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.

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.