Prolific Immigrant

.1. A few weeks back, D told me that my m.o. is to cut. Her exact words were “You’re a cutter. You amputate. Someone fucks around, they’re gone and you’re lethal about it. Clean lines where you’re concerned. Like an emotional Jedi Master with one of those amazing lit up sabers, only you have emotions, not a saber. Know what I mean?”

The above paragraph was drafted in May of last year, 13 months back. Interesting that this is likely what Maxi refers to as “the shut off valve“. Others have noticed it, but he gave it the most interesting name; Maxi wins!

.2. Faith plays an enormous part in my life. Even when I don’t realize it, when I actively ignore it, when I am pissed off with it, when I am an idiot about it, when I am unaware of it, it is always present.

Conversations with friends have a way of eventually coming around to: politics, economics, relationships, Hollywood and faith matters. Naturally, there is too an element of Crack thrown in for good measure.

Someone the other day asked me what standards I would apply to choosing Islam on a daily basis. Because, no matter that I was born into Islam, no matter that my family is Muslim, but by me declaring myself a Muslimah daily, that is a choice made several times within a 24 hour period. I think, perhaps, this is why it is a component of prayer in Islam; a reminder that it is always a choice. That if you stop saying it, you cease choosing it.

So, then, why do I routinely and every day choose Islam (even when I am an idiot)?

It took me a while to pull together a very simple and coherent response. Finally this morning, en route to work, I realized the why of my choosing.

My starting point will be different from yours, but you may choose to engage in understanding your own process if for no other reason than pure awareness of your self.

I see Intelligent Order and Design and that to me is the starting point for Faith. Even in Chaos, I see that same Order. But this one’s easy; it can be any sort of energy as described by a number of faiths / philosophies.

So, the more important point then is that which draws me to an understanding of and existence in Allah.

Simply put, I can not believe that injustice can go unpunished; I can not believe that a child rapist will have the luxury of never being caught, and then dropping dead and not having to ever face the children they raped. Based on my political understanding and perspective, I must believe in Justice as it extends beyond the temporal. And so I believe there is a Judge in the divine sense, and that is what creates balance and order in my world. (Go ahead and call it a crutch, because you are unimaginative and still reside in 1983.)

Those are my two simplest and clearest starting points.
Chime in as you see fit, please. (Too personal? Keep using the email addy…)

.3. When you have a daughter, be the first man to send her flowers. Do it on a random day and for no reason other than: She is yours, and you’re her Poppa. (Forget about the gender divide here; instead focus on the reality that she will be bombarded with the weird notion that the right man brings you flowers. We likely agree that this is awkward on many levels, so let’s leave it to another entry.)

.4. It is 42 degrees in my City tonight. I have soaked through all t-shirts, and am sticking to random objects passing by. My hair is a mess of curls and all I wish to do is lay around like a big carrot drinking ice-water. All of which makes me very happy.

(Tip & trick for those of you without a/c: run a towel under cold water; ring it out well; drape it over your fan; and, enjoy the cool breeze. You’re welcome.)

My friend Emily and I were recently discussing – within the context of her life – what it is about certain individuals that makes the idea of committing to them interesting and appealing.

Emily is – for lack of a better concept – sexually fluid. She toggles several sexual partners at once and has no desire to commit to anyone or even seek out commitment.

I have already told her that whatever fulfillment one committed partner provides, she is in fact having the same needs met by several, only without any duty of serious responsibility; her partners fill the space that would otherwise be left open to loneliness.

She has argued that it is not that she is incapable of deep love and commitment, but rather that she doesn’t currently care for it. A sentiment that makes me laugh while I respond with “bull. SHIT.” because even though she is seeding her needs from several sources, she is still seeding…the same need. (If Emily were standing beyond that scope of relationship / sexuality and arguing she doesn’t care for it, then her argument would stand.) And please note that there is nothing in this post which she has not already heard face-to-face, and that she knows just how much I care about her.

Our conversation was a mishmmash of pop-psychology that spanned…
…from asking the obvious:

Do we seek out only what we believe we deserve? [Read: I am unworthy of commitment and so shall only seek out environments where rejection is not a possibility. Here, the fragility of character is a lot more aggressive than most would be comfortable admitting aloud. (And anyway, is seeking commitment a reflection that we deserve "better"? Is it human nature to nest with only one, or is it a societal construct? More complex still, is it a societal construct because it is in fact healthier for society and each of us individually?)]
…to wondering if it is the exact opposite: I am too worthy and no one can meet the worth.
…to poking: maybe seeking out multiple partners is just about actively – through the body – engaging in a little revolution against norms, expectations, religious / societal demands?
…to Zen and Motorcycle Maintenance taunting: we can’t ever really know.
…and then finally landing squarely on: What makes someone interesting enough?

During that conversation, and now still, I argue that to formulate the question in this way places the onus on the other, rather than ourselves. It absolves us of our contribution, and instead places us above the relationship itself as at its core it is stating: show me why you deserve me, and if you’re lucky enough, I may just grace you with my monogamous commitment, a not so innocent and entirely arrogant and entitled demand.

Through some laughter, the mishmash made us reformulate the question to: Why are we interesting enough to be sought out?

Only instead of engaging in this side of the equation, we were side-tracked to talking about music, only to eagerly come back and ask: To which combination of ‘us’ is it worth committing?

Years back, I wrote that it must be partially about the energy created between two people; that when you are in that individual’s presence, there is a new energy that comes to life and within which you wish to remain. I still strongly believe this.

Emily mentioned ‘inspiration’, and I agree that we need to both be inspired by, and to inspire the individual.

She also stated that we have to want to impress that individual, a critical point which I believe sheds light on something deeper – the reality that we need to feel we are worthy of the person before us. (Take pause and consider that when many relationships start to fall apart, usually the very first thing said is that someone felt as though “they were being taken for granted”, which is another way of saying that their partners stopped noting what they once found “impressive”.)

And so taking this last point, we come full circle, because we need to (gently and with grace) understand our own worth, to then wish to impress it upon another. And the more I think about it, the more I believe this is maybe one of the most important keys to commitment. When you stop wanting that, you stop wanting the relationship, and instead seek out another with whom that same energy and impression starts anew.

No doubt, there are all other kinds of factors that work together to see us to commitment. Not least of which is timing, laughter, trust, silliness, honesty, and the simplest of chemical reactions.

Ultimately, as a Muslimah, I was taught and believe that [He] “created us in pairs”; whether or not we find one another is a whole other reality…and all I can do is keep on this incredible egg hunt.

Are you bitter? Jaded? Cynical? Most always brooding?

Pleased to confirm that I am most definitely none of the above. (Truly sorry about your state, though. Also, why are you reading me?)

I don’t have “a gelatinous black ink that seeps into [my] heart”, recently said a dear friend. (Admired this sentence so much that I scribbled it down on my napkin.)

I still believe in Good (note the ‘G’), and I refuse to accept that other people can’t be Good, but instead that they choose to behave in shit manner. (Layer no1: Pre-destination vs Choice.)

Tangent: I think, perhaps, Goodness is a greater deal of work than not, and there are those who are either too lazy to take the extra steps, or who are happier seeing the seedier shadows of life and giving into them.

Take as example the following idea: Those constantly waxing philosophic about our need to be ‘free’. ‘People should be free to do whatever they want.’ Usually, at the core of such a sentiment isn’t a true Libertarianism, but rather an excuse to have sex with whomever, without accountability and / or obligation. Freedom from moral currency, as ‘morality’ defined in its general terms.

(Layer no2: Excellent idea in theory? Maybe not even in theory, but I’ll save this thought for a PhD dissertation.) Next time some one says this out loud, challenge them on the idea, as simple questions unravel this sort of thinking (Layer no3: Most always unique to the rich. Layer no4: Can one be monetarily rich and not morally bankrupt?) Questions such as: Should an adult be free to have sex with a child (under the age of 16)? Should a man be free to have sex with an animal? Should a woman be allowed to trade sex for money?

Then take it up a few notches and focus on one point, such as the following: Prostitution hits a certain demographic; certain social and economic means that give rise to prostitution (not to mention sexual abuse as a child – thank you NG for the reminder of this). As such, should these women be free to trade sex for money, or should only the women who don’t come from that background be free to trade sex for money?

Because the battle is always sex-related, right? We don’t need to kid ourselves on this one – the argument always returns itself to sex, as do most things. Every. Single. Time that someone has used that ‘I believe we should all be free to do whatever we want’ line, it has at its epicenter that individual’s need to fuck as they please. Amazing that they really become nothing short of slaves to their own physical selves, rather than being the commanders of their bodies.

I would welcome a challenge to this point, so please feel free to engage. End Tangent.)

So, yes. I believe that people can be Good…that they strive to be Good…that they give the cash register girl the dollar too much she gave them…that they don’t take advantage of others even when the opportunity presents itself…that they will place the welfare of others above their own comfort…that they refuse to play in the gray areas of honesty…that they’ll give money to the junkie rather than a lecture…that they’ll tread carefully when allowed into another heart…that they’ll work to be better & to do better…and…that they’ll be kind…and that they’ll be kinder still.

I like that I am still that girl. And to anyone whose attempted to shit on my parade? I will just eventually feel sorry for you.

The above is not to say that I don’t sometimes just fkn hate people.

Take last week, as example.
I was in a right state all last week. Anything said to me, any comments made or jokes attempted or courtesies extended? It took everything out of me not to be rude. For no apparent reason other than: I felt like it.

Some stupid asshole, not French used the word ‘chic’ to describe the image I have as my bberry screen saver and my brain launched WWIII against my arms and hands because all I felt like doing was smashing my ‘chic’ imaged bberry across his face, but rational thought kept interrupting…and winning.

Tangent: For all of the nice in me, I am equally volatile. I just control it and exercise it differently than most. End Tangent.

Team Goodness!

I just sent my friend Yusuf the following bit of advice: Just remember that making a new potential partner pay for someone else’s asshatery hurts both you and the new one.  Life is too short to do that, and I honestly believe that if patient, then goodness and kindness attract the same

If you are the sort of person who likes to give, then the fact that you have to sort of suffocate that at some level, for fear of being hurt / taken advantage of, means that you’re also directly hurting yourself.  And ultimately, love, we will all get hurt, no matter how hard we try to avoid it.
 
A few nights back, Maxi told me that when it came to matters of the heart, I have a “shut off valve”. If I understand that correctly, it means that I have a capacity to turn feelings on or off and then move forward on that front.

Somewhat, I had to agree. ‘Somewhat’ because it’s not the feelings that I shut off, it’s the acting on the feelings themselves. When I was a crazy person who hid in the bushes, I pretty much WTF‘d my way through the first 24 hours post incident; not about the incident itself, but rather about what would possess me to stick around a couple of months after the moment I understood it was over.  WTF possessed me to still believe and fight and try, when it was clearly: over?

As is usually the case with self reflection, I came up relatively empty-handed for the first little while. Then I had the following brainstorm: I shouldn’t have stuck around the moment I understood it was over.

And that thought turned into what Max has labelled a “shut off valve”, something another man would experience in its fullest of forces nearly a year and a half post its development.

Extremely long story short, the very second I knew it was over was the second before I completely, totally and unequivocally cut this later man out of my life. Without even a discussion, but rather a very short and simple email; in hindsight, and based on his reaction, I know that it sent him spinning because literally, I isolated myself and made certain he had no way of contacting me. I refused to even take his calls.  Worse still is that we were in different time zones and he would have been sleeping when I sent my little ‘bye’ note and proceeded to slam into the shut off valve, and so he woke up to find that I had vanished.

I can not tell you if that was the right or wrong thing to do; only that it was the necessary thing to do for me at the time.  My lessons learned from the crazy bush situation were that (1) when it’s over, then it’s fucking done, and (2) the best way to get over the hurt and pain is to initially create a sort of radio silence / media black-out where that individual is concerned (i.e., no Facebook friends, no Skype, no email, no chat, no calls, no nothing).

After just giving my friend the advice mentioned earlier, I realise that the later gentleman paid – only in part – for the blowback generated by my involvement with the former.  (He also paid for playing in the shadows of relationships, as well as for my own naïveté.  Actually, we both paid; there was blowback for the both of us.  This kind of shit is never in favour of one individual or the other.)  Would I change my reaction today?  Additionally, am I being a hypocrite and making a new potential suffer the consequences of a past’s pain?

With regards to the first question, the answer can only be: Possibly.  Possibly, I would temper my response, depending on the nature of the relationship at hand.  Possibly, I would engage in a discussion before slamming into the valve; provide a little warning and a little opportunity for a conversation.  Possibly, so that we may both walk away feeling as though we have some answers, rather than gaping holes and questions.  “Possibly” because when it comes to matters of the heart, it’s easier said than done…and it’s easiest to stand outside of a situation and say “believe in the goodness of others” when you’re not the one whose heart has suddenly been swallowed by a black hole.

As to the second question – and please disagree with me if you will (I would love a greater conversation on this issue) – I don’t believe I am being a hypocrite, only because there is a distinction to be made between our actions while we are inside of a relationship, and our actions when the relationship has ended.  Beyond a shadow of any doubt, there is nothing that has changed about me when I am still in the playing field and where there exists potential.  I am engaged and open and vulnerable and excited and looking forward to every moment of it.  There is nothing of the past that casts any shadow on either the present or the potential. 

And so only because of that reality can I honestly and in good faith still mean what I sent my friend Yusuf.

You?

On behalf of a very large group of women who are too shy to express the following, please note that the root of this entry is a conversation with a girlfriend whose husband expected her to remain as slim and trim and gorgeous as the day they met, while he slowly turned into a beached whale. Not because of a physical condition or handicap which stood in his way, but rather because he became lazy. Disinterested. Not caring enough about the relationship or her to do otherwise.

Until they got divorced, one of the reasons for which was the fact that she was no longer attracted to him physically.

If you are a man looking for a “fit & slim” female, and making it abundantly clear that this is the case, then it should go without saying that you too should be someone who – at the very least – is a fit & slim individual.

Secondly. If you are a man married and demanding that your wife remain “fit & slim”, then you too had better be hitting the gym, and hitting it hard.

Doesn’t that seem fair? And if some of you find this entry insulting, then please feel free to label me, as well as every single one of my friends, “fittest”. We will be able to sleep just fine tonight, thank you.

Consider us a no-fly zone for Double Standards; body size and fitness not withstanding. (And if you are willing to engage in double standards where – literally – your ass is concerned, I can’t help but wonder whether you’re likely willing to engage in double standards where many other things are concerned; all of which is unattractive.)

And for the record:
Spare tires? Chubby.
Moobies? Chubbier.
Triple chins? Chubbiest.

Unless you are a small infant, “chubby” is not a way you should want to be described – not if you are demanding that your partner be the opposite.

For the record, I want my partner to look a certain way and so bust my ass to keep it a certain size – otherwise, I would never have a particular idea of the body-size I want in a partner.

To every single woman I know, this is not attractive, and many women shy away from saying this out loud. I am one of the women who is not attracted to the triple chins, the spare tires and / or moobies, and I don’t have a problem saying this out loud and even putting it into print.

Are we fighting?

Have you ever thought about what your Facebook photo says about you? I think, in general, we are safe to make the massive generalization that we choose photos we believe represent us. We can expand this to include: how we wish others to know us.

This is my current FaceBook photo. Notice the subtle messages this photo conveys to my friends (and now you, 6 precious readers): (1) I eat snakes; (2) I am ALIVE; (3) I am a WEIRD GEEK; (4) I have a fantastic leather jacket (feels like butter, tastes like chicken): and, (5) I have creepy red-eyes.

My photos fence-straddle Extremely Happy Nerd or Smasher Of The Stupid (fence-straddle: here, I had originally accidentally used the word ‘facilitate’, intending to use the word ‘vacillate’, only to Thesaurus.com the little b*tch and come up with the gem ‘fence-straddle’. Feel free to call me James Joyce…just make certain you call me…ruhahahahahaaaaw…).

These are the two Mahas I am most aware of / happy with / see as my true self, and so the ones I wish to share with my friends and general fanbase of 6 readers.

(Look: It’s not like I am only jolly when stumbling around smashing random people; it is, though, that I don’t let people fck around with me. I call people on their shit immediately, and without hesitation, even if it makes them uncomfortable because they’re not right in the head. The alternative? I absorb their shit behavior and give myself an ulcer in an effort to make certain I don’t rock the boat and instead placate them. No thanks.)

Right. Hold on, let me scroll up and read what my point was.
Ok. So it appears I don’t really have a point and shall instead end the above thought here, but not before I tell you that a little while back, I was seated next to a man who must have been an archaeologist because his finger was digging very far up his nose.

Hope you’re all having a lovely weekend…xoxo

.1. All week, I have been thinking about the promise I made > to write a new entry < and I must admit that it’s weighed heavy on me, this promise. Oddly, it seems to have both placed pressure on me to think of something coherent and also, to paralyze my move to puzzle old words together in an effort to create something new. For this reason, I have decided to simply write. This is more a stream of consciousness, rather than an entry with one specific idea and purpose. But it is an entry and it has been promised and now here it is…

.2. Because so many of you seem to have found something which resonated when you read The Story that Hides, I will provide a small contextualization for this written bit.

I began writing that in November of 2007, a couple of weeks after I had my heart completely beaten to a pulp by someone, an occurrence that had never happened before and one by which my entire self had become displaced. That’s all anyone needs to know about that piece.

That and the fact that a slight variation of it will likely become the first chapter of a more complete story some day.

.3. I spent 10 days in Vancouver in October. It was lovely as Vancouver is a stunning city and the weather gorgeous.

The most incredible day spent there was the one during which I spent a few hours in Pigeon Park. This is the most notorious park in the City in terms of poverty.

I picked up 25 sandwiches, coffees and cookies from my favorite shop (Smart Mouth Cafe at 131 Water Street, no 117 – highly recommended next you are in VanCity) and took them, with the help of three employees across the way to the park.

There we handed them out to anyone who wanted and I spent some time speaking with the prostitutes and the junkies and peoples’ grandchildren and grandparents covered in lesions and cuts and bruises, scrapes and scraps of clothing not warm enough for even a summer’s day.

I left there a little broken and invigorated, a little sad and a lot confused. I wandered for a few hours in my own head considering that any individual making different choices or living different experiences could be in that park. None of us are immune and we must extend grace and love to all.

.4. Speaking of which, we were recently out to dinner and had a very heavy discussion about this particular idea of ‘judgment’.

Among the folks at dinner was someone vehemently opposed to judging the actions of others: “People who judge are assholes. Who the f*ck are they to judge me?” Interestingly enough, in their judgment of individuals judging others and opposition to said judgment, they had become complicit in the very thing they were opposing: judgment. (Tautology is the vice of Dr. Seuss, didn’t you know?)

I kept my mouth shut and didn’t point this out, choosing to instead name the shrimp in my Yum Mamuang and wrote in my head their journey from ocean to kitchen. It was called “Monkey, Pippy, Thomas and Famke Fall Into A Trap, Are Caught, Then Get Grilled”. Maybe I’ll share it some day…

But. I think since judgment is inevitable and a part of human nature, perhaps the key is to temper it with a sort of mercy. Attempt to understand the actions you’ve judged and do so in as gentle a manner as possible, remembering that people are not inherently bad, though we all tend to act in foolish and hurtful manners many times in our lives (whether it’s because we’re spoiled a**holes with a heavy sense of entitlement, or because we actually didn’t know we were being a**holes).

On this note, here we need to acknowledge the difference between understanding an action and justifying that same action. Also, that there are some things we simply can not stand for – now, extend this perspective to social justice and then make no difference between the shit and unacceptable behavior of one individual against an other individual (e.g. one man refusing to serve another because of the colour of his skin // one man abusing his wife) and collective behavior against any group (e.g. laws supporting segregation // women not being allowed to vote, own property, etc.).

There is great danger in us denying the direct link between the individual and the collective. (See below End Note.)

The moment we recognize and own the reality that each action we take must be a reflection of a social fabric wherein we look out and care for one another in an equal and respectful manner is a first step to doing away with the horrible atrocities we commit against one another, be it collectively or individually.

Don’t ever think that we, as individuals, can act without impunity, or that our actions are disassociated from our world view or the freedoms we fight for, the social justice me must uphold.

(I am guilty of falling short of this on many an occasion and I’ve behaved like a Grade-A a**hole, but I work hard to recognize my stupidity and then remedy it when I can and as immediately as possible. The above is as much a reminder to myself as it is a reminder to anyone reading it.)

End note: If you are of the belief that we – and only we – are responsible for ourselves and no one else is responsible for us, and that we can’t be held to a higher standard of extending responsibility and comfort to others who are hurting or who have been oppressed or whose rights have been sh*t on, then you can take your nihilistic individualistic perspective and f*ck off – this writing isn’t for you, and neither are the opinions within.

.5. Sorry this entry is completely lame. But it is an entry and it’s a first step to me overcoming the shit writer’s block that has placed my mind in a logjam…xxoo

Monday of this week, one of The Girls discovered that her husband of eight years is a big fat lying cheat. We’ve not discussed the details, because to discuss his actions at length would be to provide him more worth and time than he deserves.

He’s the unfortunate one and so it is he who needs to worry about the deficiency of his own character, not her. Suffice it to say that for years, he’s been actively engaged in a relationship with another woman who has feigned friendship with My Girl, who found out about the affair by accident.

In his unsophisticated and base mind, he’s convinced himself that his love for this other woman will sustain him. They’ve built a long distance relationship which is ideal and quite fitting for two Cheaters, because it’s the one sort of relationship that’s built on sheer conjecture of their coming together. There’s nothing offered of real life but virtual action and time-delayed reaction. It’s perfectly suited for all sorts of lies and fake character definitions, ergo perfectly suited for the two fungi engaged within.(1)

Some may eventually wonder about the state of My GirlT & The Lying Cheat’s relationship in an effort to look for reasons to justify what happened…

I refuse to provide a character sketch of either the relationship or of My Girl as this is not at all about either. About her, I will say that she too lives her life in crayon and if ever there was a woman full of life, light, love, devotion, faith, kindness and humor, it is she. If I were a man, she is the one I would pursue before any of my other friends.

She is one of my best friends and I am of the fiercely loyal variety and so feel the need to discuss this (with her full permission to do so publicly). The following is in great part a direct communication of my passing judgment and so if you are a Lying Cheater, then I offer you absolutely no apologies and I seriously recommend that you not read any further.

Individual Moral Deficiency
When things go wrong, it’s much easier to offer the excuse of reaction and blaming of our partners. So, for example, The Lying Cheater will most always say: “S / He made me. They were always gone. They mistreated me”. Few will be brave enough to say ”I fell in love with someone else. I cheated. I offer no excuse for my actions. I’m sorry” (to whom I would only say that when you are in a committed relationship then you need to respect the sacredness of that union by removing yourself from places of temptation. All of them, beginning with the real and ending at the virtual).

(Here there’s a deeper malaise. It’s the ease by which people move from one relationship to another, from one emotional connection to another, and from one bed to another. We no longer believe in the sacred, of which is the commitment we make to our partners. Instead, so many throw around the word ‘love’ as though it is void of meaning and subsequent action. Moreover, many don’t possess either the capacity or the courage to be alone until a worthy partner comes along, settling instead for a time waste of a relationship that furthers one’s abiity to detach…an ability I would argue serves no value when it comes time for you to deal with honest love.)

If your original partner is abusive, then you should hold sacred your choice to commit – regardless of how hurtful they may truly be – and remove yourself from your relationship before you embark on another. Naturally, there are many abusive individuals who don’t deserve any respect (but much jail-time) but when you cheat on someone, your measure should never be their behaviour, but rather your own moral code.

Ultimately, if they are abusive, I’m sorry for the situation in which you may have found yourself. Their abuse is as much a reflection on your moral character as is your cheating on theirs. See: There’s nothing there. There are no links and there are no ties that bind in terms of moral conduct. Please note that I am not equating the two actions in any realm of moral conduct; suffice it to say that we should aim to compare our actions with those who are stronger than us, rather than to those who are weaker.

Societal Moral Deficiency
The more I’ve thought about this the less surprised I am by the fact that we tend to have the above backwards; rather than understanding that an individual’s action is a reflection of them, we blame an individual’s actions on the society of which they’re a part.

We lie to ourselves and convince ourselves that ‘society’ exists on its own, above and beyond the actions of the individuals within (much like the legal actions of a Corporation). It is the lazy man’s dumb approach at understanding our environment.

We live in an era where “anything goes” and where the measure of a person’s character is no longer of real value. Where words hold no merit and are equally void of grammatical structure as they are of action. This is not to say that we can always keep our word, but we better damn well be prepared to go to war – even with ourselves – in order to try and keep our word. Unfortunately, the reality here is there’s never a guarantee that you’ll win.

But I digress. Individual responsibility for action is no longer an integral part of how we view ourselves; quite possibly why so many of us have trouble saying “I’m sorry” or “I behaved irresponsibly”.

Heavily bi-polar because we are at once so busy being “Individuals” and giving into our “individual” basic desires yet equally blaming others for all that befalls us. I think that perhaps the root of this is that – as a collective – we have done away with individual responsibility (“I cheated because they were (insert any one of an infinite number of excuses)”).

We no longer honour responsibility to lovers, to parents, to children, to friends, to members of our global community…responsibility to our history and our future. (If some of you are looking for “responsibility to ourselves”, then you need to widen you self-awareness and value that all of the above are the fabric from which you – the individual ‘I’ – are a composite you short and near-sighted weirdo.)

We love in a world where we’re told repeatedly in film and television that we should obey our most basic instincts, satiating all our desires. Responsibility be damned. Our guiding light is no longer honesty, responsibility and measure of consequence, but rather, the push to be uninhibited. The act of being unfaithful is (more often than not) depicted as pleasurable and racy and dangerous and fun. And why shouldn’t we have fun? Why should we ever deny our desires, right? We are, after all, just animals, and these feelings are there for a reason, right?

Nonsense. As much as we try to deny it and turn away from it, we owe a level of deep responsibility to each and every individual we come in contact with – and if that means that we shouldn’t give into our most basic of instincts because of that responsibility, then we simply: should not behave in a manner short of the ideal. And if you don’t know what that is, then use the old adage that you should not do to others what you would not have done to you.

I listened to My Girl weep into the telephone. I heard her use the word ‘shattered’ to describe her state, and let me tell you, you loathsome, repugnant, vile, base, despicable excuse for a person, there is nothing racy or fun or pleasurable about the pile of rubbish you have dislodged onto the lives of others.

…and what of the rest of us? I guess all we can do is make certain that our moral code of conduct is not dulled, blurred or changed by the acts of others. More to the point, I think we have to do our best to instill these values in our children (Inshallah, should I one day be blessed with them).

Speaking for myself, I know that my moral character can infinitely use improving and I would humbly suggest you consider doing the same because ‘society’ is another way of describing the same string held to by each person in this entire world. Our responsibility is to make certain that where we see the string is frayed and near breaking around us, we mend it to the best of our ability.

I am now climbing off my soapbox and on to Lulu for a calming ride.

& P.S. To The Unfaithful who would say: But it just sort of happened, then to you I send the Greatest Emotional Flaccidity Award.

& Ugh, one last P.S. to those 3rd Parties, who are being cheated with; what makes you think you’re special enough, that the man/woman you’re with (the one whose already cheated on a partner to be with you) won’t do it to you…when there’s someone younger, or richer, or more charismatic, or taller, or kinder, or sexier, or plain old different than you, what they have become used to? If this thought’s never crossed your mind, then I hope this last P.S. will ring in your head every single time your partner goes out and comes home even 5 minutes late. (Now that you’ve read that, 3rd Party, you’ll never be able to shake it – and likely, it may have already made your stomach turn. As it should, because you too are a sh*t.)

********************
(1) Of course one can have a normal long distance relationship. But one must be cautious, I believe…or make an effort to fly out and see the other on a very regular basis and during which they spend ‘normal’ time together rather than ‘holiday’ time where it’s all fake fun.

The former will work to guarantee that should your relationship last and move to a stronger stage, you won’t be shocked when your partner behaves like a normal person. The latter will spoil you and your expectations. Neither of these realities should come as a surprise and one should keep them at the forefront of their minds should they enter into a long distance relationship. Bla bla bla.

I’m learning and I don’t plan on stopping until I drop dead…

Healing
As “Support” for my girlfriend, I went to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting last night. It was my first time and I was moved to tears by the stories shared. Sitting among the participants I realised that I was a sort of a**hole for ever wallowing in my own “misery” when the pain of others was so incredibly palpable and next to which my own became nothing short of a spoiled brat’s self-pity.

I was surrounded by individuals who were so grateful to be alive, individuals who lived day by day, battling themselves so they could be aware of what they once were and who they are today. Individuals who faced themselves and who were thankful for the ability to do so. Their battle to heal and their road to recovery is: fearless self-awareness.

I have a friend who, since our early twenties, I’ve watched live in rage and anger. I never said anything but I’d always felt that anger was a mask for something far more painful, something I’ve never been able to clearly see in order to articulate. After last night’s meeting, I finally understood that her anger serves to mask a deep and sometimes immeasurable pain and sadness. I also realised that it is the path we walk if we wish to avoid forgiveness.

I walked around for a couple of hours after the meeting and I found the strength to honestly face myself as I am today and the kind of woman I want to be tomorrow. I once said to someone I love that: “I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop” and in essence that meant that I was always waiting to be hurt. But last night, I decided to throw that out. I threw it out because I don’t like that girl. I used to think it was a means of self-preservation, but last night I realised that although that was a part of it, it was also my defence against / fear of both hurt and pain. By living that sentiment I was living as someone wounded. By what, I couldn’t tell you…and even if I could, it’s likely not something I would share.

Last night I understood the reality that in order for us to live, we must allow ourselves to feel all emotions, including pain and fear, in all of their extremities. Essentially, we must allow ourselves complete and total vulnerability.

With the dulling or avoidance of any emotion comes the severing of others, whether we want that or not. I won’t lie to you, I’m terrified to hurt and I’m scared to see what’s inside, but I do welcome it, if for no other reason than because I now refuse to let fear or pain direct my life or my feelings. If anything is going to direct my life, it’s going to be love and nothing short of…

Gratitude
During the sharing period of the meeting, a younger man spoke to the idea of gratitude. He explained how he used to get sick and tired of hearing the words “I am so grateful I am here” until now. Now that he too is grateful to be waking up in the morning and remembering the day previous. Now that he too is grateful to live and breathe and possess the capacity to see his own life unfold before him. Now that he is able to manage his disease.

It brought to mind an old Arab proverb that mama taught me: “On the heads of the healthy are crowns seen only by the ailing”.

Although gratitude for and in this life is a sometimes rare commodity, it’s one we need to aspire to daily if we are to live healthy and stable lives built on the present rather than the “what if” of a future yet undecided and the “I wish I had” of a past no longer accessible.

I’m trying…and on the day I die, I’ll try to post an entry to let you know how I made out in this world and before I head to FOREVER AND EVER LAND…

As most of you are aware, I’m living with Baba these days. Baba’s a very rational and controlled man – he likes things exactly where he’s placed them and in the way that he’s placed them. He deals with problems head-on and doesn’t wallow, preferring to instead deal with things in as clear and focussed a manner as possible.

Which, for the most part, isn’t me.

Since Baba and I had such a long time of separation, he’s now sort of been forced to hit the Baba Road running and he’s doing a pretty amazing job of keeping up.

I tend to tunnel and then pop up in unexpected places, much like a crazy, possibly blind groundhog. For a man such as him, this is problematic because (a) much like I he doesn’t know in which direction I’m headed as I tunnel & (b) he doesn’t know at which hole to wait for me, so that he may then contain me in an effort to keep me as together and as controlled as possible…or, at the very least, place me in a little glass box with holes in it so that I may breathe as I stare out at him and everyone else in this world. Because, I admit, that sometimes I need a lot of restraint.

Having recognised that, I’m trying to change that about me as honestly and as slowly as possible so that it remains rectified. And I think (& really hope) it’ll work and that I may learn something from it…’cus tunnels aren’t fun and they exhaust both myself and those I love most, even though it’s not my intention to do so. Worse still, they dirty my shoes.

“If you start thinking about other people’s faults, you’re just a fool. The point is to get rid of your own.”
- Hamza Yusuf
Purification of the Heart, CD 3

Before beginning I would like to let everyone know that my dear friend Sami (who lives here) has ventured out in business. Wish him well, please. Mwafa2a inshallah ya Sami; I have no doubt you will succeed and inshallah spend a lot of money on your dear friend Maha and her love of Crack reap the rewards of your hard work.

& on to the entry itself…
Since my return from volunteering in Beirut during the war, I have been trying to figure out what I am, where I belong and what sort of life I want to lead. Understanding fully well that identity is not static and – for those of us blessed enough – that it is a life-long journey, I have felt that whatever I am or have been is not concrete enough for my liking. More importantly, it’s not concrete enough for my peace of mind. I was displeased with my lack of Iman because although ‘I am a Muslimah’, I wanted to be more than that. I want to be more than that.

In simple terms: It was time to challenge my state of acquiescence.

In the last little while, this process has been heightened and intensified. I am demanding much more of myself than I have ever in my entire adult life. The repercussions of this have been extremely far-reaching as it has meant that those I love most have also been forced to challenge themselves and most everything they’ve believed to date, how they viewed their present and, more importantly, their future. More heartbreaking is that the situation may alter forever our relationships. I pray Allah will protect us all from that.

I didn’t provide them a choice in this and for that I will have to pray that they will one day understand my actions and that they will have faith in both myself and these very actions. More importantly, I pray I have not and will not disappointed the family that has held me together and up during my weakest moments of 32 years past. They are the glue of me and I fear that without them I would quite literally fall to pieces.

Further to this and with full Iman I have chosen to alter my life as I had planned its unfolding in the coming couple of years. By my own hands, I have turned my world upside down; nothing in my life today is as it was and sometimes, it’s hard not to spin.

There are moments, hours, days where I have been drained and where I have questioned my actions and my purpose. To calm and temper me, I read Surat Yâ-Sîn daily either during salaat el-subuh or right before I sleep. The Quran is where I place my heart when I have neither the strength nor the courage to stand alone. It’s in His words that I find solace when I can not rest my head in my mother’s lap.

The Prophet (SalAllahu alayhi wasalam) said, ”Surely everything has a heart, and the heart of the Qur’an is Yasin. I would love that it be in the heart of every person of my people”[Bazzar]. (S.Muhammad Ali Sabuni, Tafsir-al-SabuniVol.2)

Today, I am tired.

That sentence is hard to see and it’s hard to share because of the depth of my fatigue. I have always had great difficulty sharing the weight of my heart except with a select few; I do my best to carry the hearts of others, but rarely burden individuals with sharing in the pain that is the consequence of the choices I make.

Unfortunately, I have caused pain in the heart of the family who loves me and I can’t share or lighten the weight I have forced upon them. And so today, I am tired. And today, I am hurting a little more than yesterday and the day before that and the day before that and the day before that…

Today, I am tired but I believe that we are never handed more than we can tackle. He never gives us more than we can face and overcome. And the greater the challenge, the greater the strength of character one possesses.

Today, I am thankful, Alhamdulilah.

I am thankful that I have a warm home and food and friends and family. I am thankful for all of the good that is in this world and the blessed life I continue to lead. I am thankful for the challenges and for the struggles, for the pain and the hurt and the tears. I am thankful for the burdens and for the sunshine. And I am thankful for the birds. I am thankful for being tired and I am thankful for the reserve of strength I have at my disposal…a reserve I never had to touch before and so a reserve the depth of which I am uncertain.

But whatever the outcome, I am thankful.

Alhamdullilah.

& May peace always be upon you, most especially on the days that find you exhausted. Remember that your heart is the center of your Faith and it is from the center that God speaks to you.

This post is a little heavy; I promise to post something ridiculously idiotic in the coming days. Something idiotic enough to make you laugh out loud and maybe even lose a little bladder control.

I have had a trying month, Alhamdulilah. ‘Alhamdulilah’ because from adversity and challenge comes strength for those who seek it. Inshallah this last month has made me stronger.

I find that where I’m concerned, I live in severe extremes – starve or gorge, really – and usually end up hitting rock bottom at high velocity before I turn my face up to Heaven. I’ve done this a handful of times in my life, and among everything I used to pray for, I never asked that It (that particular time) be the last. For the first time in my short little life, this is now something for which I am asking. Rest assured that it’s never as bad as it sounds because, Alhamdulilah, I lead a blessed and graced life. No matter the trauma I am forced to face, it is absolute child’s play in the grand scheme of things.

I have only ever gifted the Quran (more specifically, ‘the translation of’) to one person. In it, I wrote something along the lines of how it is only within the pages of This Book** I find calm, peace and forgiveness when I am at my absolute lowest and loneliest. I have been reading the Quran on a daily basis and each night before I sleep; If I could at this point become a page in This Book, I would.

Recently, and because of circumstance, there have been days where I’ve had trouble breathing; in Arabic, we say “dee’it nafs”, which, although it is a physical manifestation, it literally translates to a “tightly squeezed self” (think of it as thus: when you squeeze someone hard, as in a bear hug, they have trouble breathing). More often than not, “dee’it nafs” has a spiritual meaning because nafs comes from the Arabic word anfasukum, which means “souls”. I have had this “dee’it nafs” for this past month. Finally, whatever it was I was living is beginning to loosen.

This is where Hijab has come in to play. I thought that, perhaps, by wearing it I could protect and shield myself from certain things that have caused me to lose faith and be angry with Allah. A weakness of character, I admit.

I spoke with some family members and did my own thinking on the subject of Hijab. The opinion I am going to offer is solely my own and is not a judgment on any female who has chosen to wear Hijab during a time of duress or when she has sought forgiveness for specific action(s).

Before diving into a deeper explanation, I have to acknowledge that while Hijab is not one of the five pillars of Islam (.1. Monotheism & recognition that Muhammad (s.a.w.s.) is His messenger; .2. Salaat (prayer); .3. Syaam (fasting during Ramadan); .4. Zakaat (charity); and .5. Haaj(pilgrimage)) it is indeed a fard, or rather a “must” decreed by Allah.

There is a much greater philosophical debate here, one for which I currently neither have the state of mind nor the bandwidth. I am going to only offer a small glimpse into the lines bordering the philosophical argument…

Wearing Hijab is a choice born of Free Will, the choices and positions/judgments being as follows: (1) Because it is a fard, those who perform it are better than those who do not. (2) Someone who commits any act which is mafrood, and does so without being convinced of it, or who flat out denies its validity in their heart, is a hypocrite. (3) Person in either scenario 1 or 2 who commits any fard while, in tandem, committing greater sins. I choose to not posit an explicit opinion on this, for I can actually – and likely with great success – argue all sides. Since Hijab is our main topic, I will write that I believe there are many women wearing Hijab whose hearts are shaded, whereas there are many who do not wear it, but whose hearts are much more pure; Allah is the only one who can judge what is in the hearts of wo/mankind…I just offer an opinion to whomever walks past me on the street.

Having said that, we can now get to me, which is what everything boils down to on this blog.

For your blogMistress, my thoughts currently stand at this: Hijab will not be something I will do at the beginning of my spiritual journey, but rather, while along it. (There can never be an ‘at the end of it’ to such a journey.) Hijab will neither purify my heart, nor will it protect me from myself. (What it would do is signal that we are Muslimaat, and can, when we are ourselves lacking strength, create a barrier between ourselves and that which we have been told to avoid.)

I’ve seen many women take the decision to wear Hijab while mired in severe circumstance. They have done it for the exact reason I stated above. More often than not, these women have removed the Hijab when the situation they were previously in was resolved – and if ever you wish to flip Him the bird (staghfara Allah al3azzem, sorry!), then one surefire way to do it is to remove your Hijab. Or so goes the argument, one of which I am not convinced.

Having written that, please understand that what I am about to write does not pertain to all, but is something I have noticed when this particular decision is taken in these specific circumstances. Unfortunately, and usually, the Hijab becomes the be-all and end-all of some. The touchstone of their Iman (Faith) rests on their Hijab. They misunderstand it as both the only and also the final means to Allah, making Islam = Hijab = Iman, forgetting the multiplicity of other Muslim characteristics We have to learn and exercise (e.g. not gossiping, judging, being envious of or jealous of others, not being selfish and wanting for oneself what you would not have others be granted, etc. & OH! Not eating bacon. (Try beef jerky instead, y’all.)).

Perhaps my biggest fear would be that wearing Hijab would be a band-aid solution to a much deeper struggle, one that can only be resolved by being honest with myself about myself. In laymen’s terms, I mean that wearing Hijab can not possibly rectify the darker recesses of one’s character; the ones which may have led them to behave in a certain manner / which may have led them to their current difficult circumstance. When we commit a wrong, we always commit it against Allah. In tandem with that, we either commit a wrong against another or against ourselves. Band-aid solutions may be used as a means to avoid facing who we have betrayed and ultimately, this means that we avoid being honest with ourselves.

Take the modern day example of an alcoholic; their first step is admitting they have a drinking problem. That act is a means to facing one self and one’s own actions. It is, first and foremost, admitting there exists a problem that needs resolution. For me, wearing Hijab without having faced and improved myself may lead me to remove it in the future. I can’t risk it and so choose to not place myself in the situation from the beginning.

Arguably, there are some who can do the above in tandem; face themselves, while wearing Hijab. They will never go back on their decisions and they remain better than I and most likely, stronger than I. I understand my limitations and can’t lie to myself or Allah.

So. Where has all of the above left your blogMistress? Simple, actually. I am learning more about my own religion and I am working from the inside out. Rather than using the cloth as my barrier and guardian, I have chosen to use my Faith (my love for and fear of Allah). Ultimately, I have taken the decision that my Hijab will – when I finally do wear it, Inshalllah – be, not a means of protection, but rather, a means of outwardly stating what’s on the inside: Islam.

I hope that none of the above is perceived as any sort of judgment on anyone’s actions. There is only one judge in this world and He would not approve of my doing so for I can not see into the hearts of others. If I have offended you, please excuse my carelessness and know it is not my intention to do so.

Most of us believe in Karma. I believe in it without prejudice and so hope that any actions I put out there are done in the spirit of bringing the good of her my way.

I recently heard from the best friend of someone who I thought was, a few months back, somewhat important to me (not important in the earth shattering way, but important enough to enjoy the moment). Unfortunately, he decided that it would be acceptable – nay, necessary – to treat me in a manner not befitting the treatment of any person. What that means is that he was a complete sh*t who did something that really hurt my ego. At the time, I would have told you that my feelings were hurt, but the reality of it was that it was my ego that took the hit.

I should’ve known something was amiss when after the lie was told, I couldn’t cry. And let me tell you, just as I Am Canadian, I Too Am A Weeper.

It was the first time something like this had happened; heavily unusual because I’d never dealt with that severity of immaturity and disrespect and because I try to make certain that my ego does not rely on how others perceive me but rather, on how I perceive myself, how well I treat others, and what I’ve achieved by way of my own hard work.

To put it bluntly, he didn’t have the capacity to Man Up about something and so instead chose to tell me something deeply hurtful in an effort to place distance between him and I. Nine days later, I discovered it was a lie and the reflection of it on his character was so immense that Trish – who never says a peep – responded with “That’s not rad. In fact, that’s so not rad it’s shameful”.

He was pathetic and a coward – and if there’s one thing any man needs to know about someone like me it’s that I don’t particularly like the company of a chicken sh*t. If there is even a hint of cowardice, then he’s just not for me. Needless to say, both he and the situation became a joke between The Girls and I and he is now and forever referred to as The Pink Lady. (This potential to become a ‘joke’ is the chance one takes when behaving in such an incomprehensible manner. Consider yourself warned, both men and women.)

Fast forward and find your BlogMistress facing the following conversation with his best friend:
“…bla bla bla, you’re making him out to be such a bad person when he’s not. He’s my best friend and I know him bla bla bla and he regrets bla bla bla and wants to try bla bla bla and I know it’s been months but he can’t stop thinking about you and I bla bla bla…stop making him out to be such a bad guy, it’s not fair.”

The long and short of it is, he wants a second chance because I’m a Ferris Wheel and you can take me out for an unlimited amount of spins.

You may have already guessed this if you live here and pay attention to my stupid entries: I’m not a big ‘second chancer’, even though I am a big ‘forgiver’. I am this way for one simple reason: No one who wanted a second chance originally ever meant enough to warrant it. Of note are two men to whom I would afford a ‘second chance’ but only because it would technically be a ‘first chance’. Although that may read as code, they would understand it without problem.

Back to this boy. After hearing out his best friend, I said something which I’d not thought about or planned or fantasized about or ever considered because after the above mentioned nine days, life had returned to normal and I quite literally never wasted another moment thinking of him. He was a stranger before I met and dated him, and he returned to that category relatively easily.

Although the hurt was felt by my ego, what I said came from my head and was said with the utmost calm because it remains to me the equivalent of saying “my eyes are hazel”. It wasn’t meant to be vindictive or hurtful, but rather the truth of where my head was at post nine days of lie, and where it remains today. I said:

“It’s not that he’s that bad of a guy because I’m sure he’s capable of being lovely…
it’s that he’s just not good enough for me.”

…and although I’m neither the vindictive sort nor the sort to ever ever ever enjoy the potential hurt of another, I couldn’t help but smile a little when a few steps after closing my mobile, it dawned on me the sentiment of my sentence.

& with that, I’ll say that I hope you too understand your worth and value and never stray from your incredible potential, be it alone or with another.

I’ve begun writing the Wrap Up on Beirut and I realize I’m not ready to do it just yet. It’s really too heavy for me to deal with at the moment, and I’m currently more inclined to deal with me than I am to deal with politics. Sorry.

But, I finally responded to each and every one of your emails and I’ve started (backwards) responding to the comments you’ve all left (up to and including the blog entry No 8: Sabra & Shatila; In the coming week, I’ll get to all comments posted after that date).

Right. So more about me, hurrah! While in Beirut being a scardey cat working, I thought it was the ideal time to engage in a most exhausting personal battle. Because, you know, aerial bombings are such a bore and leave you with quite a bit of time on your hands and energy to think.

The only words I can use to describe me are ‘reckless’ and ‘defensive’, and until Beirut happened, I never realized just how reckless I am, and how the bizarre flipside of that is the reality that I am, in fact, completely defensive. It plays itself out in a strange hypocritical script where I equal parts open myself up completely, while setting up a situation in a way that ensures it will fail (& where I don’t set it up myself, I look for the situation that’s already set up in that manner).

Not that I aim for failure, but rather that should ‘circumstance’ dictate failure, then it’s not a reflection on me but on circumstance. I remain intact and safe and secure and can throw my hands into the air and squeal “it’s out of my hands”, when in fact, I’ve obviously created a situation in the likeness I wish to see it. I have no idea what the last part of that sentence means, but I’m leaving it in there because it makes me giggle.

In the past, this has backfired and the scenario of failure ends up being a recipe for success. That’s been fun, in a strange twilighty sort of way.

I can guarantee that any psychoanalysis of this girl would conclude that: on a much deeper level, I actively seek out what’s reckless and what’s difficult and complicated, dramatic and maybe even devastating to a certain degree. A part of me must enjoy the twisted ends that come of my own doing…

Hey, at least I’m not into self-mutilation yet.

OH MY GOD, have you seen Nip/Tuck season 3? Holy moly, it’s crazy and ya ilahi thank you for Christian Troy. Because I obviously have a weird fetish I picked up Season 3 on Sunday and have managed to already watch it. SEE IT. Godspeed, kitties.

Right. So we were at: I’ve always understood that I’d much rather live hard and feel and hurt equally hard, than to be numb. Isn’t that where we were?

But clearly, I’m only willing to engage hurt when I’ve inflicted it by my own hands (e.g. not me giving 100% percent to something good and healthy and then having it fail; but, rather me giving 100% to something meant to break down, hence me actually seeking it out).

And for the record, although I don’t know what this does mean, I do know it doesn’t mean that I don’t want something to succeed, and it doesn’t mean I don’t want things to work out. It’s sort of messy, but to a great extent, it allows me a semblance of control and order in an otherwise messy situation, oui? Engage in and expect failure, and when you fail to receive failure and instead receive success, then even better…

In other speak, this means my willingness (& affinity) for taking really stupid risks. Did I not have the cultural and religious graces of my family, my risks taken would be much greater. This is somewhat of a double-edged sword for although it’s kept me safe from much, it’s also held me back from so much more.

Anyway, what I haven’t been able to understand is where the defensiveness comes in. Seriously, I’ve been thinking a lot about this in the past couple of weeks and I’m happy I’ve figured out the first half, because I like that half. I actually enjoy being reckless. What I need now is a means to understand where and why the defensiveness kicks in and how to ensure I stop allowing it to be a part of my life. Because ultimately, I’m still getting hurt even though it is by my own hand, so I think that it’s time for me to stop being defensive. I think I’ve hit a new level of maturity and I’m really looking forward to engaging it and those around me based on this new principle…

…while wearing this spectacular new shirt I picked up in Dubai. Isn’t it stunning?

I’m not entirely sure I know what this blog entry’s about. I just have a lot to say and thought I’d throw it out there for you to laugh at. Being in Beirut forced me to face it because thinking you may die makes you a very large weirdo.

Very recently, we dined at one of my favourite restaurants in Montreal. On St-Laurent, close to Sherbrooke, this place is rather small, but packs in quite a group, and is turned into a dance club much later in the evenings.

I was wearing a new black chiffon dress with a relatively low and square décolleté, returning to our table from the washroom. Heading towards me was one of the female wait staff carrying a full tray of drinks (it looked as though she had taken it to the wrong table).

Immediately in front of the waitress (to her left & my right) was another woman who was wearing fake breasts and one of those tops that make me laugh (the ones that have no material in either the back or all the way down the front, until the woman’s belly button; essentially, the top looks as though it’s made of two strips to cover breasts and a band to hold it around the waist). Women such as this tend to live la vida loca and so they’re usually fun and interesting to watch, but deadly to chat.

On this evening, however, this woman was both hideous to watch and be yelled at by…

Let’s situate ourselves once more: I am walking toward the waitress, who is headed towards me. In between us, to my right and to the left of the waitresses is The Woman, standing and chatting to people at a table.

The waitress reached The Woman moments before I did; I slowed down to let the waitress pass. As I did this, The Woman turned toward the waitress and started moving at high velocity.

Crashing into the waitress and her full tray of drinks, The Woman did some intricate dance move to ensure that I too was covered in drinks. I was soaked from the collarbone down, the waitress had drinks on her face and a little on her top, and The Woman had some drinks on the front of her top, but mostly on her left arm. There was no one seated to the left of The Woman and I or else they would have been covered in what was left of the drinks.

It took me a moment to realise what had occurred and why I was suddenly a wee bit chilly.

And then I started to laugh because it was a ridiculously funny situation.

Until The Woman started yelling at the waitress.

I was helping the waitress pick up some of the broken glass and so I didn’t hear everything, but did catch: “YOU F****** IDIOT!” and “WHAT KIND OF F***** WAITRESS ARE YOU?” and “YOU’VE RUINED MY OUTFIT!”

The waitress was in near hysterics because of the screaming banshee; completely discombobulated, she was at a loss, trying to pick up glass and wipe down Breasts, letting out a flow of “I’m so sorry”s.

Now. Women like Breasts – to me, anyway – give The Sisterhood a very bad reputation. Very Bad. And I have a problem: I can’t keep my mouth shut, most especially not if I feel as though someone is being abused or oppressed or generally treated as an inferior human being.

Breasts was doing just that to the waitress. Had it in fact been the waitress’ fault, Breasts would still not have been justified in her behaviour.

And so. I turned to Breasts and calmly said: I don’t really think you should speak to her that way; she’s trying to apologise. To which Breasts retaliated with a dismissive: F*** you.

I had two choices: I could either ignore her or engage the F*** you and deal with her on her level. It wasn’t a hard decision, and by this point, her two girlfriends had come over, as had the manager.

I ignored the comment (although I must have been smiling because I heard: WHAT ARE YOU SMILING AT?), and turned to the waitress who had begun to cry. I tried to talk her down. I mean, really, it was such a non issue that the drinks were spilled. She was apologising to me about my dress but I couldn’t have cared less. Dress = material = cloth = who cares?!

We were pulled out of our little chat because Breasts had begun yelling at both the manager and her two girlfriends, ‘explaining’ how the waitress had spilled all of the drinks on her.

The girlfriends sucked on their cheeks in horror, and the manager apologised profusely for his “new staff”. Breasts kept yelling and wiping at the space between her fake rack.

Before the manager could say anything, I added my two cents: Your waitress didn’t spill anything on her; she smashed into the waitress. Turning to Breasts, I added: You’re rude and you need to apologise.

Right after an “I DID NOT”, I got another “F*** YOU”, only much louder. Last straw.

I don’t know why I said it, but I felt obligated. I said: No thanks, I don’t like the texture of fake breasts.

It should come as no surprise that she launched into a full-out verbal assault (at a much higher pitch) that I didn’t take note of because I turned back to the waitress. Before I knew what was happening, two of the men seated at the table with whom she had previously been chatting, had confirmed to the manager that it was Breasts who’d crashed into the waitress, and not the other way around. Boys rock!

They too got the F*** YOUs at this point.

The manager offered to pay for our dry cleaning, which I declined, and to which Breasts railed: IT HAS TO BE HAND WASHED.

The top was cheap-ass, and so where she got “hand washed” is beyond me.

In a huff, Breasts declared that she had to go home and change out of her “RUINED TOP” and how she would “NEVER” come back to (insert name of restaurant) where there was “SUCH POOR F****** SERVICE”.

As she yelled randomly that they wanted their orders cancelled, her girlfriends grabbed jackets and proceeded to storm out. The restaurant was left quiet for a tense 15 seconds, until the first giggle broke out.

The manager, the waitress and I stood staring at one another, with the waitress shaking and wiping at her eyes. The manager looked at a complete loss and so…

I took the waitress into the washroom and helped her get cleaned up, made sure she stopped crying. I also had to wipe down my collarbone and surrounding area because the drinks had dried and I was sticky. I gave her a little pep talk and told her that it wasn’t her fault, and even if it were her fault, no one deserves to be yelled at in that manner. And that one day, she probably would spill a tray of drinks on someone, and it really doesn’t matter.

The rest of the evening was smooth sailing and the manager & I had a brief talk; I wanted to make certain the waitress didn’t get stuck paying for the spilled drinks, or wouldn’t be reprimanded for something she didn’t do.

When it was time to leave, I realised how much nicer the place had become without Breasts or the likes of women she represents. For such a pretty girl, she really is ugly.

What do you do when you feel down? Forget about the reason behind your feeling a little blue, just tell me what you do to make yourself feel better…

For some days, I have been a little more morose than I would like; yesterday I stayed home.

All day, I stayed in my yellow flannel pj’s covered in ducks. I sat in front of my television set, turned up the heat (literally, not figuratively), brought out my largest fluffiest pillow & warmest fluffiest wool blanket and watched back-to-back episodes of the Gilmore Girls and of Felicity (God bless her, for she is a bona fide retard; and although I can relate, I found myself talking to the television and saying things like “STOP TALKING, FELICITY!”).

Am not a television girl. (Due partly to mum’s imposed “half an hour of television only” per night rule, coupled with her “no television on the weekends” rule when I was a little girl. I was dragged to museums instead; something for which I am grateful today.) There are very few shows I make a point of watching, preferring instead to pay attention to my own life, rather than that of others.

But the above two shows have always, and I think, will always intrigue me and create a sort of *safe space* for me when am blue. They have the ability to generate a feeling — maybe an aroma? — of health or something.

Right. They have the capacity to remove me from current affairs and bring me back to the time when I watched them as they aired in real time.

Not since either of these shows have I been intrigued or seduced by any other television show…except for Nip / Tuck, but that’s not the sort of place I like to go to when am blue (rather, when am psychotic, disassociating, pornographic, violent, self-abusive, self-loathing and generally just. Not. Happy.). Seeing as how I just listed off some rather gross references, it should come as no surprise that I stopped watching Nip / Tuck.

I also ate D’s spectacular ginger-bread-cookies with vanilla ice-cream to make them melt in my mouth.

Then I spent a few hours on the phone with some fabulous women.

And then I went out and saw some other fabulous women, late in the evening, over warm milk and more cookies.

What do you do?

.1. I pulled out all of my U2 CDs and loaded them into my iTunes. While doing this, I found that I had two copies of the Achtung Baby CD.

And then I remembered why.

I pulled out the inside covers and found a note in the proper one.

While in 4th year university, I was given this second copy of the CD from a boy whose initial I won’t even place on this blog. He was…a little agitated with me…and decided that:

“Maha:
Tracks 5, 6 and 11 should be your national anthem.”

Respectively, he’s talking about:
Whose Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses
So Cruel
&
Acrobat

My initial thought was: Can I have three anthems?
And then I contemplated: Should he have an ‘s’ at the end of ‘anthem’?

Today I’m thinking: He must have really disliked me.

Anyone want a used Achtung Baby CD? (Disgruntled Note included.)

.2. I’ve recently thought about Damiana and the 90 year old in Garcia Marquez’s Memories of My Melancholy Whores, and unlike my initial impression, I gotta tell ‘ya…I’m not all too pleased with either of these characters at the moment.

It really must have been my mood and the atmosphere, because now I think: Damiana’s an idiot for loving anyone for 20 weeks, let alone 20 years (!), who couldn’t love her back; and the 90 year old is just a coward.

Erm. I still do recommend you read the book. If not for anything, the writing is beautiful (or, I should write: the translation is beautiful).

.3. Remember the dudes who gave you my last musical recommendation?

Michael, who is a part of Petrol Bomb Samosa sent me an e-mail, thanking me for mentioning them (how kind!) and pointing me to their home on the interWeb (www.downdogrecords.com): Down Dog Records.

Go take a peek & make certain to listen to the mp3s; these guys are brilliant!

Support them by purchasing from them directly…

.4. The Philosopher Kings are finally working on new tunes (finally!).

In preparation for what will hopefully be an excellent new set from these masters, download The New Messiah (but not the live version). It’s good for nights like tonight, when the wind’s rattling your windows…

My parents had intended to name me ‘Nuha’. When I was born, all my parents could see were a set of eyes with what appeared to be two arms and two legs.

Maha, in Arabic, is a type of gazelle that is renowned for her eyes. In Arabic poetry, a very common turn of prose is ‘uyoon el-maha’ (translation: ‘the eyes of the Maha’).

In other words, ‘beautiful eyes’.

I have also been told that, depending on the language, the definition of my name varies from:
- Water
to
- The ultimate state of ‘being’
to
- The Seductress (capital ‘T’, please)
to
- The Virgin (capital ‘V’, please)

When I was younger, I used to tell people my name meant ’wilderness cow’ until my mother overheard became v angry with me. I don’t know what her problem was, because a wilderness cow is still exotic in my mind’s eye.

It was then that I used to tell people I was European (Palestine is so close to Europe, no?!) because I had no sense of geography.

I believe that a part of me is still royally pissed that am not the exotic European wilderness cow.

And…that’ll never be half as bad as T who used to run around declaring how she was “Pilipino” (she’s as pale as they come, has wicked blue eyes and blonde hair). She cried when her mother told her she was from Nova Scotia. Is it a wonder that she’s one of my best friends?

As a nod to Halloween, I will share with you lovelies some very funny Halloween related moments from my childhood.

.1. I used to gorge myself on so much candy (almost all of it) right after coming home from trick or treating (damn the BASTARDS who tricked instead of treated!), that my mother usually took me to the doctor’s the following day.

It was just a normal footnote to Halloween in our house…
I would trick or treat and collect as much sugar as possible.
My mother would point her finger at my circle for a head and say “don’t eat too much!”
I would stare at her with my circles for eyes and nod ‘ok’.
I would wait for her to fall asleep.
& then proceed to as-quiet-as-a-mouse unwrap as much candy as possible and stuff it into my aforementioned circle for a face.
Sometimes, and only because it was dark, I would miss my mouth and place a piece of candy in my nose. But not often.
I would discreetly, and only because it was dark, hide the wrappers underneath my covers.
My mother would find me on Nov 1st, passed out on top of candy wrappers, much like a drunk .

By about noon, my mother would take my doubled-over-in-pain body to the doctor.
The Doctor would laugh.
I would cry (& have the shakes).
My mother would swear to never let me out for Halloween “ever again!”
I would take a bigger bag the following year.
ad infinitum…

*psst. This only stopped in 2003.

.2. I have always been slightly temperamental and demanding (but now I’m really nice about it, and I give back 100 fold). One year, I forced my parents to buy me a full-throttle ballerina outfit (with shoes) so I could trick or treat looking – what I then considered – ‘sexy’.

I was 6, carried a wand and wore a tiara. I was such an idiot.

They bought me what I wanted, and from an actual dance studio. But then it all backfired because my mother put me in ballet classes. Ugh.

That was as memorable as my piano lessons. It was so memorable, I can’t remember a damn thing about it. My mother had to remind me that I took ballet. She said I hated it and would throw a fit every time she dragged me to the class. And – brace yourselves – I was the only one who had a tutu and refused to do ballet unless I was allowed to wear my tiara.

Now, I wear the tiara whenever I have a meeting with my assistant.

.3. In grades 6, 7 & 8, my girlfriends and I started developing crushes on boys. We wanted to be appealing to said crushes and so we used to dress all ‘grown up’ on Halloween.

Thing is, we never thought of women such as our mothers as appealing, alluring or sexy. We thought – again, brace yourselves – that prostitutes were the sexy ones.
Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s not like Mr. McKinnon was all “Oh, Maha, what are you this Halloween?”
And I’d smile and say “I’m the Mayflower Madam!”

It was more like, “What are you?”
“I’m a lady!”

I reference prostitutes now because when I look at our pictures from those Halloweens, there’s only two words that come to mind: Paid Whore.

Anyway. A troop of us idiot girls would spend an hour in the washroom every year. An hour prior to our Halloween Dance, we would tumble over one another and fumble with hideous colors that we would then smear all over our faces. We’d wear high heels and nylons with really short skirts, pull our hair up in the strangest styles and pull our shirts off our shoulders. Then we’d chew gum and prance out of the washroom, nearly falling over one another because none of us fit properly into the high heels we’d stolen from our mums.

Needless to say, none of the boys ever noticed us.

God, we were such drag queens.

Happy Halloween, kids!

.1. For some odd reason, have been in the grips of crazy amounts of energy since Sunday. So much so that this afternoon, I walked for 3 hours and then I worked out for another hour.

You know when you’ve not thought of someone in a long time, and then you think of them, and then that same afternoon you see them by sheer ‘coincidence’?

Well. I think my current levels of energy are like that, serving as a precursor to something. Don’t know what just yet, but something. Huge. It’ll be huge.

.2. I placed the word ‘coincidence’ in those single quote marks because I don’t believe in ‘coincidence’.

Coincidence: A sequence of events that although accidental seems to have been planned or arranged.

…probably because I don’t believe in ‘accidents’. But rather, I believe in fate, and this I believe in all across the board.

A prime example of this is my following theory about our lives and actions as individuals. I don’t think that any of the experiences we have or any of the actions we take are accidental, as the definition of ‘coincidence’ would have you believe. I have faith that they are all taken, each and every one – including the darkest and most traumatic ones – in order to help us reach our potential as individuals.

It was only about five years ago that I understood that and internalized it. I don’t use it as an excuse for every whim and action, but since then and when am talking to myself (which I often do), I see myself much more clearly and completely.

Even our ugliest actions are a path to self-improvement, if we so choose.

Much like the notion of Yin & Yang…

That people have the ability to choose whether they will embrace one path rather than the next, is what allows them to either: (1) continuously challenge themselves and work toward self-improvement and potential; or, (2) not.

It’s really that simple. Or not.

Back to the point at hand. There are no coincidences, only fated incidents that provide you with choice. What you do at each turn is what determines who you are and to what standard you will be held when you’ve kicked it and are standing before God and he’s all “Why did you embrace the darkness, Darth?”

Footnote no. 1: This does not pertain to psychopaths. Nor does it pertain to planning and executing actions meant to harm others and then hollering “Hurting him made me a better person”.

Footnote no. 2: Actions where you plan and then execute hurt on to your self, I find, usually serves to quicken and intensify one’s resolve to search for the good within themselves and polish it. Lucky are the blessed individuals fated for this particular fast forwarding…

And yes, I am equally aware of the counter arguments to all of the above; only…I have chosen this path on which to live my life. Should you feel more comfortable in a vacuous meaningless hostile life, you 1/2 Existentialst, that’s your prerogative. You probably don’t smile as much as I do…

I kid. Really.

.3. I have refreshed all RPNs from last year, the only ones missing are the ones from the summer of 2004. It will take me time to revive them but will have them completed by next week, I promise. God damn it, some of them are really funny.
Like this one.

I turn 31 in four days.

Three thoughts:
(1) I feel am too young for 31;
(2) Am single; and,
(3) Have never felt more confident than I do at this age. There’s something really sexy about confidence that comes from your mind and nothing else. This coming year is going to be something special. I’m excited to wake up with a smile on my face every morning…don’t know why yet, but I can feel something’s going to happen…

Re point no. 2: It would be nice to have someone brush my hair out of my face every now and then when it sticks to my lip-gloss.

Erm. Not facial hair, but rather hair…from my head…that gets stuck to my obscenely large mouth.

Really. Gentlemen: I don’t have facial hair…

31 is going to be such an adventure!

xo. nightie.

I recently denied something of myself; I behaved and pretended as though I were flippant, when in fact, I have never possessed the capacity to be superficial about any emotion experienced…real and immediate, or the potential of.

I have always been crazed with the necessity to appear strong and unbreakable; anything but the reality of me, which is vulnerable (a characteristic that’s only ever been recognized by one individual).

I don’t – nor do I want to – have the ability of living a life of moderation; feeling in moderation, wanting in moderation, loving and hating in moderation. These things don’t become me; I prefer and find pleasure in the tension brought into my life by excessive emotion. I would feel too much and hurt too much, rather than wallow in the numbness of feeling only a little.

The situation I faced was unique for many reasons and on many levels…not least of all, the player involved. This time, unlike any other time, I chose protection and so made flippancy the veil behind which I hid.

& frankly, it doesn’t matter – nor do I care – how the other party felt, if anything at all. I’m enough of a narcissist not to give a shit.

More melodrama tomorrow! (Not really…I’ll spare you the agony of my terrible grammar.)

I am attempting to teach myself a new lesson in patience and control; when I have made myself a promise to not do something, and I have the urge to do it, I follow my mantra of “just don’t”.

I know it sounds terribly simple, but I’m sure that’s what employees at Nike said when they heard the “Just do it” tag-line. These same employees now reside in your dumpsters, and it’s the folks who came up with it that are now a bazillion kamillion transillion dollars richer (and the related slave trade, the poorer).

When you think about it, it’s really fascinating how we can’t listen to ourselves much of the time. I’m not even talking about an actual addiction related to chemical reaction, but rather pure and simple psychological warfare that your own mind plays on itself.

Mind you, there may be some sort of a chemical action / reaction deal at play, one stemming from something released in your mind or your system? I don’t know; I never did well in Chemistry.

So, this may just be my first ever blog challenge (and perhaps my last). For just this one week, I challenge you to do the same. Trust me, it’s not as easy as it sounds, and you need to pick one thing that you know is not good for you, but not something that is chemically addictive. The item from which you are to remove yourself has to be some sort of psychological fixation or emotional drama related to your life, some sort of habit that you’ve developed and that you know is being destructive (e.g. something you always kick yourself for after).

Mine is simple, really. I am an optimist. But then, at times, I am a *severe* pessimist. I look at a situation and I actually imagine the worst possible case scenario. I become anxious about it, and react not to the reality before me, but rather, to the imagined worst-case-scenario. It sucks & I have to stop it, because it’s a no value added situation.

And. Life’s too damn short, anyway.

Will let you know how I do…

Have had a unique few days past where I learned a lot about myself. Yesterday evening, I had an even more interesting and stimulating interaction…one which complimented the last little while and is most certainly blog worthy (and erm, my blog space is a precious thing so this truly is a commemorative moment. I hear the mint is thinking of making a quarter with an image of my face etched into the middle of it in different shades of pink and white.).

Guess what? You get to be a part of what your blogmom has learned in the last few days (insert whistles & bells and all things sparkly!).

.1. I am a realist. No. I am a fatalist. WAIT! No, I am an idealist. (I may just have to settle for multiple personality disorder to keep you on your toes.)

.2. I am really clumsy. I’ve finally come to accept that if I don’t run into it, I will run over it, and if I don’t do that, I will trip and fall over it. It’s endearing and rather cute…when you’re not me and merely a spectator to the dance I do as I attempt to function at a human level.

.3. I have both a very short attention span and terrible short term memory.

.4. What?

.5. I like the colour yellow.

.6. I am easily swayed when seated across from mature intelligent folk.

.7. I have a short attention span and I can’t remember things all that well.

.8. I really like my caffe latte.

.9. I have to learn how to forgive.

.10. I have a really nice laugh.

.11. There are people in this world who intimidate me and to whom my explanations of “1 + 1 = 2” begin with “Right. So imagine you’re walking down that street at 4 p.m. in the afternoon and the other person gets on a train at 9 p.m. the evening previous (when they’re 24 hours before daylight savings time)…”

.12. I am all of 7 years old and I like candy.

Note to you: Feel free to build me a ginger bread house any time.

.13 At the drop of a hat, I can be as smart as Jessica Simpson (God bless her little blonde head).

.14 I am learning. Everyday and with every passing moment, I am learning that I can laugh at absolutely anything. I discovered that this morning when I woke up laughing at otherwise serious conversations had last night, and that put a smile on my face for the rest of my day (until I tripped over a box and nearly killed myself).

.15. Patience really is a virtue.

.16. When in doubt, lower your voice and speak calmly.

.17. I like sparkly things and colourful things and all things visually appealing.

Note to me: When are an adult, invest money in art work. Make one of Corno’s faces your first purchase.

.18. I am officially addicted to Tim Horton’s coffee. In fact, I think they should make some likeness of me, sell it as their mascot and call it: The Zim-Bit.

About me: In Jan 2004, was in London and met with a most interesting group of writers. They run the London News Review (& subsequently, The Friday Thing), and after a night of politically charged conversation, Charlie (one of the founders) asked me to write for them. They told me to start my own blog, where folks who don’t subscribe to the LNR may find all of my work..

By some point in May / June, found my articles posted on many other sites. Media Monitors Network was the next group that picked up my articles and it is with them I continue.

My blog is split; one is for all personal ramblings, the other for political ramblings & published articles.

Recommend you always refresh page as it often times will not immediately load all of my entries and whereas right now you may see 50 entries, post reloading you may find 55…

Thanks for dropping in. xo

Interests: Life, in general. Fairness & humanism more specifically. Cinema, in all its varied forms…

Favorite movies: All of them.

Favorite music: Trance, motown, blues, rap (plt’cl), arabic, 60′s, soul, and even *sigh* Britney. Trance. Orb. Trance. Orb.

Favorite books: Love philosophy books, & am a bona fide nerd, shall read anything you throw at me.

p.s. You’ll find that I’ve not linked to all of my published articles…this is because I am often times lazy. xo