My life seems to be an ode to how alone one person can be. The tagline for the movie could be 'How many lessons will it take?'
I know that being alone - both in terms of having my own space and time, and in being independent with no shackles - is what I want. But sometimes getting what you what you want doesn't feel so good if you don't have anyone to share it with. Which is a significant problem here, I guess.
I am prone to melodrama and catastrophising but in recent times have learned that the hysteria will pass and I won't feel so terrible or think the same things in a few hours' time. However, on my drive home last night I had a few moments of realisation of pure truths. I escaped my parents' place in the dark while everyone was in the living room, uncles and aunties discussing stuff they have very little right to and with very little grace - I felt like such a rebel, sneaking my laundry out by the side gate (it's always locked but I got lucky) and closing my car door as quietly as possible.
Anyway, in between the midnight crying and feeling sorry for myself, I realised that as angry and intolerant as I am, there are very few people I don't respect at least to some extent. And once I lose respect for someone, there is just no coming back (a bit Darcy coming through here haha). It takes me forever and so very many incidents to realise how despicable someone is. I don't know if this is good because I give people chances, or if it's tragic because I'm so desperate to feel safe with good people around me that it takes me ten times as long to learn a lesson. I think perhaps the latter.
The other thing I realised with perfect clarity is that I really am alone in my corner. I have no one I can call at midnight to cry, or anyone who will understand the family dynamics and cultural context. A lot of us are lucky enough to grow up with a present family around us. Some of us are perpetually unhappy with our families, and it takes us decades to realise it because of one or two people who have no kindness or thought for anyone but themselves. Last night, I was attacked and dragged for asking a fairly simple question, by my mother, an aunt, uncles - all people who are supposed to teach and love. My father didn't step in. My sisters couldn't speak up because the same treatment awaited them. I had no one to call on my way home, and there is literally no one in my life who will understand the cultural and family ways. I can't protect my siblings anymore, and in reality, I'm not sure I have ever been able to protect them from the family. No one should need protection from their own family.
It all made me question how I could be 27 years old with no friends and support network. No older person to ask for wisdom, no group of friends who will let me feel sorry for myself and tell me I can join their family. This total isolation is a little more freeing now, in the daylight. I have always wanted to know that I can just pack a backpack and take off if I needed to. And having no close ties to anyone makes it easier to leave people behind. My friends won't miss me (tragic but also oddly comforting because it leaves room for hope that one day I will find people who will miss me). I only go back to my parents' for my siblings, and now that they are growing up and moving on, and I realise there is nothing I can do to help them and I am not needed anymore, I think that maybe I will feel less guilty for staying away in the future. I will always love and miss my siblings, but my presence doesn't help anyone, and I seem to attract criticism and yelling whenever I'm there, so it almost feels like I'm doing them a service for not going back.
I think I'm showing a bit of bravado right now, but we'll see how long I can last on my own. Humans are social creatures, and for all of my desperate need to be totally self-sufficient, I, too, need people.
In view of having no one to vent to, I suppose I will have to whinge here more frequently. I don't really know who I'm writing this for, except that typing is easier than handwriting (I have a tremor in my hands now that just won't go away) and if my house burns down or I have to run away with only what I can carry, I won't have to worry about losing the books I've poured my feelings into. Nothing ever really disappears online, does it? Also there is a part of me that still secretly dreams of the day people discover my writing and most excellent life and my blog attracts a cult following and attention from anonymous users will gratify my ego.
Let's leave the pity party here, for now.
Peace and love,
S.
Sunday, August 13, 2017
Friday, June 16, 2017
Distances halved by daydreams and memories.
My friendship style is very much of the 'love from a distance and hope they notice me/think of me as much I think of them' variety.
For every year that I have been out of high school, I have met one, maybe two, awesome people (and a lot of other adequate/inadequate/etc) people. That's about 10 all up. They each come from a different circle, different time in my life, different everything, and are a testament to beauty and good you find no matter what situation you find yourself in. And each one of them is worth the thousands of other people I had to wade through.
There are also a handful of people I desperately want to be good friends with, but they have a tight circle of friends around them, like a moat refusing entry to the grand prize. But I think about these people and how good they are and how much I admire them and sometimes I imagine conversations with them, and for now that seems to be enough. It's nice to have things that make your heart smile randomly as you scroll through your newsfeed or think about all of the people in your cohort or whatever. I feel a genuine excitement when I see/hear news of their successes, adventures, getting married, having fun on a day out, whatever it is. And as selfish as this sounds, I also take this feeling as a win for me, because it proves to the self-loathing part of me that I am capable of selflessness, that I can be uncompromisingly happy for others.
With my closest friends - and more accurately, people whom I consider to be my closest friends even though we may not see each other for years at a time - I constantly think about them when I see something they might like, a book they recommended, a place I went with them, a conversation we had. I have the best of intentions in writing to them, catching up, etc. but am always held up by something - I want to give the letter my full attention and I can't when I'm in a stroppy mood. I want to go somewhere fun with them but I don't want to ruin their mood because I can't be fun when I'm like this. And so on, and so on. So many excuses.
But really, these handfuls of pure people are always in my heart and on my mind. I want to be a worthy friend. And I need to be a good companion before I drag them into my mess because otherwise it's just unfair on them. I know that's not really how friendship works, and I would be honoured for any and all of them to pull me into their messes at 3am on the day of my most important exam, because there is nothing more beautiful and fulfilling than someone else seeing something in you that you struggle to see yourself - the fact that you have some good to give and that you can be the person that this friend deserves.
A lot of these reflections are really selfish, and that in itself is another reason that holds me back from constantly running after these friends. I don't want to be in it just because it makes me feel good - although friendship - like any good relationship - basically comes to this - how good you feel being of use to this person.
Sometimes when I am in the pits of despair and loneliness, I list out the names of these people who I stalk and love from a distance and it pulls me right out into the sunshine. This person had something kind to say to me just once - and it is still enough to make me teary-eyed - and for a strong independent woman to see some worth in you makes you feel like maybe you DO have some worth. It all sounds so cheesy (and not in a good way) and it's a bit odd trying to express this sentiment to someone - that thinking about them makes you happy even though you only speak once a year. And it's hard to convey how much of an impact they have had on you - and continue to have - because you never know if the depth of friendship and admiration you feel is reciprocated. But this is one situation in which laying your heart bare is easy, regardless of the consequences. I think this might be love, but I'm not sure. I don't know you can call all deep feelings a reductive label of 'love'. Also be love alone isn't enough. There's respect, and wonder, and gratefulness, and looking up to this person, and knowing that if they wanted a kidney you would hand over your best one, no questions asked.
They are almost like family. My siblings are my wolf-pack, and the rest are my tribe, and some people make it really close, if not into, my wolf-pack. And my tribe is my pride, and my home, and my legacy (if I die tomorrow, these are the people who I got to convince of my worthiness), and what has given my life honour and meaning. Sometimes it takes a single act of kindness or integrity - towards me or observed from a distance - for someone to be initiated into my tribe. These are the people I want to emulate, and the ones whose love and respect would mean the world to me, even if it is all ever from a distance. They don't know I have pulled them into my tribe, but I see them from a distance and I recognise my own.
So really, distance - in time or in location - isn't much of a barrier. People move on and change, but I remember that one text you sent me when I was feeling really down, or that time you said hello to me when I walked into a crowded room of people I didn't know and wanted to run away, or you were the only person not to treat me like a terrifying Other who represents 2billion muslims, or you just let me cut in front of you in a grocery line. Those tiny acts of kindness, integrity, and generosity of spirit are all helping me to see myself with softness, and to believe in the inherent good nature of people. And that is easing two of my biggest burdens, just like a good friend does. So again, and again and again, thank you. And I am always thinking of you. In the least creepy way possible.
I cry over anything and everything, but crying over good things is a new phenomenon (sort of like how I've started vomiting since I got that ughhh cough a few months ago and now I can't stop, but in a good way). Might take a break from sappiness now.
Peace and love,
S.
For every year that I have been out of high school, I have met one, maybe two, awesome people (and a lot of other adequate/inadequate/etc) people. That's about 10 all up. They each come from a different circle, different time in my life, different everything, and are a testament to beauty and good you find no matter what situation you find yourself in. And each one of them is worth the thousands of other people I had to wade through.
There are also a handful of people I desperately want to be good friends with, but they have a tight circle of friends around them, like a moat refusing entry to the grand prize. But I think about these people and how good they are and how much I admire them and sometimes I imagine conversations with them, and for now that seems to be enough. It's nice to have things that make your heart smile randomly as you scroll through your newsfeed or think about all of the people in your cohort or whatever. I feel a genuine excitement when I see/hear news of their successes, adventures, getting married, having fun on a day out, whatever it is. And as selfish as this sounds, I also take this feeling as a win for me, because it proves to the self-loathing part of me that I am capable of selflessness, that I can be uncompromisingly happy for others.
With my closest friends - and more accurately, people whom I consider to be my closest friends even though we may not see each other for years at a time - I constantly think about them when I see something they might like, a book they recommended, a place I went with them, a conversation we had. I have the best of intentions in writing to them, catching up, etc. but am always held up by something - I want to give the letter my full attention and I can't when I'm in a stroppy mood. I want to go somewhere fun with them but I don't want to ruin their mood because I can't be fun when I'm like this. And so on, and so on. So many excuses.
But really, these handfuls of pure people are always in my heart and on my mind. I want to be a worthy friend. And I need to be a good companion before I drag them into my mess because otherwise it's just unfair on them. I know that's not really how friendship works, and I would be honoured for any and all of them to pull me into their messes at 3am on the day of my most important exam, because there is nothing more beautiful and fulfilling than someone else seeing something in you that you struggle to see yourself - the fact that you have some good to give and that you can be the person that this friend deserves.
A lot of these reflections are really selfish, and that in itself is another reason that holds me back from constantly running after these friends. I don't want to be in it just because it makes me feel good - although friendship - like any good relationship - basically comes to this - how good you feel being of use to this person.
Sometimes when I am in the pits of despair and loneliness, I list out the names of these people who I stalk and love from a distance and it pulls me right out into the sunshine. This person had something kind to say to me just once - and it is still enough to make me teary-eyed - and for a strong independent woman to see some worth in you makes you feel like maybe you DO have some worth. It all sounds so cheesy (and not in a good way) and it's a bit odd trying to express this sentiment to someone - that thinking about them makes you happy even though you only speak once a year. And it's hard to convey how much of an impact they have had on you - and continue to have - because you never know if the depth of friendship and admiration you feel is reciprocated. But this is one situation in which laying your heart bare is easy, regardless of the consequences. I think this might be love, but I'm not sure. I don't know you can call all deep feelings a reductive label of 'love'. Also be love alone isn't enough. There's respect, and wonder, and gratefulness, and looking up to this person, and knowing that if they wanted a kidney you would hand over your best one, no questions asked.
They are almost like family. My siblings are my wolf-pack, and the rest are my tribe, and some people make it really close, if not into, my wolf-pack. And my tribe is my pride, and my home, and my legacy (if I die tomorrow, these are the people who I got to convince of my worthiness), and what has given my life honour and meaning. Sometimes it takes a single act of kindness or integrity - towards me or observed from a distance - for someone to be initiated into my tribe. These are the people I want to emulate, and the ones whose love and respect would mean the world to me, even if it is all ever from a distance. They don't know I have pulled them into my tribe, but I see them from a distance and I recognise my own.
So really, distance - in time or in location - isn't much of a barrier. People move on and change, but I remember that one text you sent me when I was feeling really down, or that time you said hello to me when I walked into a crowded room of people I didn't know and wanted to run away, or you were the only person not to treat me like a terrifying Other who represents 2billion muslims, or you just let me cut in front of you in a grocery line. Those tiny acts of kindness, integrity, and generosity of spirit are all helping me to see myself with softness, and to believe in the inherent good nature of people. And that is easing two of my biggest burdens, just like a good friend does. So again, and again and again, thank you. And I am always thinking of you. In the least creepy way possible.
I cry over anything and everything, but crying over good things is a new phenomenon (sort of like how I've started vomiting since I got that ughhh cough a few months ago and now I can't stop, but in a good way). Might take a break from sappiness now.
Peace and love,
S.
Tuesday, June 13, 2017
If this is punk, then punk isn't dead.
Dear (especially muslim) punks that came before me, and to those yet to be born,
This is some of the story behind my eyebrow piercing and the realisations that have come with it.
A few years ago, I paid a professional to put a hole in my face with an 18gauge needle. It was ~years in the making, but also came at a point of great pain and emotional turmoil (details of the anguish of 3rd year med in the absence of friends and people of integrity may be provided elsewhere).
Rewind to several years before that. First year med. A housemate told me that I seemed really soft and nice from a distance, 'then you get to know you and it's...". I had never before associated qualities of softness and gentleness with my external appearance. Sure, I was fat and gross and grumpy, but nothing different or more. Over the next few years, I experienced an extraordinary amount of islamophobia, racism, misogyny, and generally inadequate and offensive judgements from my peers and teachers and patients and randoms. There's not really much I can do about this. I can talk and talk and talk but the first and only thing people taken in is the Otherness of my appearance. Plus the value judgement that being short and fat makes me kind and jolly like Santa and obviously desperate for everyone's acceptance.
So when I had a metal wire shoved into my face, aged 25, it was both an outlet and an exploration of identity. I noticed that people did a bit a double-take when they looked at/spoke with me. One man felt the need to point that he 'had trouble reconciling this *gestures to face* with THIS *points to imaginary hijab*". I laughed politely and said 'Haha yeah I get that a lot' but really no one had said that before.
I guess, looking back, that the nail in my brow is a bit of a middle finger to the judgement that comes from within whatever social group I am in - I refuse to be told how to be a good woman of faith and culture - as well as to the outside - for the same reason. It's weird because even though it has the same effect on muslims and non-muslims, the reactions are a bit different. To the average culturally conservative muslim, I am a rebel and a bad influence on their daughter. To the average cracker, I am a confusing entity, because surely I am oppressed but what about the jewel on my forehead?! It's almost daring both sides to make a comment, to try and tell me what to do. And then watch while I roll my eyes so hard they pop out of my skull.
Lol, I sound like a 16 year old. In my defence, my rebellion as a teenager involved collected Harry Potter articles and pictures. Need to make up for lost time.
I had planned this entry to be a bit more profound when I came up with it in the car earlier. Ah well.
I guess the point I was coming to was that I am both a cliche and a rebel, and I give props to all those who have walked this road before me, and good luck to those who may follow a similar path. I don't have many answers, but it does make my petty heart happy when a narrow-minded sod notices my eyebrow bar and is suddenly unsure of how to interact with me. I am torn between wanting people to feel comfortable to talk to me, and really hating it when people talk to me, and the piercing is a great way of filtering people out. My uniqueness is not actually unique or special, but in the context of todays discourse around women's bodies, and particularly those of the muslim/woman of colour, my face is a little outside the culturally accepted norm. Also, it is not so much a reflection of my specialness in itself, but a projection of special that I want to be. This is a bit sad and regressive and puerile, but we are what we are. I comfort myself with the thought that at least I use this misfortune for some sort of social commentary and change, and not personal validation alone.
I don't know how punk this really is, but it makes me re-visit my childhood perceptions of punks I saw in books. I wish I could find them and say, I have felt that pain, I have felt that stifling confinement, and I want to fight the good fight alongside you. My struggles in this have softened me somewhat, and for that, I want to say thank you. Thank you for flagging a different method of resistance, thank you for being examples, and thank you for the bravery it takes to stand your ground in the face of a socio-political onslaught of judgement.
Basically, people are really annoying and I don't like being one of them, but since I can't help being one of them, I want to look pretty and have fun in the process.
I don't think any part of this flows or makes any real sense. Perhaps I will come back and flesh it out at some other time. Thanks for bearing with me.
Peace and love,
S.
Wednesday, May 17, 2017
An ode to my first wrinkle.
Dear furrow between my brow -
You are a memory of my anxious youth,
A testament to changing times,
And a tattooed reminder
Of what life can teach.
S.
You are a memory of my anxious youth,
A testament to changing times,
And a tattooed reminder
Of what life can teach.
S.
Monday, February 27, 2017
Chaka chaka daryab mesha (drop by drop a river is made).
From tiny acorns, might oak trees grow. Drop by drop, soft water wears away at stone. But the tiny acorn seed needs distance from the shadow of its parent tree, and the gentle water needs time to make a difference.
I think, that in realising these two things, I have come up with a way to symbolically sum up where my life is right now. I need distance from my parents, from their worries and their control. And I need time and patience to allow the tides of time (lol) to shape me into whatever it is I want or am destined to be, including the bettering of my health and spirits.
This all sounds very cheesy, but right now, with my second cup of coffee for the day (it's 3:36pm), and a few more postcards to colour in, I feel like I have once again tapped into the fundamental frequency of the universe and all things great and good and glorious. The light I see for my future is not just a dream, and yeah, it might be a massive train barrelling my way, but it's a light nonetheless, regardless of how long it lasts and what effect it has. I have found just 30 seconds of peace, and this is enough for now. Alhamdulillah.
Bit by tiny bit, life comes together. Or rather, you begin to understand how and why.
Peace and love,
S.
I think, that in realising these two things, I have come up with a way to symbolically sum up where my life is right now. I need distance from my parents, from their worries and their control. And I need time and patience to allow the tides of time (lol) to shape me into whatever it is I want or am destined to be, including the bettering of my health and spirits.
This all sounds very cheesy, but right now, with my second cup of coffee for the day (it's 3:36pm), and a few more postcards to colour in, I feel like I have once again tapped into the fundamental frequency of the universe and all things great and good and glorious. The light I see for my future is not just a dream, and yeah, it might be a massive train barrelling my way, but it's a light nonetheless, regardless of how long it lasts and what effect it has. I have found just 30 seconds of peace, and this is enough for now. Alhamdulillah.
Bit by tiny bit, life comes together. Or rather, you begin to understand how and why.
Peace and love,
S.
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