Abez sez Assalamualaikum!

DeKep is DeFunct.

I got to go to Faisal Masjid for Maghrib jamaat the other day. It’s got miles of cool white marble, soft yellow lights, and it’s nestled right in the Margalla hills so there’s always a breeze going. I get to wander around barefoot and just soak in the spiritual ambiance. Man, I love Masjids. 🙂

You know what’s weird, Faisal Masjid is also a tourist spot, so aside from it being full of barefoot people on their way to prayer, it’s also got a sprinkling of politely reverent-looking foreigners, and openly awed local villagers. The villagers are the easiest to spot since they come dressed up like they’re headed for a wedding, and instead of praying, they sit around and gawk at the Masjid and the musalleen. (musalleen= those who pray). I was walking to the prayer hall when I passed a group of villagers. Just as I walked by, the man pointed to me and said to his family in Punjabi, “And look, there’s an Arab!”



(And to think, this whole time I’ve been struggling to learn Arabic and it’s been my first language all along! Wow!)

What else? Well, it’s been a tough fight, but I think I’m winning the battle versus the bacteria (I have a nasty cold, or rather, a nasty cold has me!). Myself and the rag-tag surviving elements of the Army of Immunity have regrouped and we’re getting ready for a counter-strike. It’s true, the nose has been lost and the lungs have betrayed us, but the body is ours yet! We will never surrender! -koff koff- You know what’s weird? When I cough, it sounds like little gears are grinding inside my lungs. Neat, hunh?

(pin-drop silence)

Ok, so it’s not neat, but I don’t have many things to mention at the moment, ok? Aside from this snotty, messy cold and the daily day-in, day-out of teaching, nothing much has happened. Oh wait, something has happened. I have another installment in the series, Terrifying Tales of Tailoring!!! (queue scary music)

I’m a pushover, a pansy, a softy, so I gave the tailor another chance and three suits. Well, he didn’t disappoint me, he just crushed my faith in humanity and sartorial goodness completely. One of the jilbs was so big it hung off of me like a 40 kilo sugar sack. The shoulders were on my elbows, the hem hung to the floor. The other two were actually wider at the torso than they were at the hips. (what the hibbity-dibbity?) Charming, I assure you. One of these had a grease stain on the back. So aside from wearing them, sweating on them and occasionally vomiting on them, I guess now he’s wrapping pakoras in my jilbs then, eh?

I spent this evening repairing my summer jilbs even before being able to wear them for the first time. I’ve gotten so much sewing practice off of things he’s ruined that I’m starting to wonder if I should just skip him and make the jilbs myself. I know how to sew, I’m just lazy about it and prone to making mistakes when I get tired. Once I sewed my sleeves shut. (…just once? Wait, actually I think it was three times…) Plus, even on his worst days, the tailor is still ten times better than I am. Then why would I do my sewing myself? Because I am free and he is not. Khallas.

Hmm. It’s 2 am and I would be finished with my worksheets for tomorrow’s classes if it weren’t for the fact that I’m blogging instead. You know, for someone who’s pretending to be a teacher I sure am a lazy bum. But sssshhhhh, that’s a secret. Can’t tell any of my students that I’m nothing more than a doofus in disguise. I go home after class and play video games and watch cartoons and when it’s time to go back to work I whine and go, “I don’t wanna go to class!” Then I try to convince my momma that I have a fever or something. You know all those tricks that kids do on TV, warming the thermometer up with a light bulb or pretending to be ill, these tricks only work on TV. No mother in their right mind buys it. Especially not mine. I go, “Mom! -koff koff- I can’t go to work, I’m sick!”

And them my mom goes, “What’s the matter?”

Then I moan and quickly rub my forehead in the hope that the friction will generate some heat. Then I shuffle over to my mother and put my forehead on her shoulder. She feels my head and says, “You don’t have a fever.”

“Yeah,” I says, “But I think my appendix just burst.”

“They took that out last year.” she says simply.

“The other one burst, the one they didn’t take out.”

“And what are your other symptoms?”

“Well,” I says, “My eyes are burning and my head hurts.”

“Your eyes are burning because you just woke up and your head hurts because it’s empty. Now get dressed and go to work!”

Then I have to go to work. Bummer.

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