I am actually looking forward to Ramadan for the first time in years. For once I am not dreading the inconvenience of hunger and headaches. I dont know what it is.
I think I’m just really disgusted with the film of laziness, irritability, and disquietude that’s settled over my heart, and I need to shake it off. Ramadan presents the perfect opportunity to do that.
For now, back to Evidence. Sigh.
After reading this gem, I want to slap the shit out of the idiot that wrote it. What a tool. Complaining about being served a 5 course meal by a tired looking air hostess on a Pakistani flight. News flash: she probably doesn’t have the opportunity to fly off to the French Riviera and eat caviar to relax like your highness. I hope he chokes on his wanna-be hispter scarf.
In other news, my mood elevation is inversely proportional to the proximity of the Bar exam. Does that even make sense? Whatever. I’m annoyed.
Two more weeks. Agh.
If there was one skill I wish I had, it would be to write well. I am struck dumb by the beauty in some sentences, the way the words are woven together and their ability to evoke certain moods. Observe:
“During periods of silence, both felt like two separate mausoleums within which their spirits flew like imprisoned birds, striking their heads against the walls while outside the world rushed onwards on its exorable path without catching their voice.”
Nobody can teach that. A skill like that, painting pictures with words, you either have or you don’t.
I find writing to be a difficult task - painful, like pulling teeth or giving birth (not that I’ve ever experienced either of those things…) It hardly ever flows. And when it does, it always seems trite and emo. Which is why I rarely go back and re-read what I’ve written on this blog or in my journal. I’m afraid I’ll delete it all.
I’ve been in settings both picturesque and grotesque that should have inspired me to pen something meaningful, but it rarely does. I’ve been privy to some experiences that if a writer had gone through them, s/he could have written a couple of good novels, or at least a short story, or at least a paragraph or two.
But not me. I just keep reading what others write and wishing it was me that wrote it.
I left this comment over at Talk Islam. Join the conversation there.
BK, I’m not sure what I mean since I’m not well-informed about the history of the feminist movement, and I think you have to know its origins and how it developed to see how it can apply in the Islamic context. And, when you add the fact that “Islamic” means different things in different countries (let alone communities), it gets murkier and murkier.
I guess what bothers me is the “one-size fits all solution,” that if fighting patriarchy means one thing in the West it must therefore mean the same thing in the East. If as Muslim women, we reference the struggle to gain our rights back to the Prophet’s (pbuh) example, does that take us out of the fold of “western feminism” because we concede operating within a patriarchal structure (because we defer to a man’s example)? Is patriarchy inherently bad? If not, is it inherently a part of Islamic tradition? If it is inherently bad (read: unjust), how do we stay true to the tradition and still argue for a break from patriarchal attitudes, in a way that our new theories become a part of tradition and not just a “fad” of the day?
I don’t think I clarified anything, but these are some of the questions I’m mulling over. Would love to hear some thoughts.
I hope people are finding some way to celebrate despite the dismal state of affairs in this country. At least Bush is taking some responsibility and acknowledging the disastrous results of his presidency.
I’ll be spending today cleaning and cooking, two tasks which have taken a back seat as I study. The bathroom could especially use some love, since that’s my least favorite area of the house to clean. As you can tell, instead of just getting up and tackling it, I’m avoiding the task by blogging about it first.
Ok no more excuses, off to “work.”
UPDATE: Nothing like a nice clean place. I’m afraid to step in my pristine bathroom lest I sully it again.
I have no business getting more books right now, seeing as how I’m supposed to be focusing my energies on the Bar. But I cant help it. I just ordered these from Amazon. Anyone read them, or have an opinion about which I should read first?
I’m excited to dig into some good, fresh fiction. I like reading non-fiction occassionally, but my heart is always in reading fiction. I think stories can illuminate certain truths in a way that reading factual analysis cannot. Right now I’m slogging through Demons by Dostoevsky (as far as fiction goes), but its just not doing it for me any more. I hate abandoning books once I start them, but I might have to with this one. At least for now.
So here’s what’s up next:
The Weary Generations, Abdullah Hussain (about a family during Partition).
Swann’s Way, Proust (I’ve been meaning to read Proust since I learned he was a huge influence on Naguib Mehfouz’ work, which I adore. I’m thinking I’ll wait till after the Bar to start this one).
The Last Temptation of Christ, Kazantzakis (thought about reading this after I enjoyed the revision of Christ’s story in Master and Margarita).
Struggling to Surrender, Jeffrey Lang (not fiction obviously, but looks like an easy, interesting read).
Thoughts? Anyone read any of these before?
Zafar, no matter how smart and witty one may be, he is not a man
Who in good times forgot God, and who in anger did not fear Him.
- Bahadur Shah Zafar (India’s last Mughal emperor)
There was a firm party at husband’s work today and I reluctantly (yea, right) left my books behind to accompany him. We feasted on lobster and filet mingnon, and the whole time I’m thinking, this is too much. I dont belong here. We dont belong here. Don’t get me wrong, the people we were with were all good company, albeit enjoying the booze a tad too much. But I’m not used to this scene of being wined and dined.
Money makes me uncomfortable. Alhumdullilah for blessings, especially in this economy, but there is just something about being in an environment where people casually mention their Mercedes convertible that puts me really ill at ease.
Both having money and not having it are tests (what isnt, right?). But for once in our life having an income and buying furniture and entertainment system and just…things…is making me realize that materialism really is a drain on your spirituality. You realize just how far you are straying from the exhortation to live in this world as a traveler, and how having things gives you the false illusion that you’re here for the long run. It makes you think about how life is headed in the opposite direction than the example set up by the Prophet’s life - who, when he would receive any gift or property in the morning, would distribute it to the poor by night.
I am no ascetic - I like nice things just as much as the next person. And certainly the Prophet (pbuh) had companions and wives who were quite well off for their day. So maybe the choice is not as stark as the dichotomy I’m setting up (materialism v. asceticism). One has to strike a balance between the two while living in the grey areas. And to strike the right balance requires ye ol’ familiar tug-of-war with one’s own ego.
Battling the ego - the greedy, arrogant, vain self - truly is the greatest jihad. I go through this tug of war often, especially when I wear hijab on the day of a new haircut (don’t get me started). But I wonder what kind of life it would be if there was no such struggle, where there was no choice except the right one. Some would call that heaven. I’d call that a dystopia.
So, as much as I moan and groan about the difficulty of the human condition, life’s complexities and mundane struggles are what make it worth living. The mystery of what lies around the bend, the hope that whatever it is is good for you, makes the temporary stay here worthwhile.
I hope I remember the temporary nature of it all next time I’m eating lobster - that I should enjoy it, be grateful for it, but always always remember that this too shall pass.
I’ve written about this before, but honestly, getting your eyebrows cleaned up professionally is the biggest ego and mood booster around. I swear desi women are compulsive about hair removal. Maybe because, in a sadistic way, it really does feel good. Here are Baraka’s timeless words on this issue.
Waxing, threading, bleaching, shaving, depilatorying, epiladying, plucking, lasering and generally trying anything grimace-inducing just to stay smooth is routine from a tender age. And I’m not talking about normal areas that woman around the world seek to clear reasonable paths through - I’m talking about faint hair in ridiculous areas like ear lobes, elbows, and the smalls of backs which no one is going to notice anyway. They might not see it, but you’ll know it’s there, the waxing-crack lady whispers when you’re 13, drawing you into forking over your allowance, and you’re hooked into the full-body wax ordeal for life.
And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
I love this article. Its long, but worth reading, or at least skimming.
I’ve been thinking a lot about how my formal education has gotten in the way of my real education. I went to a public university (not Ivy-league) to stay closer to home and majored in Economics. Mind you, I have no interest in the field, but it seemed like a practical thing to study. I chose Economics as my major because I knew I was not a science person, and majoring in what I really would have liked (Philosophy) would have seemed somehow a waste of time. I now realize that I wasted my 3 years in undergrad because I know nothing about Economics, and had I majored in Philosophy, I might have actually retained something since I was interested in it.
I did well enough in college to get into a top-ten law school. I had no strong impetus in wanting to go to law school. I knew that I couldn’t go to med school (again, because I’m not a science person), and law school seemed like an equally elite option that my parents would have been happy with. No matter what my admissions essay said, I didn’t apply to law school to save humanity, but to save face with my parents. I wanted them to be proud of me, which is not in itself a negative thing, but it was not the reason I gave the admissions committee, or even myself at the time I was applying. The fact that it gave me skills that I could then utilize to help some people was merely an incidental benefit. If I truly wanted to help people, I would have been a social worker. Or a teacher (but I cant deal with kids for too long). In short, these are definetley questions that factored into my decision, which I would not admit to myself at the time:
Yet it is precisely that opportunity that an elite education takes away. How can I be a schoolteacher—wouldn’t that be a waste of my expensive education? Wouldn’t I be squandering the opportunities my parents worked so hard to provide? What will my friends think? How will I face my classmates at our 20th reunion, when they’re all rich lawyers or important people in New York? And the question that lies behind all these: Isn’t it beneath me? So a whole universe of possibility closes, and you miss your true calling.
In the end, I am glad I went to law school - there is much that I can understand about how this country (and Islamic thought) works that I wouldn’t have known otherwise. But perhaps that is something I tell myself to justify my decisions.
Failing the bar has been a big ego check for me. To be honest, I didn’t think I would fail because I’ve never failed at anything academically. Well, I didn’t actually breeze through law school - my brain did get an intellectual beat down more often than I would have liked - but I never failed. So I failed now, and the job which (I think) I love is now hanging in the balance of me being able to pass in November. And this, so perfectly, sums up how I’m feeling:
Because students from elite schools expect success, and expect it now. They have, by definition, never experienced anything else, and their sense of self has been built around their ability to succeed. The idea of not being successful terrifies them, disorients them, defeats them. They’ve been driven their whole lives by a fear of failure—often, in the first instance, by their parents’ fear of failure.
My parents have been nothing but supportive - they tell me this is real life, that people fail and get up and get going, and its ok. But despite their reassurance, the feeling that I’ve disappointed them hasnt quite left me.
As the article says, an elite education is profoundly anti-intellectual because it demands from you nothing other than that you be smart and do your homework. After years of “being smart” (I flatter myself) and doing my homework, not to mention the thousands of dollars that went into educating me, I feel like I am only now opening my eyes to what true education means.
I am now trying to teach myself, learning how to be alone, finding a sense of self that is divorced from test scores and elite degrees, inculcating a measure of success that is focused on what will happen in the hereafter rather than in November when the bar results come out. I am trying to learn by listening to other people, people with life experiences who can teach me more about living than any elite professor. And I’m trying to nourish my intellect by reading books about God and literature which interest me personally, not for the sake of getting a good grade or proving something to anyone else.
The bar exam in July is the last hoop of formal education I will jump through. After that, a whole world of knowledge awaits me. I have this deep-seated feeling that I know nothing, and I want to know for the sake of knowing.
Rabbi zidni ilma. My Lord, increase me in knowledge. Knowledge that is beneficial in the way that You feel is best. Let me never be ungrateful for the opportunities you’ve already showered on me. Let me learn from them, but let me never be self-satisfied. And purge from me any ounce of arrogance. Ameen.
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