Let’s see if I got your orders right,
Onliner: Chocolate
Najm: Kulfi
Hijabified: Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough
25 Scoops: Strawberry Cheese Cake & Vanilla Brownie Chunk
Yasmine: Mint ‘n’ Chip, Brownie & French Vanilla Syrup and Whipped Cream.
Hemmie gets her ice-cream in person. 🙂
It’s 3 am again, and I, dear blogistan, have just finished editing:
Fifty nine thousand, three hundred and thirty two words
(I wrote it out because it looked bigger that way)
I had thirteen days to do it and I have finished a day ahead of schedule.
Oh my aching head.
Oh my giddy happiness.
Where’s my ice-cream? I’m gonna buy one for Hemmie too. 🙂
Dear Blogistan
It’s 3 am but both halves of my brain are in agreement at the moment: we’re hungry. We are also sad to report that we’ve not only had dinner, but also dessert 1 and dessert 2, as well as a pinch of dessert 3. What can I say, there are some days when you just want to eat things, as in- every things. yes.
Hmmm. I wanted to write a valid post when I logged in today, but I think this is going to be one of those lazy posts where I write whatever comes to mind and hope that people don’t throw rotten tomatoes at my shoutbox.
*ducks*
I don’t have to update, I could let it slide a few days, but when no one updates my blog, I stop coming. Kids these days have such short attention spans…
Where am I again? Oh yes, Engrish. If you don’t usually follow my ridiculous Engrish links, I beg of you to do so at least this once. I want someone else to see this T-shirt found in Tokyo so that people don’t think I just made it up to sound disturbing. It’s too difficult to explain. I don’t know whether I should laugh or cringe.
Peace & Dessert Grease
-Abez
Let all vice be abolished
I say we need it not
I do not need to burn myself
To know that fire’s hot
You say I cannot know
Unless I partake as well
I say I can know heaven
Without being first in hell
Thinking the DPR to be dead, I laid it gently to rest on top of the table and left it. A few hours later, out of futile hope, desperation perhaps (I hadn’t yet worked out) I turned the pad on and poked it, and it was ALIVE!!!
It must be a trick pad because apprently it knows how to play dead. hmmph. I wonder if it can roll over or fetch? Mischevious little devil, I’d be mad it but I’m just happy to have it back. Yay!
I, dear Blogistanis, am at an impasse. There are two choices before me, each as unsavoury as the next, neither of which seem to be able to lead to a solution.
Choice Number One: Throw my DDR pad away.
Choice Number Two: Throw my DDR pad to the wolves: ie the electrician and the carpenter, and see if they can follow these not-so-simple instructions for building your own.
What can I say, it lasted me a month and I danced it to death. *sigh*
(I also passed all the songs on light mode, as well as lost five pounds. Samira, Amira, I love you guys! *sob*)
If anyone needs me I’ll be in mourning…
Several of you have taken me up on my offer to send emails, and out of sheer laziness I will simply type one for the whole lot of ye. Right. And now for something completely different.
Dear Blogistan, AssalamuAlaikum
I hope this letter finds you in the best of health and Iman. If it gets sick or depressed on the way, please make sure you put the letter to bed and read it some Qur’an to make it feel better.
The trip to Mansehra was interesting, the most memorable part of the journey being the ride itself- two hours on mountain roads with some of the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen. If anyone should find themselves thinking they’re the stuff, I recommend standing at the base of a mountain and looking up. Nothing in the world can make you feel quite as small.
Additionally, if anyone should find themselves thinking they’re invincible, I recommend driving to Mansehra. Nothing in the world can make you feel quite so close to death. People of Pakistan, I ask you, when there is a single yellow line painted through the middle of a road, what does that mean?
I’m pretty sure it doesn’t mean that you can pass on the rocky shoulder of the road at 60kph, or that you can make three lanes of traffic heading in one direction when there are only supposed to be two, one facing each way. I know it doesn’t mean that an eighteen-wheel truck should pass us on a curve going so fast that his trailer leans dangerously to port, and that the truck coming from the opposite direction at the time should mash his pressure-horn and pass within inches- loud, dusty, hot inches blowing diesel fumes and the possibility of death and/or dismemberment into our faces.
Somewhere before Mansehra there is a car parked on the shoulder of the road. It used to be a cream colored Suzuki Alto, a relatively small car, but nothing compared to the size it is now. The car looks like it was hit by two cars on opposite sides simultaneously just as a boulder fell from the sky and crushed it completely. It is hopelessly mangled. Not even the most optimistic of optimists could hope that anyone in that crash came out alive. Someone, some wise person somewhere before Mansehra, left that car on the side of the road with a large banner draped over it:
Dars-e-Ibrat. The lesson of consequence.
Which reminds me of something I saw on the way to the airport two months ago as Aniraz and I were on our way to the US. In the pre-dawn light, on the side of the road there lay a motorcycle, two sandals, and a dark stain.
Drive carefully.
-Abez
All Praise is for Allah
Who burdened me with pain
And bent my stiffened neck
Into sajda once again
The weight upon my shoulders
Pushed me closer to the floor
Facedown on the earth
I found refuge once more
***
All praise is to my Lord
Who permitted me to sin
I thank Him for repentance
And the love I found therein
– Abez
Taking a one-day trip up to Mansehra tomorrow. I don’t have an exciting story for it yet, so why don’t you guys make one up?
Once upon a time at 5:30 in the morning, Abez set off for Mansehra. The car, coated in its usual layer of protective dust, bounced peppily along the series of bumps euphamistically called ‘The Highway,’ as Abez sang a happy tune and ate lots and lots of peanut brittle. Then suddenly…
Left Brain: Look, it’s 3:15 am. Why are we up again?
Right Brain: Up again? I wasn’t sure we had been up before.
Left Brain: Me neither. What’s there to eat in this place anyway?
RB: Wonton Soup. But they’re not wontons, and it isn’t really soup.
LB: Then why are you calling it wonton soup?
RB: Because that’s what it was before I boiled it for an hour.
LB: What would you call it now?
RB: Concentrated. And very slimy.
LB: Is it still edible?
RB: Does the pope wear a funny hat?
LB: I don’t find his hat very amusing.
RB: I know. Don’t worry, there are still eggrolls, but they’re not-
LB: They’re not really eggrolls?
RB: Exactly.
LB: Then what are they?
RB: Frozen.
****
3 am props to Jogia for the squidfingers, and Oleo for the backgrounds. 🙂
What, me update? he he
The house was fumigated today folks. It smelled. The entire kitchen was dumped out onto the dining table and covered. A man in a mask squirted anything that didn’t move as well as a bunch of things that did move. Unfortunately, a few lizards were hurt in the making of this blog. I am genuinely sorry, because I like the lizards.
After the house was stink-dafied we left and had lunch at CJ’s, then came home a few hours later and had a nap for dinner. Woke up and put the kitchen back together. Yay.
Things in the rest of the house are still covered in bedsheets to prevent them from getting all toxic from the bug-spray, and chances are we’ll have a whole lot of toxic bedsheets to wash in the laundry tomorrow. I think it’s worth it though. Six months of ant-free, cricket-free, roach free existence. Ah, bliss.
On an unrelated note, my family is moving to the UAE soon. Any bloggers or blogger-friendly folks in that part of the world?
I’ve decided that if, in the future, anyone makes mention of the Taliban, I’m going to ask which one. Cuz there are two types of Taliban, you know. The first type is Afghan. The second type is French. And when people give me a weird look, I’m going to tell them that French rulers of the fundamentalist majority are forcing other people to follow their religion, the religion of the French Taliban being Secularism.
Secularism, if you ask me, is the worst kind of religion, because although other religions may have a slightly less than friendly approach to competing religions, they at least maintain the pretence of religious freedom. Secularism though, is against ALL religions, and in a Secular Extremist society such as France, people are not allowed religious freedom even to chose their own wardrobes.
Those who support France should have no problem with the Taliban.
Those who have a problem with the Taliban should be speaking out against France.
One enforced hijab and the enforces hijablessness.
The Taliban and the French: two sides of the same coin.
***addendum***
JazakAllahuKheiran to Bhai for pointing out to me that I had failed to clarify something. The comparison I’m trying to make is not that both the Taliban and the French are bad, but rather, that the French and those who support the Hijab ban but condemn the Taliban are hypocrites. The ‘civilized’ world excortiated the Taliban for the fact that they were enforcing a religious change of dress code, and they themselves are doing the same thing, only their religion is Secularism and the Taliban’s was Islam.
I agree that a society needs a dress code, and I had no problem with mandating hijab in Afghanistan . I do have problems with how this law was enforced (reported cases of violence) but that’s not relevant to my point. My point is this: None of the Western countries have any right to say anything bad about the Taliban or about how they made a certain dress code mandatory, especially when they’re doing the same thing. The Taliban were enforcing modesty while the French are enforcing immodesty, but I don’t think they see it that way.
To them it’s all about freedom, and for them to withhold it from Muslims when they demand that it be granted to everyone else smacks of hypocrisy.
Sorry for not being clear earlier. I seek Allah’s forgiveness if I have given people the wrong impression or slandered any Muslims unintentionally. AllahuAalim.
I’ve got Hemlock! Nya nya nya!
(real post later. too busy having fun.)
Had an interesting discussion with my mother the other day about the difference in opinion between Mormonism and Islam as far as the purpose of life goes. According to Mormonism, the purpose of this life is to get the experience of having a physical, human body, because supposedly God has a human body Himself, and in order for us to all become gods with our own planets to run in the next life, we all need to know what having a body is like. Don’t ask me, it’s not my religion. Ask my momma.
*clears throat*
Anyways, the purpose of life in Islam according to the Qur’an is Ibada- worship or service to God. (Surah 51:56) A lot of people misunderstand this purpose, and think that God created humans just to pray 24/7, which seems impossible as well as restrictive as far as life and human nature go. In order to worship 24/7 you wouldn’t be able to have a job or a family or go to school or basically do anything, right?
Wrong. That misunderstanding comes from not knowing what exactly Ibada is, not knowing what exactly an act of worship is.
Worship can roughly de defined as an act of devotion or religious service performed with the intention of pleasing or earning favor. What that means in that any halal (permissible) action performed with the intention of pleasing God is counted as an act of worship, an Ibada. This obviously includes the formal acts of worship like prayer, charity, fasting, Hajj, etc, but it also includes things like eating one’s Cheerios.
Compare these two scenarios.
One very lovely concept in Islam is that actions are judged by their intention (1) and an act that is intended to/ devoted to pleasing God counts as an act of worship. This means that if you eat your Cheerios and remember to thank God for the favor and intend to eat your good and halal breakfast as a service to the body He has given you, then you are performing an act of worship. On the other hand, a seemingly religious act that is devoid of the right intention doesn’t count for squat. Compare:
Both these guys are praying, but the difference is that one if praying for God’s favor and the other is praying for the people’s favor, much in the same way that the first guy was eating Cheerios because they pleased his stomach (Honey-Nut, not plain) and the other was eating the Cheerios because the Zikr (God-Consciousness, Remembrance) associated with the eating of the Cheerios pleased Allah and fulfilled a right that his body had over him. We will call this The Cheerio Theory.
The Cheerio Theory also applies to other things, such as:
In Islam worship encompasses every aspect of human life that’s done with the proper intention, and there is no concept of ascetics or monks or hermits who have to withdraw from human society and live in forests wearing hair-shirts to further ‘mortify the flesh’ because they found they could not overcome the desire to live in a house, sleep in a bed and have the comfort of a wife or family. These things are all natural human inclinations, and to deny them all for the sake of ‘worshipping’ by withdrawing entirely for society is impossible. This concept- withdrawal from society to worship 24/7- is not Ibada, and is found in Early, Middle, and even Modern Christianity (nuns? Jesuit priests?) but not in Islam.
Which brings me back to the original point I had: that although the purpose of life is worship, worship is not restricted to the prayer rug, and worshipping God 24/7 is neither contrary to human nature nor impossible. Which is why I love being a Muslim. Now excuse me while I go eat some Cheerios…
(1). Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him says in a Hadith: “Actions are but by intention, and every man shall have but that which he intended…” Bukhari and Muslim
Computer is busticated again. Aargh. I think this might be Sven’s fault again…
CURSES!
People who know me will look at this layout and go: ‘Abez, what happened? You don’t even like pink flowers!!!’ Then they’ll die of disbelief. Or maybe just roll their eyes. Aniraz did anyway.
I think I just needed a change. It was either this or get a drastic hair-cut. Chances are I’ll change the layout some time next week, right after I get irritated with the pink flowers, but for now the girly layout stays. So nya.
Feedback?
You know how there are some annoying people who can’t leave well enough alone? Who waste alot of time trying to fix things that aren’t broken?
Guess who’s working on a new layout.
*teeth*
Amreekistan II: Pretty please with ketchup and cheese
Setting: the US luggage inspection counter at O’Hare airport, the day of our flight home.
Me: (to security officer) Excuse me, but this suitcase is torn and we didn’t notice it, do you guys think you could tape it up so it doesn’t bust open later?
Officer: Yeah, you might wanna tape it up, cuz after we take it it’ll be throw around a couple time like a volley ball. A few guys might play catch with it…
Me:Jump up and down on it a few times…
Officer: Yeah, exactly.
Me: Do you guys think you could tape it up?
Officer: That depends on whether or not you ask nicely.
Me:Pretty please with ketchup and cheese?
Officer: With ketchup and cheese? What kind of a please is that?
Me:Well, I was going to say hummus and tahini but I wasn’t sure if you’d know I was talking about…
Officer:Hummus? I know hummus! See, that’s racial profiling, you think just because I’m black that I don’t know what hummus is. I know hummus, and falafel and lots of other Arab food…
Me: Now that’s racial profiling cuz you’re saying I should know what these foods are because you think I look like an Arab.
Officer: No, you’re not an Arab, none of you are. (actually one of us was, half-Arab anyway). Now that one, she’s Urdu. Aren’t you.
Sabah: Urdu’s a language. I’m Indian.
Officer: Same thing. My co-worker over there, he’s Urdu too.
Sabah: Right.
The suitcases were eventually taped. Amreeka is such an interesting place…
This, folks, is the beginning of the scatter-braindedest travelogue that ever was, and ever will be. For I, Abez, will not be recounting my vacation in chronological order, but rather, by subject, and nuts to sequence.
Amreekistan Part I: Snot snot snot, I’ve got a lot.
Of all the exciting places I saw in the US, the one where I sent the most time was the cold & flu remedy section of Walgreen’s pharmacy. It was a lovely place, all clean and shiny and packed from ceiling to floor with colourful boxes of cold remedies I couldn’t have:
Nyquil- 10% Alcohol.
Robitussin Cough & Cold Gelcaps- Gelatin
Walgreen’s Cough Syrup: 15% Alcohol
I racked up countless hours reading, re-reading and comparing ingredients of cough & cold medicines, most of which were unsuitable and other of which were ineffective.
Sudafed: psuedoremedy
AlkaSeltzer Cold: effervescent nothing
After an extensive (and somewhat expensive) trial and error study of the cold remedy section, the judges finally declared the winners!
Tylenol Cold: Multi-symptom Night time Complete.
Tussin (generic) cough & cold syrup. Alcohol-free!
A combination of Tylenol and the occasional chug of Tussin straight from the bottle helped get poor Abez through the last three snotty weeks in the US, but true relief came only when we (the nose and I) touched back down on Pakistani soil and had the best cold remedy of all, Haleem.
You may laugh, but the first bite of super-spicy cleared my sinuses instantly and more effectively than any of the over the counter medicines I brought from the US. It was also tastier, and the side effects were limited to burning mouth, watery eyes, and fullness. This is compared to the Tussin cough-syrup, which caused jitteryness, sleeplessness, and voices. Lots of them. Whenever I laid down to sleep, I found that the silence in my head had been interrupted by an endless chattering of unconnected thoughts.
Cold cold cold, this bed is cold. Like ice cream. Yummy. Wonder if there will be ice cream at the camp mess hall today. Mess, what a mess, there was mud all the way from the door to the bunk beds, and it had to be mopped up. Yep. Up. Ice cream?
I maintain that the side-effects still linger, because I would like an excuse for the ridiculousness of this blog. Humor me folks, I drank too much cough syrup.
Got home about five minutes ago. I’ll blog as soon as I’ve had something to eat. In the mean time, have a seat. he he
Guess who has a new obsession. Okay, maybe it’s not an obsession, maybe it’s just a wanna-be obsession, because you can’t be obsessed with something you don’t have yet, right? I dunno, you tell me.
Some people may say that DDR is just a game, well they’re wrong. If Playstation says it’s a game then they’re wrong too, because I sez it’s a piece of home-fitness equipment, and I will tout it as such when I whine and use the full force of my daughterly-wiles to ask my daddy if he’ll buy me one.
*flutters eyelashes*
Alright, so my daddy doesn’t actually read my blog, and I’ll probably be buying one for myself, but the point is: I can’t remember the last time that I had that gimme-gimme feeling, probably not since I was about… oh…. twenty (he he) but I’m having that tingly new-toy kinda feeling, and I’m hoping I can justify such a huge purchase by relabeling a PS2, dance-pad and video games as a health-related purchase. Fox news seems to agree, not that their opinion counts for much, but hey, I found this link! And this one too. Interesting, very interesting…
Mwahhahahaaaa!
PS: Leaving for summer camp tomorrow morning and won’t be back until the 13th. Amuse yourselves in my absence.
I’m being a bad blogger, and I know it. *hangs head*
It’s not that there’s nothing exciting going on, or that I don’t have anything to say, but I simply don’t have the time to sit down at the computer for more than half-hour increments, time enough only to check my email and give brief replies. Even sitting down has become a luxury, dramatic as that may seem, due to the constant GO!GO!GO! of preparing for camp/finalizing workshops/being on vacation/partying till midnight.
You know how that works. You wake up at ten (entirely too early I say) and get to a meeting. You work for a few hours, and then someone suggests food. You go out for food and come back to work. You finish eventually, and then someone breaks out the DDR Max and you have no choice but to play until your body is sore and your face hurts from laughing so much. That would be till about 11:30, and by then your whole day has gone by and you still haven’t sat down on a computer, let alone had the time to write a blog.
Camp begins on Saturday morning, and from that Saturday until Friday the 13th (*gasp!*) we won’t have any phone/computer/internet access. Such is camp.
But yeah, back to the point. Due to the fact that I am deficient in both brain power and time, I’m getting bad at this blog thing. So instead of a proper blog, we’ll just do a FAQ session, ok? You may leave proper (though not necessarily relevant) questions in the comments of this post. You can ask anything, just don’t expect me to answer it if I don’t like the question. MWAhahaaa!!
-he he-
Dear/AssalamuAlaikum Family & Blogistan
I’m typing this letter/ blog from the comfort of… (drumroll please) Baji’s house! Mwahahaaa! I dunno if she knows we’re here yet, but it’ll be lotsa fun when she arrives later tonight. Baji’s engagement party is tomorrow, and Chai drove up to G-ma’s house to pick Owlie & I up for the party. We’ll be staying here until Sunday morning, until then we’re working on getting plenty of use out the pool table downstairs.
A note on wandering about Southern Indiana: it’s been a-mighty interesting. We’ve met lots of curious and interesting people, (Hi, I’m Brian from the Church of Christ, what church do you go to?) and seen many interesting things (the county fair serves deep-fried Oreo cookies. whaa…?) and eaten things we probably shouldn’t have: fried fish, and lots of it. Our Aunt Elaine hosted us a mini fish-fry at her river cabin with all the proper fixings- macaroni and cheese, cole-slaw, a big red dog, mosquitoes, chocolate pudding cake and southern twang. The twang makes the fish tastes better. It also makes things sound cuter, and it makes you smile to hear , “Excyooz me, y’girls mind ‘f I ask y’all bout those thangs on yer head?”
People have been very nice here, something I unfortunately cannot say about some people in other places, people who started swearing at us from across the street while at a Dunkin Donuts, people who tsk-tsk and say to us ‘Too much clothes!’ and those who have offered to lend us trench coats in case we were cold. Why else do people cover their heads except when they’re cold?
In any case, we have had a nice time here, and overall people have been very nice. Especially Chai’s mom and Baji’s mom, who offered us some snacky-wackies in the kitchen-witchen. I think we’ll have-shave some. he he…
Peace & Snacky-Wacky Grease!
–Abez
The computer Chair
Living Room, Baji’s House
Dear Mom & AssalamuAlaikum Dad& Z1 & Fuzzy & Zaymun & Oleo Corpoleo & Blogistan
I’ve only got half an hour to type (those are the rules down here at the Barret Memorial Library, Petersburg, IN) so I hope you guys forgive me for combining four separate letters with this one blog entry.
We’ve been in Indiana since Sunday. Z1 (the big bro) drove us down as far as Uncle Rusty’s house, where we sat on the sofas and hung out with cousins we hadn’t seen for about four years. A note about my Uncle Rusty, he loves Pakistani food. Sometimes I wonder whether he’s related to us from my mother’s side at all, or whether he’s actually a displaced Chacha (brother of my father) who somehow ended up in Indiana. We brought him a tub of Nihari and a tub of Biryani. (Note to Fuzzy: That biryani was Delicious with a capital D.)
We also met two Mormon missionaries who were at Uncle Rusty’s house for lunch. My Momma used to feed the missionaries every Sunday, so it was a very nostalgic experience for us to see the fresh-faced, well-intentioned, but too-young-to-be-too-brilliant missionaries with the black name-tags and back-packs.
After good-bye hugs and one good-bye squeeze from my Uncle that fractured at least three of my ribs, we jumped in G-ma’s little red car and finished the rest of the eight-hour drive catching up. We’ve been here for the last five days, baking cookies, eating G-ma’s famous tuna casserole and zipping about southern Indiana. We’ve also been mildly productive, we broke G-ma’s bathtub spigot. Then we replaced it. That was exciting. It involved a few trips up to the hardware store in town where a nice man humored our questions and guided us through the painfully silly process of installing a new spigot.
1. Buy new spigot. (the hardware store is only twenty minutes away)
2. Remove old spigot. (bang bang bang. ok, now what?)
3. Place threads of spigot onto pipe. (it isn’t fitting! Back to the hardware store, STAT!)
4. Place threads of adjusted spigot (the hardware man took an extra rubber bushing off) onto pipe.
5. Turn spigot clockwise. (which way is clockwise?)
6. Oh, that way, he he.
7. Enjoy. (whee! Showers for everyone!)
Other adventures here at G-ma’s house have included a trip up to Hornady Park, the beautiful green pond & park where we spent the halcyon days of or youth torturing each other on the teeter-totter (mooOOOooom, she won’t let me dooOOOoown!) and feeding the ducks. Well, more than ducks actually. First there were the red-faced thingies that looked like ducks but hissed like snakes when you didn’t crank those crackers our fast enough. Then there were these white things that looked like ducks but honked like geese and ate like pigs. There were one or two proper ducks, cute little things trailing cute little ducklings, but they were muscled out of the way by the several proper geese, three-feet tall and mean-tempered. When they opened their beaks you had a choice, you could fill the beak with crackers of you could suffer The Wrath. We tossed the crackers and ran.
We plan on having an adventure later today, but right now we’re doing laundry. Rather, G-ma and Owlie are doing laundry at the Laundromat while Abez, Minister of Miscommunications, is here at Barret Memorial Library, where incidentally, her time is up.
Well Blogistanis, we hope to post some pictures after we get back to Chicagoistan and develop the film. More coming later, but how much later is unsure. G-ma doesn’t have internet access.
Love, Peace and Salan Grease,
Abez
Computer C2
Barret Memorial Library
Petersburg, IN
Four years ago, when Owlie and I lived with our uncle in Karachi while the rest of the family till lived in Chicago, I hoped that the phone was ringing for us from the US, and the home I missed was in Chicago. Four years later, I languish in Chicago and hope that it’s Pakistan calling. It’s an interesting reversal, and proof positive that home is not a location, it’s a feeling. Or, as the ten-year old calendar on my grandma’s kitchen wall used to say, “Home is where the heart is.” Although my heart is still safely lodged in my chest cavity, my ribs don’t feel quite at home.
I miss waking up in a happy sprawl with my pillows on the floor and my blanket under my head.
I miss reading the newspaper in the morning and then hopping into my pop can (car) and zooming off to work on the LEFT side of the road.
I miss the little row of zinnias outside of our front door and the two jasmine bushes that smell sweet at night.
I miss the dog, I miss her slobbery, unconditional love and the adoring look that she will give to absolutely anyone.
I miss the daily soccer game played in the field behind our house and find television to be a poor substitute.
I miss my brother, his brain full of interesting nonsense, his heart full of good intentions and his mouth full of amiable argument that he likes passing the time with. (Ten squirrels with machetes versus a bear with a machine gun. Who’d win?)
I miss my father, I miss him and his silly jokes and his cheating at Scrabble and his psychic ice-cream vibes and his motorcycle rides and the way that he sighs ‘Allaaaaaaaaahhh…” to himself when he’s tired.
I miss my mother, I miss hanging out in her waterbed with a bottle of nailpolish and a lap full of chocolates. I miss how she’s the only person I can hug without feeling self-conscious, how she will dance with me around the dining table and let me talk at her without telling me I’m nuts.
I don’t want to complain, because I am enjoying myself, and we have been hosted and received with kindness and love. We’re kept busy from morning till night with friends, camp meetings, summer parties and sight-seeing nostalgia, but when the Isha prayers have been said and I have again lain down in a borrowed room, my mind goes back to home, to the people in it and the four more weeks until I see any of them again. I toss and poke at a strange pillow.
I roll over.
I miss my bed.
Walking past an abortion clinic on the way to buy milk this morning, we were stopped by a wide-eyed lady with an armful of literature who looked us and gasped, “You girls aren’t going in there, are you?!”
We told her obviously not.
“Good,” she said, placing her hand on her heart and sighing in relief, “I don’t know if I could take that this morning…”
We laughed nervously and walked away through the rows on nuns on both sides of the side walk (praying) and onwards to the gas station. On the way an interesting discussion ensued, about what difference, if any, these people in front of the abortion clinics are making, whether their 11th hour appeals to the women who enter these clinics do, in fact, save any lives. The problem is complicated, and the nuns outside the clinic seem to be a little late in their attempt to prevent abortions from happening, especially when you consider that the best way to prevent abortion is to prevent unwanted pregnancy. I’m sure the Catholic group that those nuns are part of have some sort of abstinence program for their youth, and they might be trying to advocate chastity, but I don’t know how far they’ll get when their teenagers are dressing like prostitutes.
I’m not saying that to be mean, and I know it sounds pretty shocking, but a perusal of the mall (and of the mall-goers as well) revealed that tiny combinations of black and pink with stiletto heels are all the rage. I’ve never seen shorter shorts or so many fleshy half-moons hanging out of said shorts. I could be accused of over simplifying the problem here, and of saying that dressing like a prostitute makes you act like a prostitute, but that’s not what I’m trying to say. I’m not saying that at all, actually. What I’m getting at is that if these nuns, these well-meaning and God-fearing people want to prevent abortions, then they need to prevent the pregnancies, and if they want to prevent the pregnancies, then they need to prevent the sex, and if they want to prevent that, then they need to take it off the teenagers’ minds, and if they want to do that, they better put some clothes on these little girls because apparently a pair of shorts with ‘Hot Stuff’ written on the seat are not conducive to modesty and chastity and all that nice stuff.
The woman in front of the abortion clinic with the flyers was shocked that three young women dressed as we were, in modest clothing and head scarves, would be headed for abortions. Apparently she knows what I’m getting at. Someone else understands the link between modest dress and modest behavior (though it isn’t always 100%). So why are they so reluctant to acknowledge the darker side of that link, that IMmodest dress leads to IMmodest behavior?
Some truths are less obvious than others.
AssalamuAlaikum Blogistan and Momma-Abbustan.
I’m sitting in the UIC computer lab right now with Owlie, Sabah & Shamaila, finishing up the camp book enjoying this really comfy swivel chair. Wheee! We’re about to break for lunch- kabobs in pita bread we brought from home, yummy, and after that we’ll get back to work. Here’s a quick summary of what we’ve been up to so far:
Last night we went bowling at Lincoln Square Lanes, naturally I lost, but I maintain that I had the most fun. I had a strawberry milkshake from McDonalds, which cost me two dollars and took over half an hour’s worth of laborious sucking to consume. Man, I think there was a vein standing out on my forehead by the time I finished. I should’ve just gotten a spoon. I repent. I do taubah. No more milkshakes for me.
After bowling we went back to the park near our old highschool where we played on the swings and swung across the monkey bars, just like in the good old days… just like senior year. he he. Yes, Abez & co played in the park all the way till college, pushing the tire swings and falling into the wood-chip until the principal gave us diplomas and kicked us out.
Time to go for lunch, I’ll blog later InshaAllah. Still haven’t figured out how to use my brother’s digicam, the first step of which being to OBTAIN the digicam, which I have yet to do. Ah well.
Peace & Handi Grease!
-Abez
Very busy finalizing camp book, I’ll type a real post later. In the mean time, I need help finding a small ‘SalAllahu Alaihi’ graphic to follow the name of the Prophet Muhammad peace and blessings of Allah be upon him(this is where the graphic would be useful). I left my clipart collection at home. 🙁 HELP!
Dear Mom & Abbu & Blogistan
Yesterday Owlie, Sabah and I went out and replaced the beat-up sandals that I used to wear around the house- the ones the housekeeper was always making fun of and mom always trying to throw away. I’d give you permission to throw them away mom, but I actually brought them with me for safekeeping. :p I guess I’ll throw them away myself. They were good shoes too, maybe we should have a memorial service…
We also went to Jewel, where we wandered around aisles wider than most stores in a building larger than our local plaza, gawking at more food than anyone could eat in their entire lives, and eventually buying nothing. I don’t want to be so terribly fob-bish, maybe I’m just being 3rd-worldish, but that store was overwhelming, just in the sense of what was available, and wondering how much would be thrown away when it expired. There certainly are alot of food options for a people enamored with fast food. Maybe they go shopping and get overwhelmed too, so then they end up going out for falafel instead. That’s what we did anyway.
Yesterday we went to Evanston for lunch, after which we wandered around and then gravitated towards the beach. We clambered over the rocks and stood with our feet in the lake. We were enjoying the beach in the subdued, non-nekkid way that hijabis do when a woman in the distance began jogging towards us. When I turned and saw her, my first impression was that she had left the pants that went with the jacket she was wearing at the other end of the beach. Turns out it wasn’t a mistake. She was a life guard with a red jacket over her bikini, and she was here to tell us that this was not the proper beach entrance and that if we wanted to use the beach then we would have to buy a token.
Alright, we said. How much is a token.
Seven dollars, she said. And you have to buy them from over there.
We politely nodded and then made our way back over the rocks. After walking out of earshot, a motiont to boycott Evanston was proposed. All in favor say aye.
Aye!
The council unanimously agreed. Dunno where we’re going today, but I bet it’s not Evanston.
Peace & Handi Grease
-Abez
I feel FOB-ulous.
(That’s FOB as in: Fresh Off the Boat)
FOBular observations by Abez
– Costco is bigger than Islamabad airport.
– Judging by a fried breast-piece I met at yesterday’s picnic, I think your chickens could beat up our goats.
– The fruit is unnaturally large. RUN, it’s FRANKENFRUIT!!!!
– I could ride in an SUV with a whole bunch of other stuff in the back seat, like a bag, some golf clubs, a bedroom suite, my car…
Next time: Pics and more FOBulous thoughts coming your way. 🙂
