As salaam alaikum,
I don't know how I missed this article at AltMuslimah...it's totally what I needed to read, always.
"[...] as a community, we are so focused on grooming our women to be wives and
mothers that we lose sight of the fact that this is not even our number
one role.
"Servitude to Allah (swt) is our number one role. We need to use what He
has given us, the means that we have at the moment we have, to worship
Him in the best of ways."
Preach it, Sister! See the full article here: Wifehood and Motherhood not only ways to paradise.
This paragraph was also encouraging:
"God, in His Wisdom, has created each one of us differently and in
different circumstances. Some recognize this, love any stage they are
in, and develop their abilities to the fullest. Let us, too, use the
time and abilities God has given us to maximize our worship to Him and
work for the betterment of society and humanity as a whole. If wifehood
or motherhood comes in the process, then at least we were using all of
our ability to worship Him before it came and can continue to use the
training and stamina we gained before marriage to worship Him with
excellence once it comes along."
Ameen, sis!
The article starts out with a Muslimah aimlessly making her way through college, really just buying time until she finds a husband and marries so she can have children. In my heart of hearts, I felt like this was me.
No one else sees me this way, and when I talk this way, it seems incongruous with who I actually am.
I am the 12-year-old girl who helped her mother copy articles for her Auntie Florence's dissertation in Nigeria and aspired someday to attend graduate school. I am the 12-year-old girl that, in researching careers, was choosing not only between medicine and architecture, but considered specifically the specialty of OB/GYN. I am the 13-year-old girl who took two math classes in middle school so she could be in the advanced science-math track. I am the 15-year-old girl who participated in a conference and initiative to try to address the achievement gap with black American students. I am the 18-year-old girl who graduated in the top 5% of her high school class after taking 7 AP tests, all 4s and 5s, and had gotten into all of the colleges she applied to with a full tuition scholarship to the one she would eventually attend. I am the 17-year-old girl who definitively embraced Islam and decided to become more practicing once in college.
I am the 18-year-old girl who entered college toying with the idea of becoming an MD/PhD, focusing on genetics. I am the 18-year-old girl who fasted Ramadan for the first time. I am the 19-year-old girl that started to develop her social consciousness and the idea of entering medicine as a service career, serving Allah (swt) through serving fellow human being. I am the 19-year-old girl who found a dream medical school and began to develop myself in college to be able to gain admission there. I am the 19-year-old girl who decided to double major in Cellular and Molecular biology and Spanish. I am the 20-year-old girl who juggled her double major, working in the lab, volunteering in the Children's hospital, tutoring students in Spanish and helping Latino children and adults increase their literacy all the while delving into Islam head-first. I am the 21-year-old girl who began wearing the khimar, traveled abroad for the first time and applied to medical school all in the same year. I am the 22-year-old girl who graduated with a 3.9 and accepted admission at Harvard Medical School with aspirations to attain her MPH.
I am the 22-year-old woman who made the very hard decision to shed the khimar and find alternative ways to assume her Muslim identity.
I am the 22-year-old girl who thrived upon entering medical school. I am the 22-year-old girl who started writing her first novel, A Rose Much Desired, during anatomy class, where she sawed off a human leg. I am the 22-year-old girl who aspired to publish at least one work while in medical school. I am the 23-year-old girl who wrote her first story to be published, insha'Allah, which was renamed "The Hybrid Dance." I am the 23-year-old girl who co-directed a cultural show with her classmates that celebrated the African Diaspora and was musical director for her second year show, realizing the dreams of performance that she never allowed herself while studying through college. I am the 24-year-old woman who studied for and conquered USMLE Step 1. I am the 24-year-old woman who decided not to miss Ramadan because of tough coursework and fasted successfully through her OB/GYN rotation and still got her desired grade. I am the 25-year-old woman who survived third year of medical school. I am the 25-year-old woman who fell in love with family medicine. I am the 25-year-old woman who realized her aspiration and matriculated into the school of public health, studying family and community health and maternal child health. I am the 26-year-old woman who was an intern for a project to find solutions for homelessness of transition-age youth in Massachusetts. I am the 26-year-old woman who is applying to residency and interviewing across the country as I type this.
I am the 26-year-old woman who has made mistakes in the course of life but always has her home in Islam, alhamdulillah.
None of this is the mark of a woman who has been ambling through life, aimlessly waiting for her husband to come along. No. I don't know why I though that.
I don't generally like to lay out my life in this way, but for my own purposes, I had to. I had to slap myself in the face and see, in fact, that I've made some very purposeful decisions in my life, academic and leisure and otherwise, to achieve my goals.
As the quote above says so nicely, we are created differently and we are born into different circumstances. Some of us recognize this and love the stage we are in and develop our capabilities to the fullest. I think I recognize that we are born into different circumstances and I have developed my capabilities. What has not happened is that I have not loved the stage I am in.
I was constantly trying to be something else, be somewhere else. Thus the movement of I am more myself now than I have ever been.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
Showing posts with label Umich. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Umich. Show all posts
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Seventeenth Juz
As salaam alaikum,
The proclamation of "No more blues" is one that I really should take with me every day and every night...I should wear it on a t-shirt, hang it on my wall over my bed, or better yet on my ceiling, so that every time I wake from slumber I remember what I had so recently proclaimed...there's no reason to have the blues in God's world unless you, in some capacity, do not believe!
"And [know that] We havve not created the heavens and the earth and all that is in between them in mere idle play: [for,] had We willed to indulge in a pastime, We would have indeed have produced it from within Ourselves--if such had been Our will at all." (21:16-17)
I love this...if those who don't believe in God would only read the Qur'an, each one of their arguments would be addressed. There are so many that would liken God to a creator who made a game out of creation, but here is an affirmation that this is, indeed, not true, and ridiculous. And thereafter it warns against trying to define God by any more than is outlined in the Qur'an. We don't know why we were created, but we know that our ultimate purpose is to serve Him in the ways He's outlined for us to worship...the good deeds, constant prayer and charity, that which benefits ourselves and those around us. These are the ways we serve Him, by doing what will purify ourselves and help others, so that they may, too, purify themselves if they so choose...
And lest anyone believes that the Qur'an places too much emphasis on war, and if they argue for the peaceful nature of their religion:
"Permission [to fight] is given to those against whom war is being wrongfully waged--and, verily, God has indeed the power to succor them: --those who have been driven from their homelands against all right for no other reason than their saying, "Our Sustainer is God!" For, if God had not enabled people to defend themselves against one another, [all] monasteries and churches and synagogues and mosques -- in [all of] which God's name is abundantly extolled -- would surely have been destroyed [ere now]." (22:39-40)
Aggression is never justified. Only legitimate, rightful self-defense. And if those of other faiths had not once defended themselves, they would have died out. So what better form of self-defense than one ordained by God, and not one that people go about by following their own whims...
This is for my father:
"Unto every community have We appointed [different] ways of worship, which they ought to observe. Hence, [O believer,] do not let those [who follow ways other than thine] draw thee into disputes on this score, but summon [them all] unto thy Sustainer: for, behold, thou art indeed on the right way. And if they [try to] argue with thee, say [only]: "God knows best what you are doing." [For, indeed,] God will judge between you on Resurrection Day with regard to all on which you were wont to differ." (22:67-69)
We can ultimately coexist and have unity within our separate communities if we realize that we're approaching the same God.
And this is my mother's favorite parable...don't fear anyone but God:
"O men! A parable is set forth [herewith]: hearken, then, to it! Behold, those beings whom you invoke instead of God cannot create [as much as] a fly, even were they to join all their forces to that end! And if a fly robs them of anything, they cannot [even] rescue it from him! Weak indeed is the seeker, and [week] the sought!" (22:73).
Not only for the obvious worship of deities besides God, but revering human beings, whether good or evil, in a place where such reverence only belongs to God. Because if you put all of the geniuses together, they would not be able to create a fruit fly, even if they could put its genome into C. elegans.
Oh man, C. elegans...the remembrance makes me almost miss my former life as a Cell and Molecular biology major at the UMich...anyway...
The proclamation of "No more blues" is one that I really should take with me every day and every night...I should wear it on a t-shirt, hang it on my wall over my bed, or better yet on my ceiling, so that every time I wake from slumber I remember what I had so recently proclaimed...there's no reason to have the blues in God's world unless you, in some capacity, do not believe!
"And [know that] We havve not created the heavens and the earth and all that is in between them in mere idle play: [for,] had We willed to indulge in a pastime, We would have indeed have produced it from within Ourselves--if such had been Our will at all." (21:16-17)
I love this...if those who don't believe in God would only read the Qur'an, each one of their arguments would be addressed. There are so many that would liken God to a creator who made a game out of creation, but here is an affirmation that this is, indeed, not true, and ridiculous. And thereafter it warns against trying to define God by any more than is outlined in the Qur'an. We don't know why we were created, but we know that our ultimate purpose is to serve Him in the ways He's outlined for us to worship...the good deeds, constant prayer and charity, that which benefits ourselves and those around us. These are the ways we serve Him, by doing what will purify ourselves and help others, so that they may, too, purify themselves if they so choose...
And lest anyone believes that the Qur'an places too much emphasis on war, and if they argue for the peaceful nature of their religion:
"Permission [to fight] is given to those against whom war is being wrongfully waged--and, verily, God has indeed the power to succor them: --those who have been driven from their homelands against all right for no other reason than their saying, "Our Sustainer is God!" For, if God had not enabled people to defend themselves against one another, [all] monasteries and churches and synagogues and mosques -- in [all of] which God's name is abundantly extolled -- would surely have been destroyed [ere now]." (22:39-40)
Aggression is never justified. Only legitimate, rightful self-defense. And if those of other faiths had not once defended themselves, they would have died out. So what better form of self-defense than one ordained by God, and not one that people go about by following their own whims...
This is for my father:
"Unto every community have We appointed [different] ways of worship, which they ought to observe. Hence, [O believer,] do not let those [who follow ways other than thine] draw thee into disputes on this score, but summon [them all] unto thy Sustainer: for, behold, thou art indeed on the right way. And if they [try to] argue with thee, say [only]: "God knows best what you are doing." [For, indeed,] God will judge between you on Resurrection Day with regard to all on which you were wont to differ." (22:67-69)
We can ultimately coexist and have unity within our separate communities if we realize that we're approaching the same God.
And this is my mother's favorite parable...don't fear anyone but God:
"O men! A parable is set forth [herewith]: hearken, then, to it! Behold, those beings whom you invoke instead of God cannot create [as much as] a fly, even were they to join all their forces to that end! And if a fly robs them of anything, they cannot [even] rescue it from him! Weak indeed is the seeker, and [week] the sought!" (22:73).
Not only for the obvious worship of deities besides God, but revering human beings, whether good or evil, in a place where such reverence only belongs to God. Because if you put all of the geniuses together, they would not be able to create a fruit fly, even if they could put its genome into C. elegans.
Oh man, C. elegans...the remembrance makes me almost miss my former life as a Cell and Molecular biology major at the UMich...anyway...
Thursday, February 10, 2011
New Me
As salaam alaikum,
So, Mubarak may step down in the next 24 hours? Once again, I get my most updated news from facebook status updates which refer me to news sources, and not the news sources themselves. Insha'Allah, whatever the announcement will be, and whatever the outcome of the announcement is, the outcome will lead to true steps towards democracy and do right by the people and their demands.
EDIT: Hah, well, never mind...
Maybe my last entry didn't do justice to how truly I am inspired by the young people, people my age, in Tunisia and now Egypt, especially, in bringing their grievances to the attention of a dictator. I realize, as I will be 26 in less than a week now, that I'm still young and the power of my youth in seeing others like me across the Atlantic doing something big and meaningful to their daily lives and their liberties to pursue their personal purposes of life.
Adorei.
Taking this back to the national front, I've been reading articles that are talking about how the face of the US youth is going to be drastically different from the aging population...at least, in terms of race. In the New York Times especially, from their "Race Remixed" series to other articles about children in schools, it seems that soon enough, the school population is going to be majority non-white, with Latino children making up the largest minority. Articles have also talked about an increasing mixed-race population in schools and the fact that one in seven new marriages are interracial or inter-ethnic (yes!). My google calculator tells me that's more than 14%.
Amo!
These two facts, in synthesis, have helped me remember who I was, and helped me redefine myself. Let's go back to six years ago, when I was 19 and about to turn 20. I was a sophomore in college. Unlike now, I did not doubt the relevance of my youth. I was confident in my God-given beauty and talents and the fact that I was going to be a catch for anybody. Of course the men stopped and gawked and whistled at me...I was young, I was well put together, and though I didn't flaunt it, it was apparent.
For me, this was the time to do everything.
I used to want to be a young...you name it. I wanted to be a young writer, authoring my first novel as an adolescent, I wanted to be a young activist, though I did not have a cause. I wanted to be a young wife, as I had my eyes on the type of man I wanted to marry, potentially a younger mother than my mother was. I wanted to be young and religious. I didn't want to wait a lifetime to be spiritually evolved. I didn't find it necessary to bother through trials that could teach me something that, with maturity, I could know now.
I was young, I felt it, and I wanted to do everything now, now, now. I'd been this way since I was about twelve, when I decided that I wanted to become one of the most spiritual people on earth at a young age. I think my mother's shows on young people who had experienced near-death experiences and came back knowing the truth of things and spiritually evolved didn't help...
Fast forward to now. It's six years later. By my previous definitions of what I wanted for myself, I am a failure. I have not published my first novel, I was not an activist in youth because I never did find that cause. I am not a wife and I am unlikely to be a markedly younger mother than my mother was, who had me at 30. I'm learning that there is no substitute for experience when it comes to spirituality and though I was mature for my age, I recognize that the life Allah (swt) has granted me is building my faith in a way I could not arrive at spontaneously or through any specific religious endeavor.
But six years later, and though I feared feeling it for years, the feeling that I was failing has dissipated. And thankfully, because I was never anyone's failure. Taking maturity up a notch, because of the experiences I have and continue to have, I imagine more things about myself and tempering what was a youthful, erotic view on life to a more seasoned, romantic view of life.
At almost 20, I was in the generation that was going to change the world. I had graduated '03 from college, a year recited since I was 8 years old, and I just knew that our year, big things were going to happen. I imagined us rallying for our invisible causes, turning the world on its head. I was ready, for whenever the cause came about, I was ready for the revolution. I was going to do my part. I believed in several things, including interracial marriage. Especially as a Muslim woman, I wanted to marry someone not my own race to help promote multiculturalism in Islam, to do my part to help blur racial lines so that we could be brothers and sister in Islam without much regard to ethnicity and subsequent hierarchies.
At almost 26, I am in the generation that is changing the world and will continue to do so, as youths in solidarity, as youths in protests, as adults in leadership roles, pushing out the grandfathered refuse of those who came before us. As a future physician with training in public health, I will begin my practice at community health care centers with an eye for openings in leadership positions in my community, such as for medical director. I will make sure that the community health care center includes social programs that fit with my new community's needs. And later in my career, if it comes to it, I will be an advocate for community health centers, involving myself in political processes to make sure that they expand to cover the needs of even more uninsured and under-insured people in the US, residents, immigrants, documents or not. But for now, while I'm still a student, there is much for me to do. I'm completing my education. I'm reading the news, keeping myself informed. My passion lies in health for minorities, immigrants and the low-income among us. They make up are our real majority.
And while, if it were in my future, I would marry someone outside of my race, I recognize that this is not the only way and maybe not always the best way to promote multiculturalism within the Muslim community.
That's what I mean between the differences between eroticism and romanticism. I don't consider myself more jaded at almost 26, I just consider myself less lusty than almost 20. Eroticism has the passion but is superficial, in the moment with poor foresight, feeling justified in its existence but clouded with a sense of urgency and immediacy that blinds one to alternatives of the moment. Romanticism is the passion with more depth, more foresight, still idealistic but with hopes to touch the sky because of the idea that it is possible, not hope to touch the sky because it being possible is so hott.
At almost 20, I was a black American Muslim sophomore premed in college, majoring in Cell and Molecular Biology and Spanish, living in Ann Arbor, MI. At almost 26, I am an Igbo Nigerian-black American Muslim graduate student in public health concentrating in Family and Community Health with a focus on Maternal Child Health and a fourth year medical student living in Boston, MA. Because of my intended, I'm more Nigerian than I've been since our family friends moved away when I was 11. Because of my training, I know a lot more what I want to do with my life and my career, saving my activism for causes I'm most passionate about. Because of my change in locale, I've been exposed to a more beautiful and diverse setting and it lets me know that there's even better out there.
And because of these six years of learning, my spirituality means more to me and is more efficient.
Say hello to the new me.
So, Mubarak may step down in the next 24 hours? Once again, I get my most updated news from facebook status updates which refer me to news sources, and not the news sources themselves. Insha'Allah, whatever the announcement will be, and whatever the outcome of the announcement is, the outcome will lead to true steps towards democracy and do right by the people and their demands.
EDIT: Hah, well, never mind...
Maybe my last entry didn't do justice to how truly I am inspired by the young people, people my age, in Tunisia and now Egypt, especially, in bringing their grievances to the attention of a dictator. I realize, as I will be 26 in less than a week now, that I'm still young and the power of my youth in seeing others like me across the Atlantic doing something big and meaningful to their daily lives and their liberties to pursue their personal purposes of life.
Adorei.
Taking this back to the national front, I've been reading articles that are talking about how the face of the US youth is going to be drastically different from the aging population...at least, in terms of race. In the New York Times especially, from their "Race Remixed" series to other articles about children in schools, it seems that soon enough, the school population is going to be majority non-white, with Latino children making up the largest minority. Articles have also talked about an increasing mixed-race population in schools and the fact that one in seven new marriages are interracial or inter-ethnic (yes!). My google calculator tells me that's more than 14%.
Amo!
These two facts, in synthesis, have helped me remember who I was, and helped me redefine myself. Let's go back to six years ago, when I was 19 and about to turn 20. I was a sophomore in college. Unlike now, I did not doubt the relevance of my youth. I was confident in my God-given beauty and talents and the fact that I was going to be a catch for anybody. Of course the men stopped and gawked and whistled at me...I was young, I was well put together, and though I didn't flaunt it, it was apparent.
For me, this was the time to do everything.
I used to want to be a young...you name it. I wanted to be a young writer, authoring my first novel as an adolescent, I wanted to be a young activist, though I did not have a cause. I wanted to be a young wife, as I had my eyes on the type of man I wanted to marry, potentially a younger mother than my mother was. I wanted to be young and religious. I didn't want to wait a lifetime to be spiritually evolved. I didn't find it necessary to bother through trials that could teach me something that, with maturity, I could know now.
I was young, I felt it, and I wanted to do everything now, now, now. I'd been this way since I was about twelve, when I decided that I wanted to become one of the most spiritual people on earth at a young age. I think my mother's shows on young people who had experienced near-death experiences and came back knowing the truth of things and spiritually evolved didn't help...
Fast forward to now. It's six years later. By my previous definitions of what I wanted for myself, I am a failure. I have not published my first novel, I was not an activist in youth because I never did find that cause. I am not a wife and I am unlikely to be a markedly younger mother than my mother was, who had me at 30. I'm learning that there is no substitute for experience when it comes to spirituality and though I was mature for my age, I recognize that the life Allah (swt) has granted me is building my faith in a way I could not arrive at spontaneously or through any specific religious endeavor.
But six years later, and though I feared feeling it for years, the feeling that I was failing has dissipated. And thankfully, because I was never anyone's failure. Taking maturity up a notch, because of the experiences I have and continue to have, I imagine more things about myself and tempering what was a youthful, erotic view on life to a more seasoned, romantic view of life.
At almost 20, I was in the generation that was going to change the world. I had graduated '03 from college, a year recited since I was 8 years old, and I just knew that our year, big things were going to happen. I imagined us rallying for our invisible causes, turning the world on its head. I was ready, for whenever the cause came about, I was ready for the revolution. I was going to do my part. I believed in several things, including interracial marriage. Especially as a Muslim woman, I wanted to marry someone not my own race to help promote multiculturalism in Islam, to do my part to help blur racial lines so that we could be brothers and sister in Islam without much regard to ethnicity and subsequent hierarchies.
At almost 26, I am in the generation that is changing the world and will continue to do so, as youths in solidarity, as youths in protests, as adults in leadership roles, pushing out the grandfathered refuse of those who came before us. As a future physician with training in public health, I will begin my practice at community health care centers with an eye for openings in leadership positions in my community, such as for medical director. I will make sure that the community health care center includes social programs that fit with my new community's needs. And later in my career, if it comes to it, I will be an advocate for community health centers, involving myself in political processes to make sure that they expand to cover the needs of even more uninsured and under-insured people in the US, residents, immigrants, documents or not. But for now, while I'm still a student, there is much for me to do. I'm completing my education. I'm reading the news, keeping myself informed. My passion lies in health for minorities, immigrants and the low-income among us. They make up are our real majority.
And while, if it were in my future, I would marry someone outside of my race, I recognize that this is not the only way and maybe not always the best way to promote multiculturalism within the Muslim community.
That's what I mean between the differences between eroticism and romanticism. I don't consider myself more jaded at almost 26, I just consider myself less lusty than almost 20. Eroticism has the passion but is superficial, in the moment with poor foresight, feeling justified in its existence but clouded with a sense of urgency and immediacy that blinds one to alternatives of the moment. Romanticism is the passion with more depth, more foresight, still idealistic but with hopes to touch the sky because of the idea that it is possible, not hope to touch the sky because it being possible is so hott.
At almost 20, I was a black American Muslim sophomore premed in college, majoring in Cell and Molecular Biology and Spanish, living in Ann Arbor, MI. At almost 26, I am an Igbo Nigerian-black American Muslim graduate student in public health concentrating in Family and Community Health with a focus on Maternal Child Health and a fourth year medical student living in Boston, MA. Because of my intended, I'm more Nigerian than I've been since our family friends moved away when I was 11. Because of my training, I know a lot more what I want to do with my life and my career, saving my activism for causes I'm most passionate about. Because of my change in locale, I've been exposed to a more beautiful and diverse setting and it lets me know that there's even better out there.
And because of these six years of learning, my spirituality means more to me and is more efficient.
Say hello to the new me.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
"Africa Night" and Other Things
As salaam alaikum,
Wow, I've written the most that I have in a long time. I probably wrote 30 pages of my story in the last week, easy. Pretty crazy...I haven't written this much since NaNoWriMo 2007. I can't believed this much life has passed! What can I say, I've been busy...
But thank God for friends, man! Thank God for friends and their significant others for being such militant blacks/Africans and coming up with the idea for this African/African Diaspora book club!
The book club is actually called Children of the Nile, and we actually never read books. Given that all of the members of the book club, which I have affectionately nicknamed "Africa Night," are Harvard and MIT graduate students, we don't really have the time to read a book every month. So instead, we watch documentaries, after which we discuss what we've watched, which usually turns to my friends' boyfriend getting on his soapbox and not leaving concerning his vision for Africa, with one of his friends joining him in disagreeing.
And then, it's midnight, and the train stops running around midnight thirty, so I usually have to leave at that point.
The book clubs, of which I've attended four now, I think, are always at my friends' boyfriend's place on MIT campus. Mostly MIT is represented, thus the predominance of males.
So I don't remember when the first book club was held, but I feel like it was late 2009. We watched this film called, Rabbit Proof Fence which is about the eugenic efforts of the Australians over the Aborigines in the early 20th century. I came and I was immediately impressed with the intelligence and insight of the group and looked forward to participating in the future. So far, I have not been let down.
My friend and her boyfriend/fiance (they're technically engaged, but she wants to keep that on the DL, so that's fine) are traveling with her family to his country insha'Allah in about a week's time, so they won't be hosting Africa Night anymore. However, they would like me to co-lead the group with another member of the group "who seems to come consistently."
Hrm.
I've been set up by people twice this year already. People think they're being sneaky, but seeing as I am the queen of sneak, the supreme emotions obfuscator, if you will, I usually can tell right away when someone's trying to be crafty. And making me and this dude co-leaders is sooo obviously a set-up.
...but we already like each other, so it's okay.
This entry would have been more explosive, but I gave in and told my mother the whole sordid tale. Sordid because...at 25 years old, I'm still such a kid when it comes to me liking someone else. I do this weird thing where I use unisex language...it's not that I'm necessarily trying to be orientation equitable at those times, I just for some reason never admit...that it's a man. I usually use language like, "What I'm looking for in someone," or "Someday, I'll have somebody." I couldn't even say aloud, "What I'm looking for in a man." It sounds too...ugh...
So yeah, this is interesting.
So I first met him when we watched Rabbit Proof Fence. He seemed like a nice, outgoing guy...friendly. Not my type, so I wasn't checking him out like that. [Ugh, talking about it like this already makes me feel silly.] But we watched the movie and we were laughing at each other's commentary and essentially had our own running commentary going the whole time. I was intrigued that he was finding so many things funny. As I got to know him more, I was impressed with his intelligence, how well-read he was, how up he was on so many things...and it was so easy for him. He carries himself easily with it, and he seems like a down-to-earth guy.
Ironically, my friends were trying to set me up with this Muslim dude, but they didn't understand...he was so conservative a Muslim, our conversation would not get very far past, "So, looking forward to Ramadan this year?" Once again, Muslim Relationship Dysfunction set in, and that went a whole lot of nowhere.
So I saw this guy a couple more times before he indicated that he was going to Asia, but the last book club that we were at together...I don't know, there was something about the interaction, and us, and I could tell...something was going to happen, sooner than soons ever been for me (for example, soon for me has been 10+ years...that takes too long to explain).
So months pass, he comes back to the States, I come back to Boston, and this is our first time seeing each other in months. I see him, complement his hat... And then during book club, I notice he keeps making a concerted effort to sit next to me. When there's no room on the couch, he sits at my feet. When there's finally room on the couch, he's sitting so close...
...and instantly, I have a flashback to the last time I've known for sure that a guy liked me. The year was 2004, and the venue was organic chemistry structured study group...and then a review for our exam. [Yes, it's actually been 6 years since someone not a street random has liked me...at least enough to act on it...wow.] It's happened other times, too far back to really recount.
And it was happening again...except, this time, I'm 25, not 19, and a whole lot more mature to know, okay, this is what's going on.
So he and my friend walked me to the T stop so I could catch the train prior to midnight thirty and then he blurts, as I get ready to go down the steps, "We should hang out." And excitedly, thinking finally, a guy making a move, I reply, "Yes, we should!"
So on Saturday, in celebration of Nigeria's 50th Anniversary of Independence (yes), we're going to this gala held by the Nigerian Student Association. Yes, because we are just that gangster that there are so many of us here, we can't just have an African Student Association, it's Nigerian.
At this point in the conversation with my mom, she asked me what his name was. I grinned, though she couldn't see it over the phone, and proceeded to tell her that his nickname...which is the same as my father's nickname.
...and she proceeded to laugh at me for a long time.
And so suddenly, in the course of 72 hours, I'm getting ready to go out with this guy who effectively has the same name as my father by extension of his nickname, a Nigerian, something that everyone who knows me knows I've never felt bound to do...
But it's not like I'm ending up with him. We're just hanging out...
But if my intuition serves me right, I have a feeling...it's not just going to be hanging out. Especially since we're book club co-leads now (in 72 hours, craziness has happened!), we're going to be in each other's lives for a little bit more.
Being such the girl that I am, as I rode back on the T smiling like I haven't smiled since the last time I saw MQ on the campus of UMich (like the Cheshire Cat, I used to say), against my better judgment jumping ahead to, oh my gosh, what if we start going out, and then, he meets my family, and then he introduces himself with the name my family knows my father by.
Maaannnn...of all of the men in the world, I'd have to start liking someone who, unfortunately, in some way, reminds me of my father. Me! Queen of the Anti-Elektra.
Serves me right!
So I said I wouldn't actually say anything until things panned out, but...the week is moving too slowly and too much is happening, so I say it now. Yes, he's Nigerian. And...no, he's not Muslim.
How do I feel about the latter? Hrm...ask me when it seems like for real we're going to be just more than friends at the end of this.
So, for the first time in my life, really, I'm celebrating Nigerian independence. So as MQ was the initial catalyst for me to become more Muslim, shall this man, who needs initials...I'll give him initials if anything exciting happens...make me more Nigerian?
Vamos ver, a gente!
Wow, I've written the most that I have in a long time. I probably wrote 30 pages of my story in the last week, easy. Pretty crazy...I haven't written this much since NaNoWriMo 2007. I can't believed this much life has passed! What can I say, I've been busy...
But thank God for friends, man! Thank God for friends and their significant others for being such militant blacks/Africans and coming up with the idea for this African/African Diaspora book club!
The book club is actually called Children of the Nile, and we actually never read books. Given that all of the members of the book club, which I have affectionately nicknamed "Africa Night," are Harvard and MIT graduate students, we don't really have the time to read a book every month. So instead, we watch documentaries, after which we discuss what we've watched, which usually turns to my friends' boyfriend getting on his soapbox and not leaving concerning his vision for Africa, with one of his friends joining him in disagreeing.
And then, it's midnight, and the train stops running around midnight thirty, so I usually have to leave at that point.
The book clubs, of which I've attended four now, I think, are always at my friends' boyfriend's place on MIT campus. Mostly MIT is represented, thus the predominance of males.
So I don't remember when the first book club was held, but I feel like it was late 2009. We watched this film called, Rabbit Proof Fence which is about the eugenic efforts of the Australians over the Aborigines in the early 20th century. I came and I was immediately impressed with the intelligence and insight of the group and looked forward to participating in the future. So far, I have not been let down.
My friend and her boyfriend/fiance (they're technically engaged, but she wants to keep that on the DL, so that's fine) are traveling with her family to his country insha'Allah in about a week's time, so they won't be hosting Africa Night anymore. However, they would like me to co-lead the group with another member of the group "who seems to come consistently."
Hrm.
I've been set up by people twice this year already. People think they're being sneaky, but seeing as I am the queen of sneak, the supreme emotions obfuscator, if you will, I usually can tell right away when someone's trying to be crafty. And making me and this dude co-leaders is sooo obviously a set-up.
...but we already like each other, so it's okay.
This entry would have been more explosive, but I gave in and told my mother the whole sordid tale. Sordid because...at 25 years old, I'm still such a kid when it comes to me liking someone else. I do this weird thing where I use unisex language...it's not that I'm necessarily trying to be orientation equitable at those times, I just for some reason never admit...that it's a man. I usually use language like, "What I'm looking for in someone," or "Someday, I'll have somebody." I couldn't even say aloud, "What I'm looking for in a man." It sounds too...ugh...
So yeah, this is interesting.
So I first met him when we watched Rabbit Proof Fence. He seemed like a nice, outgoing guy...friendly. Not my type, so I wasn't checking him out like that. [Ugh, talking about it like this already makes me feel silly.] But we watched the movie and we were laughing at each other's commentary and essentially had our own running commentary going the whole time. I was intrigued that he was finding so many things funny. As I got to know him more, I was impressed with his intelligence, how well-read he was, how up he was on so many things...and it was so easy for him. He carries himself easily with it, and he seems like a down-to-earth guy.
Ironically, my friends were trying to set me up with this Muslim dude, but they didn't understand...he was so conservative a Muslim, our conversation would not get very far past, "So, looking forward to Ramadan this year?" Once again, Muslim Relationship Dysfunction set in, and that went a whole lot of nowhere.
So I saw this guy a couple more times before he indicated that he was going to Asia, but the last book club that we were at together...I don't know, there was something about the interaction, and us, and I could tell...something was going to happen, sooner than soons ever been for me (for example, soon for me has been 10+ years...that takes too long to explain).
So months pass, he comes back to the States, I come back to Boston, and this is our first time seeing each other in months. I see him, complement his hat... And then during book club, I notice he keeps making a concerted effort to sit next to me. When there's no room on the couch, he sits at my feet. When there's finally room on the couch, he's sitting so close...
...and instantly, I have a flashback to the last time I've known for sure that a guy liked me. The year was 2004, and the venue was organic chemistry structured study group...and then a review for our exam. [Yes, it's actually been 6 years since someone not a street random has liked me...at least enough to act on it...wow.] It's happened other times, too far back to really recount.
And it was happening again...except, this time, I'm 25, not 19, and a whole lot more mature to know, okay, this is what's going on.
So he and my friend walked me to the T stop so I could catch the train prior to midnight thirty and then he blurts, as I get ready to go down the steps, "We should hang out." And excitedly, thinking finally, a guy making a move, I reply, "Yes, we should!"
So on Saturday, in celebration of Nigeria's 50th Anniversary of Independence (yes), we're going to this gala held by the Nigerian Student Association. Yes, because we are just that gangster that there are so many of us here, we can't just have an African Student Association, it's Nigerian.
At this point in the conversation with my mom, she asked me what his name was. I grinned, though she couldn't see it over the phone, and proceeded to tell her that his nickname...which is the same as my father's nickname.
...and she proceeded to laugh at me for a long time.
And so suddenly, in the course of 72 hours, I'm getting ready to go out with this guy who effectively has the same name as my father by extension of his nickname, a Nigerian, something that everyone who knows me knows I've never felt bound to do...
But it's not like I'm ending up with him. We're just hanging out...
But if my intuition serves me right, I have a feeling...it's not just going to be hanging out. Especially since we're book club co-leads now (in 72 hours, craziness has happened!), we're going to be in each other's lives for a little bit more.
Being such the girl that I am, as I rode back on the T smiling like I haven't smiled since the last time I saw MQ on the campus of UMich (like the Cheshire Cat, I used to say), against my better judgment jumping ahead to, oh my gosh, what if we start going out, and then, he meets my family, and then he introduces himself with the name my family knows my father by.
Maaannnn...of all of the men in the world, I'd have to start liking someone who, unfortunately, in some way, reminds me of my father. Me! Queen of the Anti-Elektra.
Serves me right!
So I said I wouldn't actually say anything until things panned out, but...the week is moving too slowly and too much is happening, so I say it now. Yes, he's Nigerian. And...no, he's not Muslim.
How do I feel about the latter? Hrm...ask me when it seems like for real we're going to be just more than friends at the end of this.
So, for the first time in my life, really, I'm celebrating Nigerian independence. So as MQ was the initial catalyst for me to become more Muslim, shall this man, who needs initials...I'll give him initials if anything exciting happens...make me more Nigerian?
Vamos ver, a gente!
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Encontros e Despedidas
As salaam alaikum,
So, I love this song. I'ma translate it...
But first, random updates:
(1) I just met a woman who reminded me of myself...physically, I mean. She looked like me. We were the same coloring, similar build, everything. Especially her face...we had, like, the same eyes. It was creepy. I always say I've never met someone who looks like me, whereas most people have a physical type that fits them. She was it for me. She was at our book club (in which we actually never read books, we watch documentaries, but whatever) with her husband, and she's about 26 weeks pregnant. Hahaha, it makes me feel like a weird narcissist to say she was gorgeous, but what can I say? I've never met someone who looked so much like me, and if I think I look gorgeous, of course, by the transitive property, she would be, too! Masha'Allah!
And (2) a few months ago, like, back in April when book club was still new, I met this guy, and it's funny when you know that you're eventually going to be involved with a person. It's like, you have this intuition, and you know, but you don't want to believe it in your mind, but you know. Yeah. He's back in the country now after a trip to...Indonesia, I think, and after book club we departed with a rushed, "We should hang out!" And we should. I'll say more about him after we actually hang out, but wow. I was smiling like the Cheshire Cat on the T and was so happy like I haven't been since I was a teen on the campuses of the University of Michigan (by the way, great job with ball so far, babes!). I find when I'm really happy, I get hit on a lot more. Three men shouted out to me from cars yesterday...I haven't gotten that much attention since I was 21 years old!
More about this book club, which I fondly nicknamed "Africa Night," and this guy later.
Okay, enough with the updates...I'm going to have to get up on some Milton Nascimento, who wrote this song. This song was great for Maria Rita...it took me a while to warm up to her, though, easier once I stopped expecting to hear Elis Regina...
Send news about the world outside
Say those who remain
Give me a hug, come hold me
I'm arriving
A thing that I like is being able to leave
Without having plans
Better yet is being able to return
When I want to
Everyday is a bustle
Life repeats itself at the station
There are people who come to stay
There are people who go, never to return
There are people who come who want to go back
There are people who go who want to remain
There are people who I only come to watch
There are people smiling and crying
And like this, arriving and departing
They are just two sides
Of the same trip
The train that arrives
Is the same train that leaves
The arrival time
Is also the time of departure
The platform of this station
Is the life of my world
Is the life of my world
Is life.
So, I love this song. I'ma translate it...
But first, random updates:
(1) I just met a woman who reminded me of myself...physically, I mean. She looked like me. We were the same coloring, similar build, everything. Especially her face...we had, like, the same eyes. It was creepy. I always say I've never met someone who looks like me, whereas most people have a physical type that fits them. She was it for me. She was at our book club (in which we actually never read books, we watch documentaries, but whatever) with her husband, and she's about 26 weeks pregnant. Hahaha, it makes me feel like a weird narcissist to say she was gorgeous, but what can I say? I've never met someone who looked so much like me, and if I think I look gorgeous, of course, by the transitive property, she would be, too! Masha'Allah!
And (2) a few months ago, like, back in April when book club was still new, I met this guy, and it's funny when you know that you're eventually going to be involved with a person. It's like, you have this intuition, and you know, but you don't want to believe it in your mind, but you know. Yeah. He's back in the country now after a trip to...Indonesia, I think, and after book club we departed with a rushed, "We should hang out!" And we should. I'll say more about him after we actually hang out, but wow. I was smiling like the Cheshire Cat on the T and was so happy like I haven't been since I was a teen on the campuses of the University of Michigan (by the way, great job with ball so far, babes!). I find when I'm really happy, I get hit on a lot more. Three men shouted out to me from cars yesterday...I haven't gotten that much attention since I was 21 years old!
More about this book club, which I fondly nicknamed "Africa Night," and this guy later.
Okay, enough with the updates...I'm going to have to get up on some Milton Nascimento, who wrote this song. This song was great for Maria Rita...it took me a while to warm up to her, though, easier once I stopped expecting to hear Elis Regina...
Send news about the world outside
Say those who remain
Give me a hug, come hold me
I'm arriving
A thing that I like is being able to leave
Without having plans
Better yet is being able to return
When I want to
Everyday is a bustle
Life repeats itself at the station
There are people who come to stay
There are people who go, never to return
There are people who come who want to go back
There are people who go who want to remain
There are people who I only come to watch
There are people smiling and crying
And like this, arriving and departing
They are just two sides
Of the same trip
The train that arrives
Is the same train that leaves
The arrival time
Is also the time of departure
The platform of this station
Is the life of my world
Is the life of my world
Is life.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Suhoor Insomnia
As salaam alaikum,
These days when I'm not lazy and actually eat a full meal (more or less) for suhoor, I tend to have trouble falling back to sleep. Luckily for me, I don't have anything really to go to today in the way of orientation activities for the school of public health since it's mainly geared towards international students...and students that haven't been in the Harvard system before (I don't need to be told about financial aid...that is a depressing state of affairs!). I'm probably not going to go back to campus until iftar, insha'Allah. It should be good. It's going to be an Islamic Relief/Pakistan Flood fundraising iftar.
I hope to see some of my favorite medical school Muslims there...although no such luck seeing the sisters from my class. One is in Guatemala, and the other...I haven't really seen at an HMS iftar since first year.
HIS (Harvard Islamic Society) has daily iftars, but they didn't start until later this year because I guess they're just now starting school. I didn't make many of those anyway, as I didn't know many of the undergrads. I find HIS very South Asian (from a glance!), whereas Umich's MSA was more diverse...at least come time for mass meetings. I think we had most major Muslim countries represented at Michigan...except for sub-Saharan Africa. With 50% Muslim population but much of that population not reflected in our respective numbers in the US, Nigeria should have been repping strong...but we all know how that is.
Maybe not, but it takes too long to explain.
I can't even rep for Nigerian Muslims...I'm just a Nigerian American who happens to be Muslim. My tradition is always more with the black Muslim indigenous to the United States.
Anyway, blah blah blah.
Orientation is going well, alhamdulillah. I've met new people, perhaps made new friends...I'd make even more if my roommate and I would separate from ourselves sometimes. But it's cool. Today will be more of the same...planning out my classes, thinking about my career. Public health makes me more excited about going into medicine, actually. It makes me feel like I can have a greater impact and that if I see a health problem in my community, I can investigate it and fix it, insha'Allah.
Ramadan...is really a blessing. I can always tell where I need to focus judging on the passages of the Qur'an that stick out to me, and based on that...I think third year helped me to reach an all-time spiritual low, but insha'Allah I'm on the upswing once again. I'm feeling more at peace with myself and my way of being (current, not former) now, and I feel so differently about so many things. Clarity is here, and I embrace it.
Anyway, I'm also excited (more wordly matters ensue here) because Djavan is coming to Boston! Who is Djavan, you ask? Pssh! Only my favorite contemporary (or more so...you know I like old stuff) Brazilian artist ever! He came to Boston in June, 2008 before I went to Brazil and I forced a classmate of mine to come with me. This time...I may just have to buy tickets and go by myself, sit up front (worth the price!) and sing all of my favorite songs along with him. YES!
I know more of his songs than I did back when I went to his first concert...like Oceano. ...which I will post later. I always do a relative music fast (it used to be more strict in past years) while fasting Ramadan. I didn't intentionally do it this year, but because I have 5/6 previous Ramadans (I didn't last year because it drove me crazy to not be able to eat or listen to music while studying, so if I had to cave for one, it was music), even if I hear music this month, I don't pay much mind to it...it's not the same.
...but the music fast does not preclude my excitement for this concert. MPB at it's finest...Djavan, and hopefully he brings his son, Max...why, because I love the father/son double threat!
As I've said before, I like this singer purely because of his talent and his beautiful music...he's old enough to be my father...or my relatively young grandfather, haha.
Anyway, it's nearly 6am...I either need to nap a little bit before I actually get up this morning or do something a little bit more productive...
Oh yeah, and I'm considering one of two options for my winter public health project...insha'Allah either return to Brazil (possibly Bahia!), or...I could go to India for the first time! It would only be a three-week trip, but still...
I'll talk it over with people and see what I should do. Alhamdulillah for this life of opportunity!
These days when I'm not lazy and actually eat a full meal (more or less) for suhoor, I tend to have trouble falling back to sleep. Luckily for me, I don't have anything really to go to today in the way of orientation activities for the school of public health since it's mainly geared towards international students...and students that haven't been in the Harvard system before (I don't need to be told about financial aid...that is a depressing state of affairs!). I'm probably not going to go back to campus until iftar, insha'Allah. It should be good. It's going to be an Islamic Relief/Pakistan Flood fundraising iftar.
I hope to see some of my favorite medical school Muslims there...although no such luck seeing the sisters from my class. One is in Guatemala, and the other...I haven't really seen at an HMS iftar since first year.
HIS (Harvard Islamic Society) has daily iftars, but they didn't start until later this year because I guess they're just now starting school. I didn't make many of those anyway, as I didn't know many of the undergrads. I find HIS very South Asian (from a glance!), whereas Umich's MSA was more diverse...at least come time for mass meetings. I think we had most major Muslim countries represented at Michigan...except for sub-Saharan Africa. With 50% Muslim population but much of that population not reflected in our respective numbers in the US, Nigeria should have been repping strong...but we all know how that is.
Maybe not, but it takes too long to explain.
I can't even rep for Nigerian Muslims...I'm just a Nigerian American who happens to be Muslim. My tradition is always more with the black Muslim indigenous to the United States.
Anyway, blah blah blah.
Orientation is going well, alhamdulillah. I've met new people, perhaps made new friends...I'd make even more if my roommate and I would separate from ourselves sometimes. But it's cool. Today will be more of the same...planning out my classes, thinking about my career. Public health makes me more excited about going into medicine, actually. It makes me feel like I can have a greater impact and that if I see a health problem in my community, I can investigate it and fix it, insha'Allah.
Ramadan...is really a blessing. I can always tell where I need to focus judging on the passages of the Qur'an that stick out to me, and based on that...I think third year helped me to reach an all-time spiritual low, but insha'Allah I'm on the upswing once again. I'm feeling more at peace with myself and my way of being (current, not former) now, and I feel so differently about so many things. Clarity is here, and I embrace it.
Anyway, I'm also excited (more wordly matters ensue here) because Djavan is coming to Boston! Who is Djavan, you ask? Pssh! Only my favorite contemporary (or more so...you know I like old stuff) Brazilian artist ever! He came to Boston in June, 2008 before I went to Brazil and I forced a classmate of mine to come with me. This time...I may just have to buy tickets and go by myself, sit up front (worth the price!) and sing all of my favorite songs along with him. YES!
I know more of his songs than I did back when I went to his first concert...like Oceano. ...which I will post later. I always do a relative music fast (it used to be more strict in past years) while fasting Ramadan. I didn't intentionally do it this year, but because I have 5/6 previous Ramadans (I didn't last year because it drove me crazy to not be able to eat or listen to music while studying, so if I had to cave for one, it was music), even if I hear music this month, I don't pay much mind to it...it's not the same.
...but the music fast does not preclude my excitement for this concert. MPB at it's finest...Djavan, and hopefully he brings his son, Max...why, because I love the father/son double threat!
As I've said before, I like this singer purely because of his talent and his beautiful music...he's old enough to be my father...or my relatively young grandfather, haha.
Anyway, it's nearly 6am...I either need to nap a little bit before I actually get up this morning or do something a little bit more productive...
Oh yeah, and I'm considering one of two options for my winter public health project...insha'Allah either return to Brazil (possibly Bahia!), or...I could go to India for the first time! It would only be a three-week trip, but still...
I'll talk it over with people and see what I should do. Alhamdulillah for this life of opportunity!
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Back in Boston with New York on my Mind
As salaam alaikum,
So, yesterday my parents and I made the 700-something drive back to Boston. Which meant...I could bring my blender back (random, I know, but small joys)! I know we don't have to fast while traveling, but...I hate breaking my momentum by eating at random as I usually do.
But man, I was delirious when I got back. I bought a quesadilla from Ana's and ate it over 2 hours because I'm not used to eating quite that many calories for iftar. And, it was 10pm. I broke fast with dried fruits and water while at a rest stop somewhere between Framingham and Boston.
So my parents haven't called yet. I hadn't checked my computer in the morning, so I didn't know the temperature or anything as I plan my trek out to where my parents are staying. It's 66F now, which pales in comparison to the 70-something degrees it's got to be right now in Ypsi. It'll warm up to 82F here in Boston, supposedly. We'll see. We're starting out the day overcast. I can't complain...I'm going to have my parents walking around, so it's better that the weather is nice.
Speaking of, I haven't planned out a day for them at all. We may spend today exploring Cambridge, and maybe do something inside, like the Aquarium, tomorrow, since it's supposed to scattered thunderstorm it tomorrow.
But yes, I'm back in Boston, and although I'll miss the comfort of my Sealy Posturpedic mattress at home (it's about 13 years old or so, but it still sleeps like a dream...especially since I've lived away from home for the last 7 years of it's tenure), I did also miss my panoramic view of the Charles and the new familiarity of my own bathroom (which my lovely roommate cleaned).
There is no replacement for Meijer, though, the Michigan-based grocery store. The prices are awesome, and I'd almost move back to Michigan to be near Meijer.
Almost.
Yesterday was unfortunately not a very charitable day for me, astaghfirullah. I wasn't very nice in my mind and in my mouth to certain people. As someone once taught me, during Ramadan, Allah (swt) removes Satan from our influence, so all the bad stuff we think and do is coming from us, things that we need to fix. My attitudes towards my roommates is one, but there are other things that I've discovered I need to fix. Thankfully for me, it's only Ramadan 5.
Editing my cousin's manuscript has been a great task, greater than I anticipated. We'll see if I'm able to finish it.
But for as much as I'm glad that I'm back in Boston...great decisions lay ahead of me. Although by choosing to pursue my MPH, I'm delaying this great decision by another year (alhamdulillah!)...I need to decide where I want to live/train for residency. It's only three years, and if medical school is any indication, those years (save for intern year) will go like *snap* that. And I won't be totally free to explore wherever I am. The big question I'm asking right now is Nowheresville USA vs. Big City Swag.
I'm trying to decide if I want to do rural underserved or urban underserved.
I heard a lot of things during the conference about which programs are better for obstetrics training, and rural programs that are unopposed (meaning that they are taught by only fam med faculty in your own department) claim to have the market cornered on the best training environment for those who are interested in learning procedures. They claim that opposed programs (those in which you serve on internal medicine, peds and OB services in their departments with residents or attendings in that specialty), especially those in academic centers, will relegate you to what they think is appropriate for fam med docs to do, and therefore you won't get your whole skill set and you'll feel like there's a sense of competition. ...whereas most people in urban settings deny that they feel competition and say that you'll have the opportunity to learn all you want to.
Right now, I'm leaning more urban underserved (my top choices right now are Columbia and UCSF...I like different things about each program), and I don't especially have any rural programs in mind. In fact, I didn't visit any programs in the midwest outside of University of Michigan's family medicine residency.
...I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet, though. I'd be likely doing my clinic time in Ypsilanti, the city of my raising. Although I know eventually I'll be coming home...I don't know if now is the time yet. Or ever, really. My education worked out for me, but since sometime in the next 10 years insha'Allah I'll be having children (why not just claim it! Pssh...I'm tired of speculating)...and say I have my first kid in 10 years, so 2020 (wow). They'd be going to school in 2025...that would be kindergarten. Subhan'Allah. What is a 2025 world going to look like?
Insha'Allah He grants me life to the age where I bear children and live to raise them to this day. Then I'll have many more Ramadans to pray for the state of this world and the children...not my own, but the ones that actually exist now. My little cousins, my little patients and the children I don't see who need it.
If it hasn't been apparent before now, I love children.
So urban underserved...this is the population I'm most in love with. It's the most ethnically diverse, the patients in the city that need help the most. I'm also looking into BU's program and may do an elective there in the upcoming year. Alhamdulillah, I'll have more time to plan for it.
Rural...I don't even know where to begin. Before I'd do a rural program, though, I'd need to have a husband or a fiance who was motivated about working in remote areas, becoming part of a community in Small Town, USA, and who would ultimately move with me to this area...because it's hard enough for me in Boston as a single Muslimah, no way I'm moving somewhere where I'd probably be the only single Muslimah for miles.
I also like the urban, university-based programs because...I love the city (yes, even New York, The Big Nasty, as my mother has called it after my stories of trips there), the residency programs are often more diverse (and I need not be the token minority...I don't mind being the only black person, but please, not the only non-white person. Been there, done that), and the patient population is often more ethnically (if not socioeconomically) diverse.
I'll take it!
So I'm back in Boston with a little bit of New York on my mind. These are decisions that I get to make over the next year. This will definitely be in my du'as.
Well, I probably should get dressed and meet up with the fam. But it's fun to think about the future and insha'Allah all that's in store for me.
{Currently Listening: Empire State of Mind - Jay Z feat. Alicia Keys}
So, yesterday my parents and I made the 700-something drive back to Boston. Which meant...I could bring my blender back (random, I know, but small joys)! I know we don't have to fast while traveling, but...I hate breaking my momentum by eating at random as I usually do.
But man, I was delirious when I got back. I bought a quesadilla from Ana's and ate it over 2 hours because I'm not used to eating quite that many calories for iftar. And, it was 10pm. I broke fast with dried fruits and water while at a rest stop somewhere between Framingham and Boston.
So my parents haven't called yet. I hadn't checked my computer in the morning, so I didn't know the temperature or anything as I plan my trek out to where my parents are staying. It's 66F now, which pales in comparison to the 70-something degrees it's got to be right now in Ypsi. It'll warm up to 82F here in Boston, supposedly. We'll see. We're starting out the day overcast. I can't complain...I'm going to have my parents walking around, so it's better that the weather is nice.
Speaking of, I haven't planned out a day for them at all. We may spend today exploring Cambridge, and maybe do something inside, like the Aquarium, tomorrow, since it's supposed to scattered thunderstorm it tomorrow.
But yes, I'm back in Boston, and although I'll miss the comfort of my Sealy Posturpedic mattress at home (it's about 13 years old or so, but it still sleeps like a dream...especially since I've lived away from home for the last 7 years of it's tenure), I did also miss my panoramic view of the Charles and the new familiarity of my own bathroom (which my lovely roommate cleaned).
There is no replacement for Meijer, though, the Michigan-based grocery store. The prices are awesome, and I'd almost move back to Michigan to be near Meijer.
Almost.
Yesterday was unfortunately not a very charitable day for me, astaghfirullah. I wasn't very nice in my mind and in my mouth to certain people. As someone once taught me, during Ramadan, Allah (swt) removes Satan from our influence, so all the bad stuff we think and do is coming from us, things that we need to fix. My attitudes towards my roommates is one, but there are other things that I've discovered I need to fix. Thankfully for me, it's only Ramadan 5.
Editing my cousin's manuscript has been a great task, greater than I anticipated. We'll see if I'm able to finish it.
But for as much as I'm glad that I'm back in Boston...great decisions lay ahead of me. Although by choosing to pursue my MPH, I'm delaying this great decision by another year (alhamdulillah!)...I need to decide where I want to live/train for residency. It's only three years, and if medical school is any indication, those years (save for intern year) will go like *snap* that. And I won't be totally free to explore wherever I am. The big question I'm asking right now is Nowheresville USA vs. Big City Swag.
I'm trying to decide if I want to do rural underserved or urban underserved.
I heard a lot of things during the conference about which programs are better for obstetrics training, and rural programs that are unopposed (meaning that they are taught by only fam med faculty in your own department) claim to have the market cornered on the best training environment for those who are interested in learning procedures. They claim that opposed programs (those in which you serve on internal medicine, peds and OB services in their departments with residents or attendings in that specialty), especially those in academic centers, will relegate you to what they think is appropriate for fam med docs to do, and therefore you won't get your whole skill set and you'll feel like there's a sense of competition. ...whereas most people in urban settings deny that they feel competition and say that you'll have the opportunity to learn all you want to.
Right now, I'm leaning more urban underserved (my top choices right now are Columbia and UCSF...I like different things about each program), and I don't especially have any rural programs in mind. In fact, I didn't visit any programs in the midwest outside of University of Michigan's family medicine residency.
...I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet, though. I'd be likely doing my clinic time in Ypsilanti, the city of my raising. Although I know eventually I'll be coming home...I don't know if now is the time yet. Or ever, really. My education worked out for me, but since sometime in the next 10 years insha'Allah I'll be having children (why not just claim it! Pssh...I'm tired of speculating)...and say I have my first kid in 10 years, so 2020 (wow). They'd be going to school in 2025...that would be kindergarten. Subhan'Allah. What is a 2025 world going to look like?
Insha'Allah He grants me life to the age where I bear children and live to raise them to this day. Then I'll have many more Ramadans to pray for the state of this world and the children...not my own, but the ones that actually exist now. My little cousins, my little patients and the children I don't see who need it.
If it hasn't been apparent before now, I love children.
So urban underserved...this is the population I'm most in love with. It's the most ethnically diverse, the patients in the city that need help the most. I'm also looking into BU's program and may do an elective there in the upcoming year. Alhamdulillah, I'll have more time to plan for it.
Rural...I don't even know where to begin. Before I'd do a rural program, though, I'd need to have a husband or a fiance who was motivated about working in remote areas, becoming part of a community in Small Town, USA, and who would ultimately move with me to this area...because it's hard enough for me in Boston as a single Muslimah, no way I'm moving somewhere where I'd probably be the only single Muslimah for miles.
I also like the urban, university-based programs because...I love the city (yes, even New York, The Big Nasty, as my mother has called it after my stories of trips there), the residency programs are often more diverse (and I need not be the token minority...I don't mind being the only black person, but please, not the only non-white person. Been there, done that), and the patient population is often more ethnically (if not socioeconomically) diverse.
I'll take it!
So I'm back in Boston with a little bit of New York on my mind. These are decisions that I get to make over the next year. This will definitely be in my du'as.
Well, I probably should get dressed and meet up with the fam. But it's fun to think about the future and insha'Allah all that's in store for me.
{Currently Listening: Empire State of Mind - Jay Z feat. Alicia Keys}
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Confessions of an Ex-Hijabi
As salaam alaikum,
Okay, so maybe it took me leaving my previous journaling community to really feel at liberty to talk about this, which has been a hard thing for me to put into words over the last three years. Here I go.
I wore hijab for less than 2 years, starting sometime during my junior year and shedding the scarf one week prior to my college graduation. However, effectively, my last two years of college were marked by my wearing the khimar. It became part of my identity, to the point that people who met me back then and haven't seen me since probably still close their eyes and see me as a hijabi. It must be weird for them to see me without the scarf.
Three years have passed now, and I've been scarf-less. It started slowly. I still dressed the same for a while, except without the scarf. That slowly changed and I went back to dressing as I had before I was a hijabi, which was never blatantly indecent, but...let's just say some days I can't just wrap a shayla about my head and call it a day.
Three years, and the whole ordeal still isn't easy. I mean, it's easy to wake up every day and blend in with your surroundings. I may not be wearing short pants and skirts like the women around me, but with my short sleeves, sometimes daring to be spaghetti string tops and my jeans, skirts and dresses, I'm pretty inconspicuous.
But this is not what I was going for when I shed the scarf. Not at all. When I see Muslim sisters on the street, in hijab and niqab and everything in between, I have the desire to greet them. I feel like there's nothing like a smile and a friendly as salaam alaikum when everyone's been staring at you, twisting their mouths in pity, curiosity or disgust, avoiding eye contact with you, looking the other way abruptly. I remember how good it felt, as a new hijabi, to smile at sisters on campus and exchange salaams with women I didn't even know because we had that sisterhood going. That was one of the parts I loved about being a hijabi.
But now, I feel like I'm just one of those people who's looking away abruptly. I look away out of guilt, because here I am, baring my arms and some of my legs, and here she is, with her pastel or black khimar, sometimes in jilbab, bearing the heat in favor of her modesty as I once did. Before I even had a lot of long-sleeved shirts appropriate for the weather, I used to even brave 80 degree weather my trusty jean jacket. I was once there, I was once one of them, ignoring stares and the averting eyes to go about my way.
I wonder how many other women passed me by, desired to greet me, to show solidarity, but shied away for the same guilt I feel every time I smile at a fellow Muslim sister. Maybe not a lot, but I wonder.
My mother starts a little every time I tell her that I think about wearing the hijab again every day. It's not a lie; I do think about it every day, but every day for three years I've come to the same conclusion: not today, and maybe not tomorrow. I figure I have six years to sort it out. Not that I'm limiting myself to that time period, but that's when my passport expires.
I'm wearing a beige khimar in my passport picture.
Admittedly, even though I thought long and hard about hijab long before I wore my sleeping scarf out to class one day, never looking back, that day I decided--it was clearly a rash decision. Just because a friend of mine (a non-Muslim friend of mine) thought I'd started wearing hijab when I actually hadn't, and was excited to see me start, I decided that the next day would be the day. That was my tomorrow. I lived alone at the time, in a single room in the dorm, and I decided to go for it.
Terrified at the implications and a little bit wary because of my mother's freak out reaction to my decision, I sought counsel with a sister that I knew and respected from the MSA who gave me some support. With her support, I traveled to the Dominican Republic a few months later, my first time traveling outside of the country, and traveling as a hijabi.
That experience blew my mind, and though I didn't feel like I could do it, I returned as a hijabi, but after feeling as if I had violated proper Muslimah etiquette on the regular in the DR. From dance parties held at my neighbor's home to constantly being surrounded by alcohol, being the only Muslimah on the island, seemingly, was less than ideal.
I struggled with hijab from then on out. I never got up the courage to tell my father I was wearing the scarf or what it meant, and this was ultimately the reason that I stopped wearing the scarf altogether. I felt that it was disrespectful to not let my father into this part of my life and even after letting him in on it, I felt like it was an affront to his sensibilities, his identity as an Igbo (and therefore, Christian) Nigerian man, and unnecessary. I felt like it was unnecessary to wear a symbol that would be a constant reminder for him of my choice, my religion, making him embarrassed to present me before friends, fellow Nigerians who would then ask why I hadn't embraced Christianity.
So I stopped a week before graduation so he wouldn't have to see me there, with my shayla beneath my cap, forever documented in pictures as the hijabi.
Believe it or not, I had somehow hid the fact that I wore hijab from my father for almost two years. Even today, we've never discussed it. Looking back now, I still could have pulled it off. I could have worn my hair in a modified headwrap like I'd done many times before, but in the end, it's all okay. I was done keeping things from my father, and I haven't really kept anything from him since.
We haven't discussed my religion, though, either, except for his discussions of Christianity with me.
And that's the long and the short of it. I mean, I can't front like my relationship with my father was the only reason I gave up hijab. There was also the fact that I didn't feel comfortable interacting with patients because of it. I used to volunteer at Mott Children's Hospital at UMich, and after I started wearing the scarf, I felt especially defensive around the patients' parents, feeling like maybe some of them were judging me or maybe didn't want to interact with me because I was now visibly Muslim. And while I was aware, as an obviously black woman, that some patients may have felt uncomfortable with my presence, I was not used to being judged because of being Muslim.
So many people assumed I was Arab, it was crazy! My race, and therefore a large part of how I identify and know my own self, disappeared to others when I put on the hijab, and I wasn't prepared for that, and I wasn't ready for that.
I stopped wearing hijab before medical school as well because I can smoothly operate dealing with patients and others who may or may not make assumptions about me because of race. I'm not that smooth when it comes to being a visible Muslimah.
For example, if my patients talk about God with me, they feel comfortable because they assume I'm Christian or "Christianoid," as most people in this country are. Little do they know, I'm actually Muslim, and little do they know, most all of what they say about God and prayer I can agree with, as being part of the same monotheistic tradition as they are. That connection is made right there. A patient may not open up to me on that level if I'm donning a khimar.
One of my classmates is a hijabi. She did coursework at a hospital where there were primarily older Jewish patients her second year, and though she expected to be met much resistance from patients there, I witnessed as several of the patients referred to her with pet names, hugged her (the women, of course) and it became apparent that she was able to make the connection.
She's been a hijabi since she was 13. She's used to being mistaken as Arab, this is part of her for a long time. I didn't get used to it in time for medical school. So I just stopped.
[Clarification: When I talk about being mistaken as Arab, it's not because "Oh my gosh, like, that's the worst race to be mistaken to be!" Those who read me know better than that. I'm talking about being used to being identified as one race and being mistaken as another. Race is a social construct anyway, but when you're used to people relegating you to one social box, it feels alien when suddenly you are relegated to a different box. It also makes it awkward when folks start speaking Arabic and you don't know anything outside of salat and those few surat you've memorized. Carry on.]
This has been a lot of confessions. A lot of talking, but no solutions. So what am I going to do? Allah (swt) knows that I have a long way to go before I'm close to being the type of Muslimah I want to be, and while the way I dress is definitely part of the package, right now it's not the most important thing. A lot of it depends on where I'm headed. Am I going to move somewhere where there's a tight-knit community of Muslims who will embrace me where I'll feel at ease being the Muslim I've always wanted to be, where I'll have support that I've never before had? Who will I marry? What is my family medicine practice going to be like? These are all determinants.
What's my dream? My dream is to move somewhere where I can be part of a small but active Muslim community that is accepted by the larger community. I want to be an active member of the small community and the community at large, serving as a physician for both, promoting the health of Muslims and non-Muslims alike. I would want to end up with a man who would support me whether I wore khimar or not and respected it as my personal choice. I would want to end up in a diverse community where I can treat patients of many different ethnic and religious backgrounds.
I'm not saying that I want to go to a place where prejudice doesn't exist. No. I can't say that all of my patients fully trusted me every time I walked into their room as a black female medical student. People are going to be prejudiced, racist, whatever. However, even those harboring such feelings could not deny my compassion toward them, my hard work, my respect for them, any of the other qualities that insha'Allah will make me a good physician. And I hope to build my practice off of that, my God-given talents and the good reputation that I'll build from my work.
...so maybe then it won't matter if patients see me first and think I'm a black woman or a Muslim woman or whatever else.
I have to be comfortable with it, though, and I think I'd need a supportive community wherever I go.
I guess I haven't ever said why it was that I started hijab in the first place, why it is that I want to go back. Obviously (or maybe not so obviously) it's not just because I want the chance to say salaam to other covering sisters. It's not even because it's obligatory, really. It's because...it made sense to me, and I liked myself the best, I think, when I wore it. I've never been a good Muslimah, in my estimation. Something's always lacking, from proper salat to proper modesty, like, very basic, big things. There were things lacking when I was a hijabi. I feel like hijab probably took energy out of other spiritual pursuits that I had. But--once I got the hang of hijab, that was the version of myself that I liked the best.
I had more sense of purpose, my actions and decisions I made were more deliberate--and my mode of dress made it easier for me to socialize with people I wanted to be around. It made sense for me especially in terms of the type of man I'd want to end up with--a serious Muslim man who wouldn't expect sex before marriage like many of the non-Muslim men I've encountered in...life.
My motives are tainted, I must admit. It's like, how else will a woman like me marry a Muslim man? I'm not visibly Muslim...how will he even know if I'm here with my arms bared, legs partially out, looking like a "regular" black female?
But maybe this isn't reason enough, or at least not the right reason...for such a big decision.
Will I ever wear hijab again? Not today, and maybe not tomorrow. That's all I can say. Insha'Allah is even better.
Wasalaam.
Okay, so maybe it took me leaving my previous journaling community to really feel at liberty to talk about this, which has been a hard thing for me to put into words over the last three years. Here I go.
I wore hijab for less than 2 years, starting sometime during my junior year and shedding the scarf one week prior to my college graduation. However, effectively, my last two years of college were marked by my wearing the khimar. It became part of my identity, to the point that people who met me back then and haven't seen me since probably still close their eyes and see me as a hijabi. It must be weird for them to see me without the scarf.
Three years have passed now, and I've been scarf-less. It started slowly. I still dressed the same for a while, except without the scarf. That slowly changed and I went back to dressing as I had before I was a hijabi, which was never blatantly indecent, but...let's just say some days I can't just wrap a shayla about my head and call it a day.
Three years, and the whole ordeal still isn't easy. I mean, it's easy to wake up every day and blend in with your surroundings. I may not be wearing short pants and skirts like the women around me, but with my short sleeves, sometimes daring to be spaghetti string tops and my jeans, skirts and dresses, I'm pretty inconspicuous.
But this is not what I was going for when I shed the scarf. Not at all. When I see Muslim sisters on the street, in hijab and niqab and everything in between, I have the desire to greet them. I feel like there's nothing like a smile and a friendly as salaam alaikum when everyone's been staring at you, twisting their mouths in pity, curiosity or disgust, avoiding eye contact with you, looking the other way abruptly. I remember how good it felt, as a new hijabi, to smile at sisters on campus and exchange salaams with women I didn't even know because we had that sisterhood going. That was one of the parts I loved about being a hijabi.
But now, I feel like I'm just one of those people who's looking away abruptly. I look away out of guilt, because here I am, baring my arms and some of my legs, and here she is, with her pastel or black khimar, sometimes in jilbab, bearing the heat in favor of her modesty as I once did. Before I even had a lot of long-sleeved shirts appropriate for the weather, I used to even brave 80 degree weather my trusty jean jacket. I was once there, I was once one of them, ignoring stares and the averting eyes to go about my way.
I wonder how many other women passed me by, desired to greet me, to show solidarity, but shied away for the same guilt I feel every time I smile at a fellow Muslim sister. Maybe not a lot, but I wonder.
My mother starts a little every time I tell her that I think about wearing the hijab again every day. It's not a lie; I do think about it every day, but every day for three years I've come to the same conclusion: not today, and maybe not tomorrow. I figure I have six years to sort it out. Not that I'm limiting myself to that time period, but that's when my passport expires.
I'm wearing a beige khimar in my passport picture.
Admittedly, even though I thought long and hard about hijab long before I wore my sleeping scarf out to class one day, never looking back, that day I decided--it was clearly a rash decision. Just because a friend of mine (a non-Muslim friend of mine) thought I'd started wearing hijab when I actually hadn't, and was excited to see me start, I decided that the next day would be the day. That was my tomorrow. I lived alone at the time, in a single room in the dorm, and I decided to go for it.
Terrified at the implications and a little bit wary because of my mother's freak out reaction to my decision, I sought counsel with a sister that I knew and respected from the MSA who gave me some support. With her support, I traveled to the Dominican Republic a few months later, my first time traveling outside of the country, and traveling as a hijabi.
That experience blew my mind, and though I didn't feel like I could do it, I returned as a hijabi, but after feeling as if I had violated proper Muslimah etiquette on the regular in the DR. From dance parties held at my neighbor's home to constantly being surrounded by alcohol, being the only Muslimah on the island, seemingly, was less than ideal.
I struggled with hijab from then on out. I never got up the courage to tell my father I was wearing the scarf or what it meant, and this was ultimately the reason that I stopped wearing the scarf altogether. I felt that it was disrespectful to not let my father into this part of my life and even after letting him in on it, I felt like it was an affront to his sensibilities, his identity as an Igbo (and therefore, Christian) Nigerian man, and unnecessary. I felt like it was unnecessary to wear a symbol that would be a constant reminder for him of my choice, my religion, making him embarrassed to present me before friends, fellow Nigerians who would then ask why I hadn't embraced Christianity.
So I stopped a week before graduation so he wouldn't have to see me there, with my shayla beneath my cap, forever documented in pictures as the hijabi.
Believe it or not, I had somehow hid the fact that I wore hijab from my father for almost two years. Even today, we've never discussed it. Looking back now, I still could have pulled it off. I could have worn my hair in a modified headwrap like I'd done many times before, but in the end, it's all okay. I was done keeping things from my father, and I haven't really kept anything from him since.
We haven't discussed my religion, though, either, except for his discussions of Christianity with me.
And that's the long and the short of it. I mean, I can't front like my relationship with my father was the only reason I gave up hijab. There was also the fact that I didn't feel comfortable interacting with patients because of it. I used to volunteer at Mott Children's Hospital at UMich, and after I started wearing the scarf, I felt especially defensive around the patients' parents, feeling like maybe some of them were judging me or maybe didn't want to interact with me because I was now visibly Muslim. And while I was aware, as an obviously black woman, that some patients may have felt uncomfortable with my presence, I was not used to being judged because of being Muslim.
So many people assumed I was Arab, it was crazy! My race, and therefore a large part of how I identify and know my own self, disappeared to others when I put on the hijab, and I wasn't prepared for that, and I wasn't ready for that.
I stopped wearing hijab before medical school as well because I can smoothly operate dealing with patients and others who may or may not make assumptions about me because of race. I'm not that smooth when it comes to being a visible Muslimah.
For example, if my patients talk about God with me, they feel comfortable because they assume I'm Christian or "Christianoid," as most people in this country are. Little do they know, I'm actually Muslim, and little do they know, most all of what they say about God and prayer I can agree with, as being part of the same monotheistic tradition as they are. That connection is made right there. A patient may not open up to me on that level if I'm donning a khimar.
One of my classmates is a hijabi. She did coursework at a hospital where there were primarily older Jewish patients her second year, and though she expected to be met much resistance from patients there, I witnessed as several of the patients referred to her with pet names, hugged her (the women, of course) and it became apparent that she was able to make the connection.
She's been a hijabi since she was 13. She's used to being mistaken as Arab, this is part of her for a long time. I didn't get used to it in time for medical school. So I just stopped.
[Clarification: When I talk about being mistaken as Arab, it's not because "Oh my gosh, like, that's the worst race to be mistaken to be!" Those who read me know better than that. I'm talking about being used to being identified as one race and being mistaken as another. Race is a social construct anyway, but when you're used to people relegating you to one social box, it feels alien when suddenly you are relegated to a different box. It also makes it awkward when folks start speaking Arabic and you don't know anything outside of salat and those few surat you've memorized. Carry on.]
This has been a lot of confessions. A lot of talking, but no solutions. So what am I going to do? Allah (swt) knows that I have a long way to go before I'm close to being the type of Muslimah I want to be, and while the way I dress is definitely part of the package, right now it's not the most important thing. A lot of it depends on where I'm headed. Am I going to move somewhere where there's a tight-knit community of Muslims who will embrace me where I'll feel at ease being the Muslim I've always wanted to be, where I'll have support that I've never before had? Who will I marry? What is my family medicine practice going to be like? These are all determinants.
What's my dream? My dream is to move somewhere where I can be part of a small but active Muslim community that is accepted by the larger community. I want to be an active member of the small community and the community at large, serving as a physician for both, promoting the health of Muslims and non-Muslims alike. I would want to end up with a man who would support me whether I wore khimar or not and respected it as my personal choice. I would want to end up in a diverse community where I can treat patients of many different ethnic and religious backgrounds.
I'm not saying that I want to go to a place where prejudice doesn't exist. No. I can't say that all of my patients fully trusted me every time I walked into their room as a black female medical student. People are going to be prejudiced, racist, whatever. However, even those harboring such feelings could not deny my compassion toward them, my hard work, my respect for them, any of the other qualities that insha'Allah will make me a good physician. And I hope to build my practice off of that, my God-given talents and the good reputation that I'll build from my work.
...so maybe then it won't matter if patients see me first and think I'm a black woman or a Muslim woman or whatever else.
I have to be comfortable with it, though, and I think I'd need a supportive community wherever I go.
I guess I haven't ever said why it was that I started hijab in the first place, why it is that I want to go back. Obviously (or maybe not so obviously) it's not just because I want the chance to say salaam to other covering sisters. It's not even because it's obligatory, really. It's because...it made sense to me, and I liked myself the best, I think, when I wore it. I've never been a good Muslimah, in my estimation. Something's always lacking, from proper salat to proper modesty, like, very basic, big things. There were things lacking when I was a hijabi. I feel like hijab probably took energy out of other spiritual pursuits that I had. But--once I got the hang of hijab, that was the version of myself that I liked the best.
I had more sense of purpose, my actions and decisions I made were more deliberate--and my mode of dress made it easier for me to socialize with people I wanted to be around. It made sense for me especially in terms of the type of man I'd want to end up with--a serious Muslim man who wouldn't expect sex before marriage like many of the non-Muslim men I've encountered in...life.
My motives are tainted, I must admit. It's like, how else will a woman like me marry a Muslim man? I'm not visibly Muslim...how will he even know if I'm here with my arms bared, legs partially out, looking like a "regular" black female?
But maybe this isn't reason enough, or at least not the right reason...for such a big decision.
Will I ever wear hijab again? Not today, and maybe not tomorrow. That's all I can say. Insha'Allah is even better.
Wasalaam.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
The Greatest Days
As salaam alaikum,
I just hung out with a friend of mine from the University of Michigan that I haven't seen in years. The last time I really saw her was probably during junior year or so right after I started wearing the hijab...and the last time she saw me was as a hijabi, actually. I didn't see her on graduation, when I had stopped by then for a week's time.
And man, it was so good seeing her! We caught up for a couple of hours and we didn't even get to say all that we wanted to say...I still have to hear about her upcoming trip to India, for example.
I've been doing a lot of thinking back to college, as the characters for A Rose Much Desired, or RMD as I'll come to call it, are seniors and alumni of the University of Michigan. But there's nothing like meeting up with someone you went to college with to change your perspective of your past, and meeting up with her did just that for me.
Today actually feels a little unreal because I met up with her. It's kind of like the first time that my best friend came to visit this apartment...she'd never come up to see me in Boston before, and she met my roommate, saw my room, saw the picture of her that I had sitting at the time on my heating vent, and...it was surreal.
It felt similarly hanging out with this friend today. I barely know where we left off and what stage of development we were in when we left off. I hadn't yet gone to the Dominican Republic, so I was in a very different place...and now here we are, three years after graduation, three years after I randomly saw her in Boston at the TJ Maxx in Downtown Crossing, probably five years since I really had a chance to talk to her.
And we talked as if no time had elapsed, but so many things have happened. Insha'Allah, I'm on the cusp of beginning my third degree program (I can't get enough of this professional school thing, apparently) and she's getting ready to enter medical school. She talks about working and I realize, wow, working full time is a reality that I've never known...and now she's going back to school. She doesn't realize how foreign a world full-time working is to me. I mean, it will still be, because the 80-hr weeks of residency will be a bit strange, because I'll be working, being paid a fraction of what I'll earn later and learning all at the same time.
And she's starting medical school after being in the real world now for the last three years...I never did ask her what brought her to Boston, specifically, but it's been awesome catching up with her.
We talked a lot about men and relationships, as well, which is pretty much a requisite for single women our age, I think. We're both single at this point, watching age mates, friends of ours, get married. Seriously, on facebook, about five different people are getting married this month that I know of. It feels just a little insane, being that I've been single as an adult for longer than these people have known their future and current spouses, so it feels a little bit like...I've made no progress in life. I know it's not true, but simply stated, that's the way it feels...
But talking to her, even with the both of us being single, I realize...these are the greatest days of my life. The first year of greatest days in my life was 2004, when I met the man. That summer was beautiful, awesome, and it will always be, no matter what happened later in our trajectories. The second period of greatest days definitely had to be 2006, when I went to the Dominican Republic, and that changed my life [which has to be the topic of another post]. Then, definitely, 2008, when I put on FABRIC (the cultural show for my class), went to Brazil, solidified my Portuguese, and did the Second Year Show...oh yeah, and rounded out first year of medical school and began the second year. That year was definitely right up there with 2006 as one of the greatest years of my life...probably even better than 2006.
And so maybe there is a pattern? Perhaps 2010, the year I chose Family Medicine, the year I resumed working out, doing samba in Cambridge, my public health year...I don't know what the rest of this year will bring, as none of us do, but seriously, today I realized that these are some of the greatest days in my life.
I'm in better shape, I'm energized, I'm excited for life...I'm free!
And seeing her, and remembering where I was in college helped me realize...no, I'm not actually standing still. I've come a long way. I've matured, I've maintained my essence but I'm a bit of a different person, I've got goals in my life now, and yeah, forward I go.
She wants to read RMD when I'm done. Oh man, the pressure's on now. I have to make this story good.
I just hung out with a friend of mine from the University of Michigan that I haven't seen in years. The last time I really saw her was probably during junior year or so right after I started wearing the hijab...and the last time she saw me was as a hijabi, actually. I didn't see her on graduation, when I had stopped by then for a week's time.
And man, it was so good seeing her! We caught up for a couple of hours and we didn't even get to say all that we wanted to say...I still have to hear about her upcoming trip to India, for example.
I've been doing a lot of thinking back to college, as the characters for A Rose Much Desired, or RMD as I'll come to call it, are seniors and alumni of the University of Michigan. But there's nothing like meeting up with someone you went to college with to change your perspective of your past, and meeting up with her did just that for me.
Today actually feels a little unreal because I met up with her. It's kind of like the first time that my best friend came to visit this apartment...she'd never come up to see me in Boston before, and she met my roommate, saw my room, saw the picture of her that I had sitting at the time on my heating vent, and...it was surreal.
It felt similarly hanging out with this friend today. I barely know where we left off and what stage of development we were in when we left off. I hadn't yet gone to the Dominican Republic, so I was in a very different place...and now here we are, three years after graduation, three years after I randomly saw her in Boston at the TJ Maxx in Downtown Crossing, probably five years since I really had a chance to talk to her.
And we talked as if no time had elapsed, but so many things have happened. Insha'Allah, I'm on the cusp of beginning my third degree program (I can't get enough of this professional school thing, apparently) and she's getting ready to enter medical school. She talks about working and I realize, wow, working full time is a reality that I've never known...and now she's going back to school. She doesn't realize how foreign a world full-time working is to me. I mean, it will still be, because the 80-hr weeks of residency will be a bit strange, because I'll be working, being paid a fraction of what I'll earn later and learning all at the same time.
And she's starting medical school after being in the real world now for the last three years...I never did ask her what brought her to Boston, specifically, but it's been awesome catching up with her.
We talked a lot about men and relationships, as well, which is pretty much a requisite for single women our age, I think. We're both single at this point, watching age mates, friends of ours, get married. Seriously, on facebook, about five different people are getting married this month that I know of. It feels just a little insane, being that I've been single as an adult for longer than these people have known their future and current spouses, so it feels a little bit like...I've made no progress in life. I know it's not true, but simply stated, that's the way it feels...
But talking to her, even with the both of us being single, I realize...these are the greatest days of my life. The first year of greatest days in my life was 2004, when I met the man. That summer was beautiful, awesome, and it will always be, no matter what happened later in our trajectories. The second period of greatest days definitely had to be 2006, when I went to the Dominican Republic, and that changed my life [which has to be the topic of another post]. Then, definitely, 2008, when I put on FABRIC (the cultural show for my class), went to Brazil, solidified my Portuguese, and did the Second Year Show...oh yeah, and rounded out first year of medical school and began the second year. That year was definitely right up there with 2006 as one of the greatest years of my life...probably even better than 2006.
And so maybe there is a pattern? Perhaps 2010, the year I chose Family Medicine, the year I resumed working out, doing samba in Cambridge, my public health year...I don't know what the rest of this year will bring, as none of us do, but seriously, today I realized that these are some of the greatest days in my life.
I'm in better shape, I'm energized, I'm excited for life...I'm free!
And seeing her, and remembering where I was in college helped me realize...no, I'm not actually standing still. I've come a long way. I've matured, I've maintained my essence but I'm a bit of a different person, I've got goals in my life now, and yeah, forward I go.
She wants to read RMD when I'm done. Oh man, the pressure's on now. I have to make this story good.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Cult of the Black Mama
As salaam alaikum,
I find when I'm stuck in front of a book, studying for hours, I have a lot of ideas for journal entries...of course, because I am studying and not at liberty to write whenever I want. I mean, I could...but then I'd never get any studying done.
So this is one I've been thinking about for a while.
Yes, Cult of the Black Mama. Let me explain.
So, back when I was at Michigan, I took a bunch of classes on race and history in Latin America. The first one I took was called "Writing Race and Nation in Latin America and the Caribbean" or something like that, and it was my first exposure to race in Brazil...the country that would later become a veritable love of my life.
Anyway, it was through this class that I learned a little bit about the Cult of the Mulata. In Cuba and Brazil especially, the mulata, specifically someone of mixed African and European heritage, has a specific space in culture. The mulata is a woman of unmatched beauty, sensual, graceful, the one that people always look for in dance, in front during the desfiles of the samba school, whatever. The mulata is also often objectified as a sexual object. Not as much in Brazil but in the Caribbean you also have the negra, that I feel exists more as an object than the mulata does.
But then again, the things coming to my mind right now are "Una mulata en la Habana" by Adalberto Alvarez and "Yo quiero un vacilón" by Toño Rosario ("yo quiero un vacilón con una negra sabrosa [...] negra, mueve la cintura").
It's not just Brazil and Cuba that have a bit of the Cult of the Mulata going on. The black community in the US has gone through waves of it, when you'd only see "light skinned" curly haired people on the cover of Ebony. These days, you're more likely to see a more mixed-looking woman on commercials than someone with chocolate skin and either natural or straightened hair.
And you know what, I'm actually not mad at any of that. I'm just going to do my own thing, so excuse me while I start the Cult of the Black Mama.
Because in these Latin American cultures and at least historically, not so much the case anymore, the way you got the mulata was through the black mama. Seriously, I read in my Latin American history classes so many eulogies for the mulata and how this was the perfect form for a woman...brown skin, curves with European features, all of this, and nothing about where these women came from. What about their black mothers? Not even worth a mention? They were good enough for these leaders and stuff to get with at the time but now only their daughters get the shout out?
I'm also not mad at that, either. In my Cult of the Black Mama, the black woman shall not be objectified. No moviendo de la cintura, no shaking ya a** and watching yourself, dropping it like it's hot, none of that. No Daisy Dukes and no apple bottom jeans.
For me, my black mama is the absolute matriarch. She is earthy, she lives organic, she is quintessential beauty. She is real, through and through, accepting her imperfections as coolly as she wipes sweat from her brow with her forearm. She is the cornerstone of family, she is loving, accepting, children under her arms and at her feet. She is unrecognized and gorgeous.
I've been part of the black woman fan club for a long time. As a result, all of the protagonists of every story that I've written have been black women. So, and this is probably as much of an intro to this new site as I'm going to give, it will become apparent as I explore about what it means to me to be black, a black Muslimah, whatever else, my feelings about the unique existence of the black woman in society.
So a roda da saia mulata não quer mais rodar, não senhor... The spin of the mulata's skirt doesn't want to spin anymore, no sir...
Welcome to Invisible Muslimah, The Cult of the Black Mama, and other such social anecdotes by Chinyere! It will be a fun trip.
Oh, by the way...smoke from 50 burning Canadian forest fires obscured the Boston skyline on Monday...it was pretty cool. The whole place smelled like smoke. You could have told folks it was the end of the world and they would have believed it.
Time to sleep. I work out in the mornings now, and given I'm on a diet I'll probably sleep again like a hog tonight.
I find when I'm stuck in front of a book, studying for hours, I have a lot of ideas for journal entries...of course, because I am studying and not at liberty to write whenever I want. I mean, I could...but then I'd never get any studying done.
So this is one I've been thinking about for a while.
Yes, Cult of the Black Mama. Let me explain.
So, back when I was at Michigan, I took a bunch of classes on race and history in Latin America. The first one I took was called "Writing Race and Nation in Latin America and the Caribbean" or something like that, and it was my first exposure to race in Brazil...the country that would later become a veritable love of my life.
Anyway, it was through this class that I learned a little bit about the Cult of the Mulata. In Cuba and Brazil especially, the mulata, specifically someone of mixed African and European heritage, has a specific space in culture. The mulata is a woman of unmatched beauty, sensual, graceful, the one that people always look for in dance, in front during the desfiles of the samba school, whatever. The mulata is also often objectified as a sexual object. Not as much in Brazil but in the Caribbean you also have the negra, that I feel exists more as an object than the mulata does.
But then again, the things coming to my mind right now are "Una mulata en la Habana" by Adalberto Alvarez and "Yo quiero un vacilón" by Toño Rosario ("yo quiero un vacilón con una negra sabrosa [...] negra, mueve la cintura").
It's not just Brazil and Cuba that have a bit of the Cult of the Mulata going on. The black community in the US has gone through waves of it, when you'd only see "light skinned" curly haired people on the cover of Ebony. These days, you're more likely to see a more mixed-looking woman on commercials than someone with chocolate skin and either natural or straightened hair.
And you know what, I'm actually not mad at any of that. I'm just going to do my own thing, so excuse me while I start the Cult of the Black Mama.
Because in these Latin American cultures and at least historically, not so much the case anymore, the way you got the mulata was through the black mama. Seriously, I read in my Latin American history classes so many eulogies for the mulata and how this was the perfect form for a woman...brown skin, curves with European features, all of this, and nothing about where these women came from. What about their black mothers? Not even worth a mention? They were good enough for these leaders and stuff to get with at the time but now only their daughters get the shout out?
I'm also not mad at that, either. In my Cult of the Black Mama, the black woman shall not be objectified. No moviendo de la cintura, no shaking ya a** and watching yourself, dropping it like it's hot, none of that. No Daisy Dukes and no apple bottom jeans.
For me, my black mama is the absolute matriarch. She is earthy, she lives organic, she is quintessential beauty. She is real, through and through, accepting her imperfections as coolly as she wipes sweat from her brow with her forearm. She is the cornerstone of family, she is loving, accepting, children under her arms and at her feet. She is unrecognized and gorgeous.
I've been part of the black woman fan club for a long time. As a result, all of the protagonists of every story that I've written have been black women. So, and this is probably as much of an intro to this new site as I'm going to give, it will become apparent as I explore about what it means to me to be black, a black Muslimah, whatever else, my feelings about the unique existence of the black woman in society.
So a roda da saia mulata não quer mais rodar, não senhor... The spin of the mulata's skirt doesn't want to spin anymore, no sir...
Welcome to Invisible Muslimah, The Cult of the Black Mama, and other such social anecdotes by Chinyere! It will be a fun trip.
Oh, by the way...smoke from 50 burning Canadian forest fires obscured the Boston skyline on Monday...it was pretty cool. The whole place smelled like smoke. You could have told folks it was the end of the world and they would have believed it.
Time to sleep. I work out in the mornings now, and given I'm on a diet I'll probably sleep again like a hog tonight.
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