Maths or something like it...

If I've said it once, I've felt it a thousand times over - f###, I wish someone would understand.

Realistically speaking, if I get no sympathy for a broken toe, I will not get any sympathy for a broken mind/spirit.

I know this.

And yet I keep wanting/expecting better. And what was that phrase about insanity being the repetition of the same fixed thing over and over and expecting a different result? May have been related to a maths thing like solving [2+2=?] repeatedly and expecting an answer other than 4 each time...

Yes, the angst is back. But angst > catatonia, no?

Peace and love,

S.

More angst in the week I find my third white hair.

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.

Post-Failure Processing, Part I

I got feedback on an OSCE station (which I failed) with the words 'Was anxious, asked for water, etc.'

At first I was like what??? and then I was sad and then I got angry because how tf is that adequate feedback and now I've eaten 6 mangoes since last night and now it's just funny.

Life is weird like that. You go through the ups and downs and as long as you're present for each peak and trough, you can step back and see the ocean and not the just the undercurrent you thought was personally targeting you. You see the gentle rocking of this dynamic cocoon, and you see how it carries you when you float, and helps you move and supports your weight including your heavy heart and leaden brain.

I hope I'm learning something.

Peace and love,

S.

Baby Elephants and BAMFs.

I found out that I failed the year I have just repeated. I would have needed a 45 to qualify for re-sits but I managed a 44. Disappointing.

The grief and disappointment comes in waves, a new panic each time. Deep breaths and distractions.

I know that Allah (swt) has a plan, nothing happens without a reason, and I'm trying to accept the truth instead of dwelling on it or getting angry (although there's a certain amount of healthy anger in the grieving process). It's difficult not to be frustrated by what looks like a lack of progress. And also the bizarre lack of avenues for help. It's like the School has put all of it's shields up and armed the muskets in case someone gets close.

I want to be a baby elephant in the muddy planes of somewhere in Africa's heart. I want to flop into the mud and refuse to get up and I want the herd to come and pick me up and then we play in the clean river and and everyone hurrumphs, laughing and joyous.

I am so grateful to everyone who has shown me the smallest kindness. I don't think people realise how much those little things mean. I'm getting a bit teary thinking about all of the sweetest, kindest, most generous people in my life.

I often have moments of aching realisation that I don't really have friends. But not having a best friend doesn't mean that the beautiful souls I have met are any less special, and I know that they will genuinely want to help me and be friends. I think the fact that these generous and open-hearted people are friends with everyone kind of makes me feel like I'm only in their friendship group because they are kind to everyone they come across, but then again, I won't be looking this gift horse in the mouth.

You are what you do often, and if you are around good people who do good things, their goodness will rub off on you and some day or night in the future, you will be just as bright as your favourite star in the sky.
----------------------------------------
Okay I had to take a break to cry because someone sent me a nice message and is just so lovely (she was head of division for this first aid thing I volunteered at in G-town). I think that's happened a couple of times this year - crying because someone was nice. I don't know why we don't all do it more often. There is so much good in the world, behind the big blobs of despair. And I maintain that tears are good for your skin. Pretty sure the only reason I didn't have teenage skin issues was because I cried daily.

Skyped with an amazing friend who is the most self-less person I have ever met. This whisper of wishes in my head keeps wanting her to convert to Islam so we can be in Paradise together. She is such an amazing person, with the biggest heart. She deserves everything good.

So really, my life is not so bad. Being a muddy baby elephant with a herd I can call mine would be lovely. But then I wouldn't have met all of these bamfs. Alhamdulillah for every blessing.

Peace and love,

S.

STAND AND DELIVER - THE WHITE MAN SAYS SO.

So I got a call asking if I wanted to do some market research, said yes as long as it doesn't involve alcohol (non-halal stuff) and the bright young spark on the other side of the phone launched into a quite abrasive way of asking questions about Islam like 'Did you as a female choose to be Muslim because your religion is so misogynistic etc'. 

Credit to him for actually asking and listening to the answers, and sometimes trying to be polite about it (actually zero times), and 15minutes in I tried to give him an easy out because I had corrected every single piece of garbage 'knowledge' he had spewed and didn't want to make it him feel more awkward or shallow so I asked him how old he is (21) and what he was studying (some combination of economics and law) and I was like oh yeah my cousin is studying law - and then - wait for it - the misogynistic tapeworm automatically assumed the cousin is a guy. His brain would have imploded if he found out that my mother qualified as a doctor twice, with the second one being in her 3rd (4th?) language and simultaneously dealing with 5 children. 

I got all of the horrible questions - beheadings, deliberately dying as a martyr, polygamy (this was a good one - 'we are animal and we're not designed to be with one person for life, we're supposed to SPREAD OUT SEED, but having casual sex partners is okay and different to a woman allowing her husband to add a second wife for whom he's has to provide for equally etc. is wrong') and lots of "I haven't read the Quran but I watched this documentary and it was really good and the I read the Quran (?but you said you haven't??) says women are inferior" and it went on and on and on in this vein. 

And he had actually just called to ask if I'd like like to taste test some lemonade for their research group. Like, WHAT THE ACTUAL FCK??? I couldn't remember a single scholar to recommend watching on youtube because there I was enjoying my mature cheddar and BAM! STAND AND DEFEND YOUR INDIVIDUAL IDENTITY AS WELL AS THOSE OF 1.7 BILLION OTHERS BECAUSE THIS 21YO MALE HAS WATCHED A DOCUMENTARY THAT SHOWED THAT MOST MUSLIMS ARE JUST HUMANS.

And all I had wanted to do was take a lunch break and eat my mature cheddar. 

S.

PS I'm not as angry as this post may suggest, but he interrupted my cheese time. Luckily mum called soon after to tell me she loves me and how I was such a good little girl back in the day. Nothing quite like praise from someone you love to perk you up again :) Also, he's not going to learn if he doesn't ask questions, and only God knows the many and varied silly things I've said and done out of pure ignorance. I'm glad if I can be the person to pull someone over to the light, and I would like documented credit to me if this interaction contributes to his learning or broadening of his mind in some way.

S.

Even lateral movement is still movement.

Sometimes you catch yourself routinely watering a dead plant over and over again, like there is some hope that are is some tiny part of the plant is alive deep down, and this tiny part will come out and eventually bloom. I’ve been doing this lately for a fern given out as wedding favours at the wedding of a dear friend, so this anecdote can stop here and be literal, told as a joke.  

But I have many feelings that keep wanting to come out, so there is more. 

I guess that desperate hope is what I find when I keep trying to manage stress and sadness and fears and obesity. I keep plugging away and going through the motions in the hope that there exists a tiny healthy bright part of me that will make it all worth it. Often when you try really hard, your only consolation is that you tried at all. I desperately want to bet better, but maybe what counts - and what really gives value to my person and my life - is the fact that i’m chipping away at this mountain, even if all i have is a butter knife (which i admit i only use to put the right about of hummus on my wafer crackers).

Peace and love,

S.

You want rewiring done right, you have to do it yourself.

I have more feelings to share and it's one of these things that fill in some small part of your heart/soul and it's not a huge stride but it is a shuffle forward. This piece will one day be fleshed out into the most revolutionary of all political compendiums, but here is the first draft.

---------------

Learning to deal with new/current/old things using a new approach means you're literally rewiring your brain. The older you are, the harder it gets, not just because certain pathways have become very strong, but also because you don't necessarily have the means to hijack an existing network to link new thoughts and habits together to your core and growing new branches towards other dendrites takes ages. But you'll get there.

Learning to stay calm - to suppress and redirect the aspects of your flight/fight/freeze of your stress response - that's really tough and so, so, SO hard. But you can do it, because the next time you ask a older privileged white man about how to find a mentor and he immediately tells you that he understands what you're going through and that he has a a good friend who is Indian, you are able to actually say with polite words that 'yeah that's awesome, thank you for your business card, will totes come to you for career/life advice'. And you will do this without crying, or breaking the pen your holding, or literally slamming your head into a brick wall.

You will do this because this person's ignorance is not your fault or your enemy. Yeah, the three-year-old wants to shout NO, the teenager wants to roll her eyes, the young adult wants scream with the injustice of his misconception,. But you have disconnected the reactionary driver, and you deal with the situation with the default politeness you've been working on, and send a few thoughts down to the big processing centre to file away as 'brownie points for self-restraint'.

You are exposing old networks of anxiety and frustration to a pacifist's approach, teaching those high-strung neurones to reach for this new piece of golden nugget with soft hands and a softer heart.

Peace and love,

S.

Procrastination and the thoughts you have long after a conversation is over.

Okay, so I'm having trouble focusing on this assignment that's due soon, so I'm going tell you a story instead.

Back in the day, when I was young and yet to find a white hair on my head, this guy told me that the idea of paying zero interest on loans (interest is forbidden under shariah laws regarding business) is putting undue stress on the poorer people in society.

Wth, right?

I tried to explain it to him - it's not a difficult idea to understand, the fact that not charging interest on loans is in the best interest of those who have the least amount of money - and he responded with 'well I did a semester of economics at Melbourne Uni and you haven't studied any economics so I'm better qualified' (paraphrased) and I was like ???

In the naïveté of my youth and the profound sense of anger I feel at every injustice in the world, I got worked up about this silly person and his silly understanding of how exploitative interest is. In fact, I'm getting annoyed thinking about it right now. Why do I care so much about this incident, so many years on?

But that's not the point of the story.

The point is that I was young and silly and did not have the presence of mind to take a step back and try to understand where this guy's silliness came from. Here was a privileged white boy trying to tell me that my religion was wrong for making it easier for people of lower income to buy the same things as the 1%, and nothing I said was going to change his mind.

So why didn't I understand that people are funny and find it hard to let go of any idea that's comforting to them, regardless of how wrong it is? Kind of like how I know that lots of carbs aren't healthy but they make me so happy, and telling me that carbs are bad isn't going to make me happy or change the eating habits of an obese generation. Change doesn't come from arguing with an idiot, and, if you're a more benevolent person than me, you won't label the idiot in the first place.

Change comes from your own insight and subsequent actions that may help others achieve insight as well. Not that you can predict or direct insight. Some of the brightest people you know will have the least insight into their own selves and behaviours. It's not something that's dependent on intelligence or knowledge or how nice you think you are/try to be. I guess it's a mixture of life and luck - you happen to be in a particular situation or mood and the right particles collide to set off flashes in your brain and for a split second you GET it. Hopefully you can hold on to that glimpse into the workings of the universe, but if you don't, don't stress, because it gets easier the more you open yourself up to it.

I feel like I was trying to tell you something really profound and also take a passive aggressive dig at the guy who annoyed me (obviously I posted something on fb and he messaged to say sorry and i was like 'nah it's cool i would have told you if i had a problem with you'- a complete lie, btw) and I haven't quite done the first bit. What I have done, though, is put off working on this assignment.

Back to it, I guess.

Peace and love,

S.

Mid-20s can hit you like a wayward train.

Sometimes good things happen and sometimes bad things happen.

My problem has always been in the planning and foresight department. When something bad happens I forget that it will pass. I forget all good feelings and thoughts. And I just want the world to end. When good things happen, I forget that this, too, is transient. I forget about the problems I still have to deal with and the stressors that are coming up. I forget to work for my future. Despite all of this, I also forget to be in the moment, so the joy itself isn't appreciable either.

I received feedback on some ethics and law reflection journals and it was a real knock-me-down. The perfect reminder that I am not infallible, that I do not have a single thing that I am good at. I have always thought - perhaps wanted more than actually thought - that I can write and reflect well. This may have been the case some 10 years ago when I was still posting on my blog, which would be updated with teenage angst every second day. But I have stopped journaling and stopped writing for so long now, and it slipped my mind that things don't stay the same. Your talents don't grow or maintain themselves if you give no effort to them.

Today I find myself in a slightly melancholic state. I have glad that my friends will be interns next year, and yet I am so desperately sad that I will be alone as I go through the year and a half that remains. They have so many other friends, other supports and networks around them. But I have none and am unlikely to suddenly find any. I think the worst part is that I am always so desperately eager to make friends and hang out for the friends that I have, and it takes me by surprise when one of actually does something kind for me. I am used to driving the ~40minutes it takes to get to the library or friend's house but have never had the courage to ask anyone to do the same for me. So yesterday when a couple of them drove out of their way to pick me up, I was both embarrassed and bewildered. I don't know why I felt either these things. Surely, I understand by now that friendship is a two-way street? I think I am embarrassed by how desperately I want friends and kindness in my life. Especially given my entire friendship history - I was always the one who was keen to travel two hours to see high school friends and they were keen to travel two hours but not in my direction. Sad.

So I am proof that teenage angst does not doesn't not suddenly let go of its hold on you because you are not longer a teenager. I am jealous of my friends' friendships with each other, and I am insecure in my relationship with them. In some ways I don't feel worthy of their goodness, but I think there must be more it than that.

I think I'll leave this emotional word-vomit here and find a distraction.

Peace and love,

S.

Tea time, no punctuation.

I want to drink black tea and write poetry about how it reflects the depth of my soul but really it’s just dark liquid that will stain a page but not your heart and the bitterness you relish when it’s warm turns stagnant before you’ve reached the bottom of the mug.

That feeling of brittleness but in your face and heart.

I saw my GP today and he said that I was looking much better and more confident today than several months ago, and I nearly started crying again. I held it together, mostly I just didn't want to contradict or disappoint him, but perhaps also because he deserves at least one session in which I don't bawl my eyes out because I'm so stressed.

So instead I told him that I was worried that I have pernicious anaemia and either lupus or rheumatoid arthritis. He agreed to a blood test to help alleviate some stress. Bless him. But I still want to cry.

Sometimes life seems okay as you float by on a superficial level, but then you stop and think for a second and you realise that you are still in this grey, muddy pit and you have just been trying to delude yourself into thinking you see colour in the hole that keeps pulling you in.

I often find myself telling people that I'm just stressed about uni, assignments, etc. but in reality, I don't feel anything except for numb and miserable at the same time. Yeah, I'm stressed about uni and how behind I am, but what's the point in stressing about something you don't think you have the power to change? The reasonable part of your brain tells you that stresses will always be there, but that they don't have to affect you so awfully. Then reality suggests that perhaps there is no hope and therefore no point in stressing, and this stresses you out more but without knowing exactly why you're stressed.

I'm not sure where I'm going with any of this (as ever). The point is that he was super nice and thought I was doing better than I think I am, and I feel so awful for disappointing him with both the not feeling great and with the cliched med student/annoying know-it-all patient who thinks they know what's happening.

Plus I haven't been sleeping well lately (keep waking up like 7 times a night) and the lack of sleep is making me feel weepy. Gah. I'm such a cliche.

Peace and love,

S.

Procrastination and personality and problems.

Currently at med school we're learning about the brain and it's multitude of roles and possible dysfunctions. Obviously, I am drawn to diagnosing myself with every new disorder I learn, even though I know I don't have it.

Knowing alone isn't enough to rest your worries, though.

I'm not quite sure how you learn or teach someone else to go from worry to acceptance and calm. For example, people with OCD know that their thoughts and actions are not reasonable, but they are still compelled to continue with them. How do you tell your brain to switch off? How do you join the hard facts of knowledge with the feelings in the now and present?

One of my biggest struggles is with procrastination and stress - I know that they are neither productive nor fun, and yet I am forever in their mess. It's not like I don't know how to study, or that I should study. I just can't. And more to the point, don't.

Fixing this sort of chronic battle with myself is exhausting, and small steps take the longest of time. I know I am better today than I was 7 years ago, and that I will be better still in 7 years time, but that is a total of 14 years to get to where other people were at right at the beginning. Again, I know that comparing yourself to the average/others is unhelpful, that everyone has their own journey etc. etc. But I have no excuse for being the way I am now, except for laziness and lack of control over my own mind.

And I don't know how to fix it. There's no pill to fix a rubbish personality. I am responsible for chaos in my life, not some underlying illness or external monsters. I know this. But I don't feel it, because if I did I'd be changing it.

Maybe my problem is a disconnect from reality?

As I write this I am in the library, supposed to be studying for an upcoming test. I know that it will take me ages to get through the 6 weeks of examined material. And yet I'm on here, writing mediocre melodrama.

How.

Do.

I.

Make.

It.

Stop.

???

Peace and love,

S.

The questions that keep us up at night.

The heaviness and warmth of instant sleep - the perfect example of you don't know what you had till it's gone.

Keeping a stable and regular routine - just keeping up with life - is exhausting. Fitting in enough sleep is a struggle, and even more so when you can't turn off your consciousness. Here I will expound on some of the thoughts that keep me up at night. Often I think I am alone in my thoughts, but we are never as special as we think we are - millions before us and millions after have the same thoughts, and sharing them is a comfort in its own way. So here goes.

1. Where do tears come from? Does your body make them on demand? Or is there a reservoir full of tears, just waiting to me shed? Is this why you feel so heavy sometimes, like you haven't cried in a while and you really need to?

2. Why do we have feelings? Emotional feelings, I mean. How does this feeling take place? Where do feelings come from, and where do they go when you forget about them for a while? How do you make the connection between a good thing and a good feeling in yourself? Pain, hunger, etc is easy enough to comprehend, because it has evolutionary and survival value. But what about jealousy? How does your body make the connection with something so abstract?

3. What is a thought? How exactly are opinions and memories stored? I understand the parts of the brains involved and so on, but I don't get how something abstract is stored in a physical location. Kind of like typing on a keyboard and letters coming up on the screen. It's basically the sort of stuff that you can't explain to your grandparents.

4. Why do people feel the need to explain Australian-ness to me? Why do they feel the need to say, 'Well, I'm Australian and this is how/what we say/do?' When you raise the point with them they get very defensive about their racist tendencies, or their white privilege, but their actions are very hard to ignore.

5. Why do people feel the need to look at me, say sorry, and then continue to say something very racist? Does prefacing it with an apology absolve them of their sins? Basically, why are people so sh*t?

This took a downwards turn, so I might stop for a bit. As important as it is to express strong feelings, the majority of mine seem to be angry on a massive scale. I don't want my sense of self to be tied to this. Deep breath.

Peace and love,

S.

Finding my way.

I'm trying to write more often when I'm happy, so that it feels more real and also so I have record of this happiness.

The summer holidays at the end of first year were kind of stressful. I didn't do much and just felt weirdly depressed all of the time. I was apprehensive about starting another year of med like that, but alhamdulillah, things have improved massively. Sometimes it's not about life working out, but about reminding yourself of all of the good already in it.

My new housemates are basically awesome. My room has a view of the lights across town so at night it's like the stars have doubled. And it's easier to be happy.

Not that anything has drastically changed - apart from less time around the toxicity of last year - but I feel good. Not that I don't have bad moments - but they are easier to forget. There are times when I'm around old friends and it feels like being around a frenemy. But it's no more than I deserve, considering how miserable and grumpy I am in general. Insha'allah that one will sort itself out as well.

The aim for this year is to be less intimidating and more nice, and so far, it's going okay. Slow, but okay.

The most important lesson from the last year is tawakkul 'alallah - trust in Allah, that it will be okay no matter how bad it seems, and that there is a reason for everything and that every problem has a solution. It has helped me calm down in the face of set backs and know that it's not the end of the world if I fail a test or have a problem with someone. It's not the same as not caring and not stressing - because I still care, I just don't get as wound up about it. Less panic, more action.

I am amazed (woops I wrote that as 'I am amazing' lol) over and over again at how much better my life is. The phrase that keeps going through my head is 'good things come to those who wait' - and I thank Allah every time the reality of my good fortune hits me. As with tawakkul, it's a little phrase that holds a lot of meaning and is worded perfectly enough to hit home every time.

Home is a good place.

Peace and love

S.

Seven Hundred and Eleven Words of Whinging.

I know I start a lot of my blog posts with the 'I meant to update earlier but somehow didn't' sentiment, and I have come to realise that this is just another manifestation of what is wrong with my life.

I make plans and lose track of where I'm going or what to do to get there.

But it's okay, because it's a new year, and therefore an opportunity for a new adventure.

Well, I say that, but what I actually mean is I'm getting tired of muddling along and not really getting anywhere.

In Freudian theory, discord between what you are and what you want to be gives rise to psychological and emotional problems, and once again, I am a textbook example of a common problem. Aged 14, I had grand plans to travel the world, marry Daniel Radcliffe (after he converted of his own accord, of course), go to an Oxbridge university, and just be an amazing person. I was going to be supreme empress of the universe and the world was going to be great place with no pollution and lots of dolphins.

Ten years later, life has worked out in a roundabout way so that I am at least studying medicine and living out of home, if not at Oxford or in Spain. I suppose 10 years isn't that long, in the scheme of things, to achieve a life goal, but I can't help feeling like I've been a very passive part of the process. I somehow forgot to make anything happen. I didn't study hard in undergrad to get into med (I don't think I ever really expected to get in, I just had this image of me leading Medicines Sans Frontier to save the world with an adoring crowd and massive posters of my face everywhere). I didn't do much extracurricular stuff to help my development. I didn't properly try to get into med, and there's no way I would have without the sincerest prayers of my grandparents.

Not that I'm not happy to be here - it hits me every now and again that one day I will have a solid understanding of something amazing. It's a privilege and an honour to be trusted with someone's health, and to have all of the resources and opportunities in the world at your fingertips.

But the idea of myself at 14, an activist and a humanitarian, has crumbled a bit in the intervening period. I haven't eradicated poverty or corruption or AIDs or cancer. I don't speak a million languages. I am not a leader (I'm less of a leader now than I was at my most passive moment in school). I haven't run a marathon. I don't have prize-winning paintings hanging in the Louvre. I haven't solved any of the great mysteries of the ancient world (sometimes I can't sleep because I don't understand how the pyramids were built). My writing isn't being used as teaching material in High Level IB English.

This discrepancy between what I was and wanted to be, and what I have turned out to be now - it's what holds me back from fixing my situation. I spend all of this time dreaming and reminiscing and saying 'I totally could have' and then I realise that I've just wasted another year I could have used wisely. It's a vicious loop and I know the reason I can't get out of it is because my ego is too big to accept that I failed, and to move on.

Of course, this is the perfect opportunity to learn humility. To accept and be happy about the fact that I can do my best and that my best is good enough. Instead, I make a half-assed, panicked attempt and then try to justify my failure by making excuses.

Finally writing about this instead of just whinging to friends is a lot more productive, and a relief. I can be more methodical and see where I'm just bullsh**ing. Once you pinpoint a problem you can focus on fixing it. From where I stand now, I need to quit complaining and start doing.

And with that note, I am off to write some world-class poetry on the subject of my angst.

Peace and love,

S.

Driving, Drama, Ham.

Well, that was an eventful few days.

I finally took my Hazards test (so I can take the final driving test now). Hurray! I've only had my Learner's permit for 5 years.

Saturday was the next grand event. Med ball, Alice-in-Wonderland theme. My long green dress made me look like a big, beached green whale. I've gained too much mass to wear the silver blazer with it. It was still fun getting dressed up, though, glittery heels and plum coloured lipstick.

I was a little apprehensive about the whole thing. I don't like being around people when the alcohol has been flowing. I don't like seeing them say or do embarrassing things, revealing the defects in their character like it's a hilarious pride-worthy quirk. I also found out that it's very stressful being the sober person in a group. Not that it wasn't fun; I was with an awesome group of people, the food was okay and free soft drinks - kinda hard not to be happy with that much sugar and fizz in your system.

The night did end on a slightly less celebratory note. We needed two taxis to get all of us back home, and managed to hail one. One member of the party was really anxious to get home, so me and another female friend were left behind to wait for another taxi. It was dark, the middle of the night, and the centre of a not-so-friendly city. We waited ages on the roadside and on-hold to the taxi service, and eventually just walked into town to find a taxi. I know that I am a strong independent woman of colour who don't need no man and all of that, but you don't leave people alone in the middle of the night. It's not nice.

I am trying not to remember that as the defining event of the night. On the night I felt like I'd had a really good time hanging out with some fun people, but now I'm not too sure. I wasn't comfortable with some of people's activities, I don't drink alcohol and so witnessed everything with the clarity of a sober mind, and the heels made walking a tad difficult.

Anyway. Sunday was over in the blink of an eye. I walked down to the shops and splurged on yoghurt and pasta. The longer I am away from my family, the easier it gets to become caught up in my own world. But it also means that the moments I miss them are even harder; it's literally the little things, like asking my sister's opinion on an outfit, getting my youngest brother to help out when I'm cooking, hearing the sound of my family as they go about their lives, seeing their books in the living room.

Sigh. My brothers are growing up and my sisters are progressing through life and my parents are busying themselves and I'm alone in my room. I know I shouldn't waste my time day-dreaming when I could be living in the moment and making things happen. I catch myself every now and again, and I do try. But there seems to be some fundamental flaw in my character that stops me from being proactive and productive. And I know that the flaw is my fault and that I need to accept it and address it. And I don't know why I'm not.

And finally, last night's drama with meals from the residences' cafeteria. We get three compulsory meals a week (can't opt out of it), and there was drama earlier in the year because the uni advertised halal food but there was none available so my housemate and I had to resort to eating salad three nights a week. They assured as that the situation would be rectified, and since then halal food is available every now and again. The food isn't great, but it's food.

Anyway, so I get take-away meals, and I always write down 'halal' under the options, and last night was some sort of lasagna thing, and when I took it home I found a huge slab of ham in it.

That's right.

Ham.

Not cool. I understand that it's the staple diet of a large portion of the world, but I'm a Muslim and pig products are big deal in the forbidden list. I emailed the lady in charge of our residences. I wish I'd used stronger language. Like, of all the things to give, why would ham be okay?????

Blah. I hope I get out of the meal plan. I'm tired of eating over-priced salad (the food is basically less than acceptable) and being iron deficient and feeling yucky. That's right, I, a 23 year old educated woman of science and learning, just used the word 'yucky' to describe my feelings.

I think that's all for now.

Peace and love, 

S.

Changes and feelings.

So much has changed in the last year. I don't know where to start.

The beginning is probably a good place. I applied for medicine last year, got a interview, and then a spot. The summer holiday was a long one in many ways - it was at least 8 weeks long, I was eager to start my new degree and terrified at the same time, most of my stuff was already packed because I was so nervous and it sort of made day-to-day living a bit difficult but whatever. I started uni in February this year, living on campus with eight classmates. I really struggled with homesickness. In a major way. My grandpapa fell ill(er), was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, deteriorated rapidly, fell into a coma about a six weeks before semester one exams, and passed away about two weeks later. It was a Monday night. I had applied to defer a test I had on the Monday morning, but was denied, so I came back to uni on the Sunday night. My sister called to tell me at about a quarter past 9 on Tuesday morning. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stop crying. I didn't know what to do. In hindsight, I'm a little angry with the faculty for not letting me take the test at a later date, though I know anger is futile and exhausting. I could have been with my family through a terrible, terrible time. I went home that afternoon, and stayed until Friday morning. I missed out on a lot of uni, I couldn't cry at home, surrounded by an entire family falling apart, and kept forgetting what I was doing. It felt unreal. It was awesome seeing almost the whole family, but also terrible. I felt like I had to keep my wits about me, driving instead of mum (she was in no fit state), holding so many members of family as they cried. We saw my grandpapa's body at the mosque before the janazah prayer. He was tiny. I saw my dad cry. One of my little cousin's had a panic attack, his whole body shivering, couldn't breathe, couldn't stop crying. Death affects everyone in different ways. I just wanted to close my eyes and wake up. I wanted to fix the hurt in everyone's hearts. I wanted to run away. I felt guilty for wanting to get back to my room on campus, to sit alone and cry. I wanted someone to hold me as I cried, but I couldn't do that to my family.

My family didn't call me the night he passed away. They didn't want me spend the night worrying and alone. In some ways it was a blessing. I was super stressed about uni, people at uni, my own health; when I did find out and manage to stop crying, my first thought was to let my lecturer know that I couldn't make it to prac that afternoon and that I still wanted to see the agar plates. Why? I was bewildered and hurt, and trying to find some order and think sensibly. I'd be missing out on uni so I needed to be responsible. What's wrong with me? Why didn't I run home straight away? Grief does weird things to us. Throughout the next few days at home, my cousins, siblings and I swung between laughing hysterically and then remembering what had happened. In some moments, it was as if nothing had changed. We were together, stress-free, happy. And then someone was crying again.

I normally stay in my room a lot, once I get home from classes. This was a bit different. I just cried constantly. I had nightmares of a sick and dying grandpapa, to wake up to a reality a thousand times worse. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to sleep because I kept seeing him in my dreams, and then waking up knowing that I'd never see him again. But I was so tired.

And the guilt. The last time I saw my grandpapa conscious, he was home from hospital but quite poorly. He was sitting on his bed in my auntie's house. My mother spent the day with him. I was keen to leave with dad; I think I wanted to go somewhere. I wasted my last opportunity to see him alive. I was caught up with some stupid worldly distraction. The next time I saw him was maybe a week or two later. He was in a coma. I didn't believe the doctor's saying he wouldn't wake up. You never see death as something real. I thought that if I prayed hard enough, he'd wake up whole again, and live forever.

Back at uni and going through the motions. I fell apart each day when I woke up, and again when I came home after class. Certain people - a certain person - said some insensitive and ridiculously awfully things to me, as if their pain and wisdom was all that is important and right. I don't hate them, but it'll be hard to forget their words. It made me realise that words can never help, and though my friends were sympathetic, their kindness was again of little comfort (though at least not detrimental). A friend I went to school with passed away last year. I hadn't seen her in a couple of years, but I always meant to get in touch with her again. This was the first time I'd known someone who'd died, apart from my dad's dad, who I hadn't seen since I was about three years old. My instinct was denial. I cried a bit, but mostly I just couldn't believe it. She'd pop into my head during lectures weeks later, and I'd hold back the tears. But it got easier very quickly, and soon it was just a distant fact.

With my grandpapa, I knew all of the rationalities and realities of life and death. I had the safety net of religion. I had the support of an amazing family. But it didn't stop the pain. Even when you know that all it takes is time, it hurts like crazy. It was awful then, and it's still awful now, though it doesn't occupy my thoughts all of the time now.

The week at home after exams was glorious. Back at uni for a fresh start, and the beginning of Ramadan. This was our first Eid without my grandpapa. We didn't go to my grandparent's house. We didn't kiss his hand. We didn't steal fruit of his cherry trees. We didn't tiptoe in the hallway during his nap time. We didn't see him dressed in his best white clothes for the five daily prayers at the mosque. Mostly I worried about my grandmama. She's a restless soul at the best of times, constantly busying herself with gardening, cleaning, visiting her kids. It's been three and half months since he went, and the reality of death is far away. I know that one day we will all die, that it is the way of the world, that life only has value because it one day ends. But the terrifying reality isn't so fresh in my mind. I thought it would change me. And yes, it has changed my world in a painful way, but I have not changed. I am in better spirits than I was at the time, but when I see his grave now, for a moment I forget what I'm looking at and when it clicks I feel sick. It doesn't feel real anymore. If I think about it, yes, it will all come back to me. But the whole thing seems to have just left an ache in my heart. And I have this sick heavy feeling even when I'm not thinking about his death. The pain makes me feel less guilty. It's a reminder that I am capable of normal feelings.

I often forget about how terrible it must be for everyone else. People are resilient, our capacity to forget and be distracted is a blessing, but the absence of the core of your family is hard to ignore. They all lived so closely together, visiting constantly, their routine's based around him. My immediate family lived further away for a few years so our routine wasn't so set, but sometimes I remember that my mum has lost her dad, and that she used to phone him all of the time. I am angry with her for working so hard, but then I remember that keeping yourself busy means your thoughts wander less, and it's probably a good thing.

I think I'll stop here, for now. It's really hard to be coherent when you're crying.

Peace and love,

S.

For when it hurts.

Sometimes, things hurt.

No matter how small, insignificant and meaningless in the whole scheme of things, they hit you and at first you think you're angry, but actually you're hurt. It can be as small as a group of friends walking to class ahead of you, or someone taking longer than usual to respond to your message, or just the slight change in expression - the briefest of looks - when they see you or talk to you.

Sometimes, you tell yourself you're imagining it. But what's the point in this? Regardless of whether the event is real or imagined, it still jabs you in a sore spot. You tell yourself to toughen up, get over it. But how? What do you use to plug the hole?

And then you're alone in your room at midnight, crying over thoughts you can't stop from racing across your mind.

In the morning, you've forgotten about whatever it was. But you're not quite back to normal. You can't shake of this strange feeling. And when someone doesn't return a greeting, you're back in the slump. The day drifts by, but now you are acutely aware of all of the painful things in the world.

And it sucks.

Yeah, you're never alone, and yeah, it'll pass. But right now, in this moment, it hurts.

And you need to know that it's okay.

It's okay to feel hurt. It's okay to take your time bouncing back. It's okay to worry about what people think of you. It's okay to cry because you're upset. It's okay to need a kind word or gesture. It's okay to deal with your hurt in your own way.

Peace and love,

S.

Who Hurt You?

Dearest,

Who hurt you so badly
That you can't forgive?
What terrible deed
Did they inflict upon you
That you can't move on?

Did it mean so much
To you?
Did you care so much
For them?
Did your tears change
A thing?

No.
Water wears away at stone,
And so your tears
Will wear you 
Down.

And yet,
As you stand
And face them again,
The fierceness of your fire
And the strength of your
Dreams
Will 
Heal
You.


S.

Trust and other issues.

Over the past couple of years I have learned a lot about friendship, politics, loyalty, and most of all, about trust. I am passive, weak, naive and gullible, so of course my instincts are to trust anyone and everyone. Thankfully life has taught me some key lessons in this area. Except I'm afraid these lessons have turned me into a cynical disaggregate instead. I find myself second-guessing my relationships with people, the goodness I see in others, and ultimately, the goodness I myself should be showing.

The way you treat others is a massive reflection on how you think and the sort of person you are. When I told everyone that I would be doing Arts this year, a lot of people were really sceptical that this was the truth, and thought I was lying to cover up doing medicine or something. Yes, this is a reflection of how they think, that expecting others to lie just shows how they themselves would lie. But I think I'm turning into one of these people. In some ways, it is a step forward - I am starting to no longer take words at face value - but at the same time, I am losing something of myself, like, sort of innocence and good will. And if I'm secretly accusing people of being false, what does it say about me? Is it better to be naive and taken advantage of, or to be on par with the bigots and know their game?

Ultimately, if they're going to give me the evil eye or make my life harder or whatever, it is Allah's will. No burden is given without you having the strength to carry it. Every test and downfall and success and brightness in your life is an opportunity to learn, or to see for yourself how strong you are and where you need to improve. So that's not a problem.

But in insisting on being naive, am I making life harder for myself? And in anticipating people's greed and lies am I making my Hereafter harder for myself?

I have so many moments when I want to share something, some good in my life, or some thought, with someone else, only to remember that that person doesn't trust me, and lies to me - because really, if someone's lying to you about something, it really means that they don't trust you. And it's sad, knowing that the people who are closest to you think this, especially when you know you have never given them a reason to do so. 

People talk. It's what they do best, apart from judging. Everyone does it and if you say you don't you are lying to yourself. I'm going to give an example of how people use this knowledge and turn bad themselves, now. So in my family, all the aunts and uncles compete and show off and talk down about the achievements of others. When our ENTER scores came out, everyone wanted to know everything -and not in the genuinely curious way, but in this really sickeningly busy-body way. I, obviously, straight-out told everyone my marks - it was a miracle that I had passed, and I wasn't about to hide God's miracles. Other people weren't so keen on relating their marks/good news/success in something else/whatever, even though they were only making it harder for themselves by creating something for others to talk about and playing on their bus-body-ness. They kept going on about how other people talk even though they themselves talk just as much. I didn't realise the double-standards, as such, until very recently. You know when someone asks you for help and you do your utmost to help them and they go all coy and hide stuff and it's like um what. Why would you feel the need to lie to the one person who has kept every secret of yours and never lied to you about their own?

Anyway, after learning about this quality - in so many people it nearly makes me want to cry - I realised that those who are supposed to be closest to you will turn on you for no good reason. And I don't understand why. What it is that drives people to be so sh*tty? Like, I get it if you have to lie for a reason, but what is it with all of this? And why would you go on about how others have big mouths if yours is the biggest of all? Is it really that hard to see the truth? Why? I just don't get it. 

I mean, I understand accidentally doing stuff, or having reasons that might be hard for others to understand, but intentionally doing sh*t things, I just don't get it. And then going to these same people to whom you lie and whatever, and asking for their sympathy or friendship or help in something - it just beggars belief. I just don't get it. 

And this realisation of how awful people can be  - I don't like it, I wish I didn't know about it, and I really, really just don't get it. I don't know who trust and with what, and I don't understand what friendship and loyalty and family and brotherhood is anymore.

But one good thing has come of this: I read this  hadith or ayah from the Quran or something that says that Allah (swt) takes away everyone from the one who He wants to turn back to Him alone. And I think this is my sign. I feel alienated from the people around me because I've lost touch with my God. Good things happen when He is in my heart and on my mind, and it brings out the best in me and in others. I need to go back to my faith and thank God properly for all that is in my life.

Peace and love, 

S.