to be done, to see which plants will get thrown out, and which face the possibility of being re-planted.
Another equally as damaging solution to this dilemma is for people to say, "fuck it, life is so meaningless and complicated, that I won't care to put in any effort, I will only care for myself." Giving up without an active search, without pursuit is death of the human mind, and the of the human spirit in the same way that living off of cultural cliches and narratives is. Instead of uprooting the garden, this option drenches the entire field in damaging chemicals, inhibiting the growth of all things, positive or negative.
The type of work that needs to be done is the not the type where one is paid. It is not the type where one uses something as a means to something else. It is the type of work where the means is an end to itself. The pursuit of knowledge is this example, and I have witnessed so many of my generation either re-tell themselves the same stories, or just give up. It's time we wake up. No more distractions, no more superficiality, no more jumping from issue to issue because it gives us a nice illusion of ourselves.
- Aristotle
Jobs, by definition pay us to do things we wouldn't do for free. Jobs are almost always a means to an end. Be that end money, "work experience", work references, prestige, or honour, none of them are complete ends in and of themselves.
If we take the common example of working for money, we find that just as the job is the means to the end (of money), the money is a means to an end as well(usually tangible goods) such as food, clothing, shelter, leisure activities, etc. Once these things are obtained, what sort of end is reached, and, is this end a final end, or merely another means?
If acquiring and having stuff and stability were truly the end, and thus the ultimate meaning of life, we would be a pretty sad species, wouldn't we? To merely collect, and to claim ownership over things, only to put up our feet and rest, marvelling over each of our own tiny kingdoms. (which really end up looking so dreadfully similar, it is a hilarity that western culture admires itself as severely individualistic).
But what of the time whenst the mind will wonder, and will wonder "why?" That inherent search to go beyond the material/tangible accomplishments is some type of nagging proof that this is not enough, this is not an end.
It's like the example where working couples save their money all year to go away on a vacation, then whilst on the vacation, the tourists are unable to clear their minds and really relax. That the leisure of consuming, and ultimately becoming a state of being (call-it-luxury), is really not leisure at all, infact it may very well be nothing at all. It is nothing more than a slow awakening to the unanswered and ignored questions about life, that will re-surface in the gaps away from work.
Rather than take seriously these questions, such as searching for the ultimate end, and learning to live a life where people seek the ultimate end (or meaning), people unequiovcally redirect their attention back to narratives they have been told and have had culturally engrained in them, such as the "work ethic." It's good to work hard, because it's rewarding, and you reap what you sew. Working hard builds "character." This type of attitude, this type of easily reproduced statement cuts off so much thinking and reflection right at the root. Anything that cuts off the ability of the human mind to think is abhorrent.
The type of work that should be done, and is critical in this age, at this time of such simultaneous growth and loss is of the up-rooting sort. First, to find the courage and the time, and then the will, to uproot all of our assumptions, and all of the things we have been made to believe are true, and function to our benefit. We need to locate these assumptions, these narratives, at their very roots, and begin the gentle tug that it takes to lift them from their place in the earth. Next, a careful examination needs to be done, to see which plants will get thrown out, and which face the possibility of being re-planted.
Another equally as damaging solution to this dilemma is for people to say, "fuck it, life is so meaningless and complicated, that I won't care to put in any effort, I will only care for myself." Giving up without an active search, without pursuit is death of the human mind, and the of the human spirit in the same way that living off of cultural cliches and narratives is. Instead of uprooting the garden, this option drenches the entire field in damaging chemicals, inhibiting the growth of all things, positive or negative.
The type of work that needs to be done is the not the type where one is paid. It is not the type where one uses something as a means to something else. It is the type of work where the means is an end to itself. The pursuit of knowledge is this example, and I have witnessed so many of my generation either re-tell themselves the same stories, or just give up. It's time we wake up. No more distractions, no more superficiality, no more jumping from issue to issue because it gives us a nice illusion of ourselves.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Divine Breath
If heaven could touch me on earth,
I would swear to you that I felt it.
In the inhalation of the sweetest breath that I ever did breathe,
I had felt as though I had taken divinity within me
To be lifted to the highest of heights,
Above my own emotions,
I did stop and sympathize with them,
Thanking them for their honesty and releasing their binds on me
I conversed with my rationality, the machine-hood of my being,
I asked it to relinquish itself to its proper place,
And it lowered itself to the capacity of earthly decisions
I couldn't speak to my soul and ask of its being,
It was all of me, and I felt it thrive, covered in the cool, divine breath.
If heaven could touch me on earth,
I would swear to you that I felt it.
Yes, These Shoes
Yes these shoes, daddy. They are my princess shoes. Are you watching?? Watch me dance! Look, look, I am clicking my shoes together. I am the King of the Castle, you are my dirty rascle! Daddy..
Yes, this slide. Catch me as I wiggle my way down this slide.
I will dance, yell, jump and leap, only because I know you will catch me.
Yes, this hill, let us roll down this hill!
I will tumble and grass will tangle itself in my hair.
Yes, this voice, it will shreek with joy, as long as you are there to hear me, to absorb me.
I will look for you forever daddy, in all things, in all places. And when I realize that half of you is behind my own eyes, I will realize it will not be a long search.
Yes, these eyes, daddy! These eyes that God made for me.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Contradictions 2
It is 2009. I am 23. I have a bachelor's degree. Big whoop, right? Mostly.
Delving once more into my self-proclaimed contradictions.
I want children, lots of children. My natural, wild woman of the desert instinct is to be able to birth, and raise 6 children. To use the pain of child birth to naturally push my babies into this world, without the aid of pain medications, without the aid of cutting any body parts, in the position I choose, with the hospital staff that I choose.
Did I also mention that I not only want to get a master's degree, but eventually a PhD? In my dreamworld I would love to walk the corridors of Oxford or the Sorbonne and call either of them academic home. I want to read every book that is worth reading, and be as cultivated and sophisticated as possible. I want my husband to look at me in the highest of esteem, and I want us to have a home in Europe, Canada, and the Gulf.
Reality threatens me daily, amongst other things. How do I close the ever widening gap between what I have, and what I want? More importantly, how do I get the things I truly want? Will some doses of reality surprise me in a pleasant way? Will I have one child and become over joyed with motherhood and calm down my senses? Will I learn to love those that love me, rather than pushing them aside because I want more?
A hand is being offered to me. It is a steady hand, an appreciative hand. A hand that seeks to pull me up higher. But it is not my ideal hand, it is not the hand attached to the person that called "check mate" and made me yearn for them even more in their absence. It is not the hand of the person that can make my mind explode with the type of happiness I thought only existed in heaven. But it is a hand, the only question is, am I willing to grasp it? And if I don't, what really, am I waiting for?
Delving once more into my self-proclaimed contradictions.
I want children, lots of children. My natural, wild woman of the desert instinct is to be able to birth, and raise 6 children. To use the pain of child birth to naturally push my babies into this world, without the aid of pain medications, without the aid of cutting any body parts, in the position I choose, with the hospital staff that I choose.
Did I also mention that I not only want to get a master's degree, but eventually a PhD? In my dreamworld I would love to walk the corridors of Oxford or the Sorbonne and call either of them academic home. I want to read every book that is worth reading, and be as cultivated and sophisticated as possible. I want my husband to look at me in the highest of esteem, and I want us to have a home in Europe, Canada, and the Gulf.
Reality threatens me daily, amongst other things. How do I close the ever widening gap between what I have, and what I want? More importantly, how do I get the things I truly want? Will some doses of reality surprise me in a pleasant way? Will I have one child and become over joyed with motherhood and calm down my senses? Will I learn to love those that love me, rather than pushing them aside because I want more?
A hand is being offered to me. It is a steady hand, an appreciative hand. A hand that seeks to pull me up higher. But it is not my ideal hand, it is not the hand attached to the person that called "check mate" and made me yearn for them even more in their absence. It is not the hand of the person that can make my mind explode with the type of happiness I thought only existed in heaven. But it is a hand, the only question is, am I willing to grasp it? And if I don't, what really, am I waiting for?
In Film
I am all French Extremity; I am all transgressive. I cannot get enough of the deep prodding into the darkest places of the human psyche. I cannot tell myself, "okay, you have learned enough, time to watch a cozy movie now." No, instead, wide eyed, I stare at the screen, analyzing characters, their thoughts and their functionality with the enthusiasm of a student keen on getting all A's. There doesn't seem to be a boundary that I have, I seem to have no limits. Anything and everything, no matter how extreme, because hey, if you can find the edge, at least you know one exists. So far, I haven't found the edge.
I would be a genteels worst nightmare. I am the lack of social tact at a party or gathering. I am the friend who asks uncomfortable questions, and then asks, "but why?" Even worse is that I shock people, because I come across as beautiful and well put together, so I really end up spinning heads when I act like myself.
Sometimes I will eat with my hands, (this is always the case if I'm eating middle eastern or african dishes) and then ask people, "What, do I look like a savage? Oh, I had forgot that people in the postmodern era even thought of humans as savages, that is extremely English of you. I thought that ended with the colonial era."
In this way, the French Extremity forces off the guise of living, the masks of the everyday and pushes people to wake up to what is lurking underneath. The savage of the human is explored through the lens of a fragmented society, and the provocation is often not without purpose.
I would be a genteels worst nightmare. I am the lack of social tact at a party or gathering. I am the friend who asks uncomfortable questions, and then asks, "but why?" Even worse is that I shock people, because I come across as beautiful and well put together, so I really end up spinning heads when I act like myself.
Sometimes I will eat with my hands, (this is always the case if I'm eating middle eastern or african dishes) and then ask people, "What, do I look like a savage? Oh, I had forgot that people in the postmodern era even thought of humans as savages, that is extremely English of you. I thought that ended with the colonial era."
In this way, the French Extremity forces off the guise of living, the masks of the everyday and pushes people to wake up to what is lurking underneath. The savage of the human is explored through the lens of a fragmented society, and the provocation is often not without purpose.
Torture
What does it mean when one seeks their own torture? Is it a maze of self-destruction? Or is it the surfacing of a deep craving, that arises now and then.And from where is this craving born? What is this craving and why?
We see it in the way some followers of catholic sects drop to their knees, and drag their thin flesh across jagged rocks. Through bleeding, and wounding, they feel, they release, they experience some type of salvation.
The Sh'ia who whip themselves bloodied, in commemoration of Hussein. Despite the pain, it's the adrenaline, or something else that propels them forward.
Does this mean in a sense that they are going beyond their tangible selves? Or is it that the physical self is the most important in providing the sensation they seek?
And how does this all translate into understanding for those of us that seemingly torture ourselves in a non-physical way? Either by denying to ourselves our true natures, impulses and essences, or through surrounding ourselves with people that we know might have a tendency to reject us, or cause outpourings of strong emotional reactions.
I abhor banality and boredom, and I constantly seem to summon their opposites - etremities of excitement, drama and tragedy. I am as fragile as fragile gets, yet I seem to dare others to crack me, or I go around those that will inevitably, eventually crack me. Am I addicted to pain? Was it the only stable norm in my life for so long that I now hug it the way an infant hugs its security blanket?
We see it in the way some followers of catholic sects drop to their knees, and drag their thin flesh across jagged rocks. Through bleeding, and wounding, they feel, they release, they experience some type of salvation.
The Sh'ia who whip themselves bloodied, in commemoration of Hussein. Despite the pain, it's the adrenaline, or something else that propels them forward.
Does this mean in a sense that they are going beyond their tangible selves? Or is it that the physical self is the most important in providing the sensation they seek?
And how does this all translate into understanding for those of us that seemingly torture ourselves in a non-physical way? Either by denying to ourselves our true natures, impulses and essences, or through surrounding ourselves with people that we know might have a tendency to reject us, or cause outpourings of strong emotional reactions.
I abhor banality and boredom, and I constantly seem to summon their opposites - etremities of excitement, drama and tragedy. I am as fragile as fragile gets, yet I seem to dare others to crack me, or I go around those that will inevitably, eventually crack me. Am I addicted to pain? Was it the only stable norm in my life for so long that I now hug it the way an infant hugs its security blanket?
Check mate
And what did my nature attract, but a dominant, and compelling man, who refused to hide his own hypocrisy? I wanted to live in reverence, and be inside my own awestruck glory, turning myself inside out whenever you were near. I wanted my life to be an exposure, and you to be my healer, to lift me to a world beyond myself. I wanted to tremble with a delightful fear, at the mere mention of your name, at the sound of your voice I could faint to my knees. I imagined all the elements in nature would stop at your command. Surely, the animals ran to you in the wild, seeking your direction? My madness, under your framework, surely it was justified.
And my Utopia? What of my utopia now, Mr. high regard? Do you see it? Did it fall out of your vision at a whim?
And you? What did you do but forget me when your location changed? You, who let proximity become this stranglehold on my heart. You who said, "oh, you shouldn't have." You who told me to be strong when I was so weak. You who said my elegance, and my nature could not be matched. Why now, is all that I can hear your voice echoing, saying "Check mate"?
And my Utopia? What of my utopia now, Mr. high regard? Do you see it? Did it fall out of your vision at a whim?
And you? What did you do but forget me when your location changed? You, who let proximity become this stranglehold on my heart. You who said, "oh, you shouldn't have." You who told me to be strong when I was so weak. You who said my elegance, and my nature could not be matched. Why now, is all that I can hear your voice echoing, saying "Check mate"?
I am a contradiction
Split down to the root, infused in my core, I am a contradiction. I reach out in 2 directions at once, yearning for both left and right, and am unable to reconcile my choices.
I often ponder the meaning of personal freedom, but have not come to any conclusions. I have met people in my life, who have literally shaded together the starkness of black and white, to put it by way of a cliche, they have left me in a grey world, where relativity lurks behind every quandry.Amidst the absolute nature of my beliefs, there are layers aching within me to be known. But I repress, repress, repress. And what does that respression bring? Gone is the moral high handedness of my youth, gone are the appraisals from the self-righteous religious people I used to find myself around.The weight from within me wants to explode. What makes me human and what words do I speak?
I often ponder the meaning of personal freedom, but have not come to any conclusions. I have met people in my life, who have literally shaded together the starkness of black and white, to put it by way of a cliche, they have left me in a grey world, where relativity lurks behind every quandry.Amidst the absolute nature of my beliefs, there are layers aching within me to be known. But I repress, repress, repress. And what does that respression bring? Gone is the moral high handedness of my youth, gone are the appraisals from the self-righteous religious people I used to find myself around.The weight from within me wants to explode. What makes me human and what words do I speak?
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