As salaam alaikum,
At the time I'm posting this, I'm sleeping soundly in my hotel south of San Francisco right now, hopefully, the day before my first residency interview. As I'm writing this, though, I'm procrastinating my final residency interview preparation, which will entail me verbally answering a series of questions that could come up during the interview, reading about ACOs and PCMHs, and reviewing Contra Costa's residency program and coming up with questions tailored for both residents in the program and faculty.
One of the blessings of going into medicine with this rigorous training is that you're always on the cusp of something bigger, and you're constantly growing. Even though we sometimes feel stagnated, like we're in suspended animation, or that we our adolescence has been perpetuated in this odd state of arrested development as many of us don't marry and have children during this time, and we, unlike our peers, are yet to own salary, I think this extended development really affords us an opportunity to grow past what we otherwise would have been if we were dropped artificially into the hands of adulthood with the advent of paid employment.
It was a big thing when I held a human heart in my hand the first time in anatomy class. It was greater once I learned its physiology and pathophysiology. It was greater when I held a live, beating heart in my hand during surgery. And even greater will it be for me to actually be a partially-licensed doctor and finish my training in residency into the physician I intend to become. And even greater will me be completing that residency. And even greater will be my learning through my career. All insha'Allah, of course.
And the greatest, insha'Allah, will be when I end my career and end my life and can reflect on all I have learned and all I have done.
Without foresight, which few of us actually have, life can seem stagnant at times when we are on the verge of great things. And I'm one of the more anxious ones who feels antsy and itchy and fidgety at those times when lives pauses. Instead of being anxious during the quiet times, I should relish those times and use those times to do some of those other things that I love that are not medicine...
This life, just like we are, is God's creation. It was not merely created to teach us to avoid haram, because there is so much more in this life that is actually halal...and it's not just halal meat! We can strive to live this life to the fullest while being God conscious, and if we are in that place spiritually, we can tie everything to the afterlife, or if we are more evolved spiritually, we don't have to make that mental circuit to recognize those things that nourish our souls and Heaven, insha'Allah, will be a given.
I have found a way insha'Allah to live Islam more organically and a way to live my reality more organically and to anticipate my life partner more organically. I therefore feel more comfortable in my own skin, in my own way of being. It is not the type of comfort that keeps one from striving in the way of Allah (swt) but is rather the type of comfort that allows one to strive more in the way of Allah (swt) because they are no longer paralyzed by fear of abstract and intangible things of their own minds' creation.
I am no longer paralyzed by the fear of abstract and intangible things that I created in my mind that made the life Allah (swt) always intended and intends and will intend for me impossible.
And I am more myself now than I have ever been.
More to come...
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
...and the crazy dreams continue!
As salaam alaikum,
I had a series of crazy, convoluted dreams last night. I feel like I dreamed the entire night.
In one dream, I was in the notorious mall of my dreams shopping in the women's clothing store for one of the characters in the novela I'm watching, Eunice. Eunice has very particular and expensive tastes, so I was pulling out things that I thought would appeal to her. I think I transitioned out of that dream before she tried anything on...
Also, lately in dreams, I've become people that I wasn't. In this other dream, I was living in Mexico and I was a Mexican-American woman who was pregnant. My husband was Mexican and he was the proprietor of a small neighborhood bar. Before my pregnancy, my husband and I would sometimes share a beer at the end of the day. But now I was pregnant, and he drank alone. One day, I decided that, like the women on the movies whose doctors said it was okay to drink wine every now and again during pregnancy, that it would be okay, if just this one time, to drink a beer while pregnant. So I took a flask of beer and sipped on it, hiding it behind my thigh when my husband came in so he wouldn't see it. It tasted so good (since I've never had beer in my life, I think it tasted like the ginger ale I drank before bed), I didn't think it would be a problem. So I sat by the window, looking out at the desolate countryside, sipping my beer, pregnant.
Then I switched back to being me. I was a fourth year medical student applying for residency. I felt my belly and I could feel the fundus of my uterus at the umbilicus. That made me about 20 weeks pregnant (yes, I was still pregnant). I suddenly became aware that I already had a little girl (maybe the little girl that I wanted to name Hasna from my dream that I had a baby for B) and that this one would be a boy. I was unmarried and not with the father, and I was still trying to complete my medical degree. I remember thinking how upset my mother would be if she found out and wondered how much longer I could keep it a secret. I looked in the mirror and sucked in my stomach, but it was no use. You could see the protrusion in my lower abdomen. I kept feeling the fundus and reflecting that it should have been a lot more uncomfortable. I resolved to practice my Leopold maneuvers on myself to know how to more gently touch a pregnant woman.
Even though this was my second pregnancy, I was still excited to feel the baby growing inside of me, to feel myself sustaining the pregnancy. I stopped pressing on my uterus for fear of causing myself to miscarry, which I acknowledged was a bit of a silly fear. And I reflected with satisfaction that I did not have hyperemesis gravidarum.
Then the last dream was a dream that was mixed Mad Men with medical school. One of my classmates was Cosgrove, and we were talking about how exclusive his apartment was. The apartment complex was connected to this agency we worked in, which was like in the middle of nowhere but the apartments were luxury and it was ultimate convenience getting to the office, though that meant you pretty much never left. We were going to sneak and check out his apartment without him knowing, but when we got ourselves into the lobby, there was a small buffet of fancy snack food waiting for us, as if we were in a conference. It was the realtor, I think, showing properties. So we stopped, and then Cosgrove and a cohort of my classmates came, bringing more food, making it a potluck. Soon, everyone was really my classmates from medical school, the ones who are graduating, mixed in with a few college friends. Then my mother and brother were at the end of the line, waiting for food. I hadn't seen my mother in a little bit, so I grabbed a pickle, which was more sweet than tart, and started talking to her about all of the food available.
With the parents of my family, the whole gathering became very sentimental. I don't think I was pregnant in this part of the dream.
I was in the process of making a plate when I woke up.
I had some other dreams, I believe, but those are the ones that stick out in my mind.
I had a series of crazy, convoluted dreams last night. I feel like I dreamed the entire night.
In one dream, I was in the notorious mall of my dreams shopping in the women's clothing store for one of the characters in the novela I'm watching, Eunice. Eunice has very particular and expensive tastes, so I was pulling out things that I thought would appeal to her. I think I transitioned out of that dream before she tried anything on...
Also, lately in dreams, I've become people that I wasn't. In this other dream, I was living in Mexico and I was a Mexican-American woman who was pregnant. My husband was Mexican and he was the proprietor of a small neighborhood bar. Before my pregnancy, my husband and I would sometimes share a beer at the end of the day. But now I was pregnant, and he drank alone. One day, I decided that, like the women on the movies whose doctors said it was okay to drink wine every now and again during pregnancy, that it would be okay, if just this one time, to drink a beer while pregnant. So I took a flask of beer and sipped on it, hiding it behind my thigh when my husband came in so he wouldn't see it. It tasted so good (since I've never had beer in my life, I think it tasted like the ginger ale I drank before bed), I didn't think it would be a problem. So I sat by the window, looking out at the desolate countryside, sipping my beer, pregnant.
Then I switched back to being me. I was a fourth year medical student applying for residency. I felt my belly and I could feel the fundus of my uterus at the umbilicus. That made me about 20 weeks pregnant (yes, I was still pregnant). I suddenly became aware that I already had a little girl (maybe the little girl that I wanted to name Hasna from my dream that I had a baby for B) and that this one would be a boy. I was unmarried and not with the father, and I was still trying to complete my medical degree. I remember thinking how upset my mother would be if she found out and wondered how much longer I could keep it a secret. I looked in the mirror and sucked in my stomach, but it was no use. You could see the protrusion in my lower abdomen. I kept feeling the fundus and reflecting that it should have been a lot more uncomfortable. I resolved to practice my Leopold maneuvers on myself to know how to more gently touch a pregnant woman.
Even though this was my second pregnancy, I was still excited to feel the baby growing inside of me, to feel myself sustaining the pregnancy. I stopped pressing on my uterus for fear of causing myself to miscarry, which I acknowledged was a bit of a silly fear. And I reflected with satisfaction that I did not have hyperemesis gravidarum.
Then the last dream was a dream that was mixed Mad Men with medical school. One of my classmates was Cosgrove, and we were talking about how exclusive his apartment was. The apartment complex was connected to this agency we worked in, which was like in the middle of nowhere but the apartments were luxury and it was ultimate convenience getting to the office, though that meant you pretty much never left. We were going to sneak and check out his apartment without him knowing, but when we got ourselves into the lobby, there was a small buffet of fancy snack food waiting for us, as if we were in a conference. It was the realtor, I think, showing properties. So we stopped, and then Cosgrove and a cohort of my classmates came, bringing more food, making it a potluck. Soon, everyone was really my classmates from medical school, the ones who are graduating, mixed in with a few college friends. Then my mother and brother were at the end of the line, waiting for food. I hadn't seen my mother in a little bit, so I grabbed a pickle, which was more sweet than tart, and started talking to her about all of the food available.
With the parents of my family, the whole gathering became very sentimental. I don't think I was pregnant in this part of the dream.
I was in the process of making a plate when I woke up.
I had some other dreams, I believe, but those are the ones that stick out in my mind.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Affectionately My Ex / Worthiness
As salaam alaikum,
Alhamdulillah, I'm over the post-breakup funk. From here and into the future, B is affectionately my ex. I realized this in between standardized patients during CS today (alhamdulillah, that's over...now, to pass, insha'Allah...). I was in the bathroom, gazing at myself, from my hair, to the way my eyes look in my thick-framed glasses, to my smile, to my body, a little bit voluptuous today because of hormonal bloating (estrogen and progestin FTW), and I was just like...masha'Allah, look at this beautiful creation...about myself!
B really had issues to turn me down, issues which, compiled with everything else between us that we had to work on (the biggest being me being more spiritually evolved than he was, even if we both believed in One God), was just not going to work out for us. His concept of relationships and marriage was really immature, which led him to make the pronouncements about marriage as early as he did. I'm not dumb, so I expected as much and always took what he said with a grain of salt. This is why I'm dancing with myself in a hotel room in Chicago on a king size bed right now not lamenting the absence of a future husband.
Insha'Allah, it will happen soon. I know, because I've prayed for it always and I'll continue to pray for patience and a greater sense of self-worth until it happens. I have never felt more comfortable in my skin as I feel today. Remember MTQ? Yeah, it took me years to get over him, and I wasn't even in a relationship with him. B? Weeks.
What an interesting start to my 26th year. I've had to grow so much so fast in the last couple of months. Mainly, I feel sorry for B...he has no idea what he just passed up, but I'll still pray for him the best. The next woman will likely have less patience with him and be less accommodating...not necessarily, but likely.
But the paradigm shift continues. Though I certainly shifted paradigms to not feel like the worst Muslimah ever for being in a relationship with a non-Muslim (the jury's still out on that one, but God is Judge), I'm not running back to Muslim men, either. Insha'Allah, who is meant for me will come along and it will work. This may not be a man who calls himself Muslim now, and he may never call himself Muslim. I believe this with all of my heart and I know that it is not just those who call themselves Muslims that are believers, as certain as there are those who call themselves Muslims who are not believers.
There are those who do not call themselves Muslims who do good deeds, and there are those who call themselves Muslims whose bad deeds outweigh the good.
There are those who do not call themselves Muslims who could read the Qur'an and as the Qur'an itself says of those who follow other faiths, the book will bring tears to their eyes because they recognize the truth in it.
There are some who call themselves Muslims who are hypocrites.
I pray to Allah (swt) that I am not among the latter. Some may have the opinion that I am. That is fine. This is America and you are free to your opinions, but is that a good deed, oh fellow Muslim, to pass such a judgment when God is Judge?
I'm not saying I'm going to say no to a good Muslim man who desires me for marriage. Hah, he'll be crazy to want to, but okay, we'll go forward and see how things work out if I feel like it's feasible. But I'm also not going to hold my breath for one...
...nor am I really holding my breath for any God-fearing man to come into my life. I'm not holding my breath because I know that insha'Allah, it'll happen soon, and also...
It's just so exhilarating to find myself in a place where I'm not paralyzed by the fear of unworthiness before Allah (swt). That He created me makes me worthy enough, beautiful enough, excellent enough as is all of his creation. And that I believe in Him and turn to Him for guidance in every part of my life...which is what He wants us to do...how can I not be worthy?
Is the sun that rises in the east and sets in the west unworthy because it is a created thing and imperfect as it submits to the will of the Creator? Are the sparrows who wake, chirping in the morning, flying to food by day unworthy as they submit to the will of the Creator? Is the mosquito, that spreads disease that causes great injury, illness and death in several populations around the world unworthy as it submits to the will of the Creator?
So why should I be unworthy as a human being who was made human by my Creator who makes human mistakes as I submit to His will, realizing my nature and keeping it in check in favor of the straight way that He outlined for us?
I am God's precious creation, and like a precious daughter, I need to start treating myself with the love deserving of one who was made with the breath of the Creator.
I was practicing an Islam of Unworthiness. I henceforth practice an Islam of Worthiness.
...now, I'm tired from that test! Time to order some room service!
Alhamdulillah, I'm over the post-breakup funk. From here and into the future, B is affectionately my ex. I realized this in between standardized patients during CS today (alhamdulillah, that's over...now, to pass, insha'Allah...). I was in the bathroom, gazing at myself, from my hair, to the way my eyes look in my thick-framed glasses, to my smile, to my body, a little bit voluptuous today because of hormonal bloating (estrogen and progestin FTW), and I was just like...masha'Allah, look at this beautiful creation...about myself!
B really had issues to turn me down, issues which, compiled with everything else between us that we had to work on (the biggest being me being more spiritually evolved than he was, even if we both believed in One God), was just not going to work out for us. His concept of relationships and marriage was really immature, which led him to make the pronouncements about marriage as early as he did. I'm not dumb, so I expected as much and always took what he said with a grain of salt. This is why I'm dancing with myself in a hotel room in Chicago on a king size bed right now not lamenting the absence of a future husband.
Insha'Allah, it will happen soon. I know, because I've prayed for it always and I'll continue to pray for patience and a greater sense of self-worth until it happens. I have never felt more comfortable in my skin as I feel today. Remember MTQ? Yeah, it took me years to get over him, and I wasn't even in a relationship with him. B? Weeks.
What an interesting start to my 26th year. I've had to grow so much so fast in the last couple of months. Mainly, I feel sorry for B...he has no idea what he just passed up, but I'll still pray for him the best. The next woman will likely have less patience with him and be less accommodating...not necessarily, but likely.
But the paradigm shift continues. Though I certainly shifted paradigms to not feel like the worst Muslimah ever for being in a relationship with a non-Muslim (the jury's still out on that one, but God is Judge), I'm not running back to Muslim men, either. Insha'Allah, who is meant for me will come along and it will work. This may not be a man who calls himself Muslim now, and he may never call himself Muslim. I believe this with all of my heart and I know that it is not just those who call themselves Muslims that are believers, as certain as there are those who call themselves Muslims who are not believers.
There are those who do not call themselves Muslims who do good deeds, and there are those who call themselves Muslims whose bad deeds outweigh the good.
There are those who do not call themselves Muslims who could read the Qur'an and as the Qur'an itself says of those who follow other faiths, the book will bring tears to their eyes because they recognize the truth in it.
There are some who call themselves Muslims who are hypocrites.
I pray to Allah (swt) that I am not among the latter. Some may have the opinion that I am. That is fine. This is America and you are free to your opinions, but is that a good deed, oh fellow Muslim, to pass such a judgment when God is Judge?
I'm not saying I'm going to say no to a good Muslim man who desires me for marriage. Hah, he'll be crazy to want to, but okay, we'll go forward and see how things work out if I feel like it's feasible. But I'm also not going to hold my breath for one...
...nor am I really holding my breath for any God-fearing man to come into my life. I'm not holding my breath because I know that insha'Allah, it'll happen soon, and also...
It's just so exhilarating to find myself in a place where I'm not paralyzed by the fear of unworthiness before Allah (swt). That He created me makes me worthy enough, beautiful enough, excellent enough as is all of his creation. And that I believe in Him and turn to Him for guidance in every part of my life...which is what He wants us to do...how can I not be worthy?
Is the sun that rises in the east and sets in the west unworthy because it is a created thing and imperfect as it submits to the will of the Creator? Are the sparrows who wake, chirping in the morning, flying to food by day unworthy as they submit to the will of the Creator? Is the mosquito, that spreads disease that causes great injury, illness and death in several populations around the world unworthy as it submits to the will of the Creator?
So why should I be unworthy as a human being who was made human by my Creator who makes human mistakes as I submit to His will, realizing my nature and keeping it in check in favor of the straight way that He outlined for us?
I am God's precious creation, and like a precious daughter, I need to start treating myself with the love deserving of one who was made with the breath of the Creator.
I was practicing an Islam of Unworthiness. I henceforth practice an Islam of Worthiness.
...now, I'm tired from that test! Time to order some room service!
Thursday, February 24, 2011
The Adventures of Long Legs and Butterfly
As salaam alaikum,
Whoo! So...it's been a long week! I can't believe tomorrow is Friday so the week isn't over yet!
I've very much enjoyed the food I made this week. I'll have soup for probably another few days, so tomorrow I'll have to think about a non-soup entree to prepare. I'll probably do the barbecue chicken again, since I have a lot of barbecue sauce left over and all I need is to buy chicken. I'll make less chicken this time, though, so I don't get tired of it.
And the entree I think will be vegetarian this time. I think I'll be easy on myself and make fried rice or something. I have vegetables, so it's all set.
Also, alhamdulillah, the housing search is going along nicely. There's this second year student who lives in Brookline whose place I'll check out. As much as I'm not keen on moving back to the nowheresville that is the Longwood area, at least I'll be close to Trader Joes and Stop and Shop so I don't have to get my non-food necessities at CVS anymore. Although...Rubbermaid has come a long way since the old days of their plastic ware not being microwave safe, I tell you what...
Although, I am still cautious about heating plastic with my food...not only my distaste for melting (a specific phobia that is not as serious as it had been, but still existent...time was, I wouldn't be able to mention it here, even), but also because of the famed BPA. What's the use of eating organic if microwaving may kill nutrients in food and then the plastic you heat it in leaches chemicals?
Whatever. God looks out for us. A little chemical here, a little there...we return to Him in the end, as long as we intend the best for the bodies He gave us, at least I figure.
I may try my hand at a children's book at some point...or a pseudo-children's book. I got the idea earlier this week. For various reasons that will be kept confidential (but not so much in this partial disclosure), I had been freaking out this week. At the height of the freaking out, I sent B a kind of desperate email. I was afraid of how he was going to take it.
And, masha'Allah, he is so cool! I mean, not like in the popular way, but in the calm, collected way. I've cried in front of him at least twice, once because he said something really touching, and the other time...ehh, hormone soup. Hehe, serves four. Anyway, even with the freaking out email giving him permission to leave if he couldn't handle stuff (yes, it was like that), he took everything in stride, just like the day I cried to him about how much I loved my roommates and I wanted to give them a hug (yeah, that was definitely me being an estrogen bag, right there).
So he took it all in stride. It was no big deal, he had no reservations. It was business as usual. So after I found out that we were still okay, that he wouldn't be breaking up with me (soups on!), I was happy and wrote as my facebook status, "And so continue the adventures of long legs and butterfly."
And then I thought, hmm...that sounds like the name of a children's book.
Then I had a dream about my mother singing to me "The Itsy Bitsy Spider," that she used to do it when I was little and draw a little spider-in-motion by drawing a triangle superimposed over a star (so that the spider had eight legs). It was really cute, and in the dream, I said that I loved the Itsy Bitsy Spider.
I did like that song, but I liked Anansi the Spider more. Anansi was gangster. He was so witty and clever and I loved him.
So I imagined that the children's story would be about a Daddy Long Legs and a Butterfly. Long Legs is B because, hah, he has really long legs (and a short torso...when we sit next to each other, he's only a little taller than me, which is really funny to me, because he towers over me when we stand together). I'm Butterfly because that's what he always called me, even before we were official. Sometimes Mariposa, but butterfly.
And Long Legs and Butterfly would have adventures!
The illustrations would not be anthropomorphic, but the characters would be. Butterfly would be a free but sometimes frantic spirit who was giggly, good-natured but sometimes nervous to try new things. Long Legs would be the calm, collected voice of reason that helped guide Butterfly through the adventures. They would be best friends.
I just thought it would be really cute to write the story based on events in me and B's life...our own adventures. Base them on major things that happen in our lives and adapt them into children's stories about a spider, a butterfly and their other insect friends.
It would be something I would make for my children so, in a kind of sneaky, subliminal way, they'd get to know their parents.
...alternatively, I was thinking of making it a book of short stories, poetic prose if you will, about B and I, except it wouldn't be a children's book. Still, I would be Butterfly, and he would be Long Legs.
Hehe, my Long Legs. :) By proxy, hehe, if you will...
Whoo! So...it's been a long week! I can't believe tomorrow is Friday so the week isn't over yet!
I've very much enjoyed the food I made this week. I'll have soup for probably another few days, so tomorrow I'll have to think about a non-soup entree to prepare. I'll probably do the barbecue chicken again, since I have a lot of barbecue sauce left over and all I need is to buy chicken. I'll make less chicken this time, though, so I don't get tired of it.
And the entree I think will be vegetarian this time. I think I'll be easy on myself and make fried rice or something. I have vegetables, so it's all set.
Also, alhamdulillah, the housing search is going along nicely. There's this second year student who lives in Brookline whose place I'll check out. As much as I'm not keen on moving back to the nowheresville that is the Longwood area, at least I'll be close to Trader Joes and Stop and Shop so I don't have to get my non-food necessities at CVS anymore. Although...Rubbermaid has come a long way since the old days of their plastic ware not being microwave safe, I tell you what...
Although, I am still cautious about heating plastic with my food...not only my distaste for melting (a specific phobia that is not as serious as it had been, but still existent...time was, I wouldn't be able to mention it here, even), but also because of the famed BPA. What's the use of eating organic if microwaving may kill nutrients in food and then the plastic you heat it in leaches chemicals?
Whatever. God looks out for us. A little chemical here, a little there...we return to Him in the end, as long as we intend the best for the bodies He gave us, at least I figure.
I may try my hand at a children's book at some point...or a pseudo-children's book. I got the idea earlier this week. For various reasons that will be kept confidential (but not so much in this partial disclosure), I had been freaking out this week. At the height of the freaking out, I sent B a kind of desperate email. I was afraid of how he was going to take it.
And, masha'Allah, he is so cool! I mean, not like in the popular way, but in the calm, collected way. I've cried in front of him at least twice, once because he said something really touching, and the other time...ehh, hormone soup. Hehe, serves four. Anyway, even with the freaking out email giving him permission to leave if he couldn't handle stuff (yes, it was like that), he took everything in stride, just like the day I cried to him about how much I loved my roommates and I wanted to give them a hug (yeah, that was definitely me being an estrogen bag, right there).
So he took it all in stride. It was no big deal, he had no reservations. It was business as usual. So after I found out that we were still okay, that he wouldn't be breaking up with me (soups on!), I was happy and wrote as my facebook status, "And so continue the adventures of long legs and butterfly."
And then I thought, hmm...that sounds like the name of a children's book.
Then I had a dream about my mother singing to me "The Itsy Bitsy Spider," that she used to do it when I was little and draw a little spider-in-motion by drawing a triangle superimposed over a star (so that the spider had eight legs). It was really cute, and in the dream, I said that I loved the Itsy Bitsy Spider.
I did like that song, but I liked Anansi the Spider more. Anansi was gangster. He was so witty and clever and I loved him.
So I imagined that the children's story would be about a Daddy Long Legs and a Butterfly. Long Legs is B because, hah, he has really long legs (and a short torso...when we sit next to each other, he's only a little taller than me, which is really funny to me, because he towers over me when we stand together). I'm Butterfly because that's what he always called me, even before we were official. Sometimes Mariposa, but butterfly.
And Long Legs and Butterfly would have adventures!
The illustrations would not be anthropomorphic, but the characters would be. Butterfly would be a free but sometimes frantic spirit who was giggly, good-natured but sometimes nervous to try new things. Long Legs would be the calm, collected voice of reason that helped guide Butterfly through the adventures. They would be best friends.
I just thought it would be really cute to write the story based on events in me and B's life...our own adventures. Base them on major things that happen in our lives and adapt them into children's stories about a spider, a butterfly and their other insect friends.
It would be something I would make for my children so, in a kind of sneaky, subliminal way, they'd get to know their parents.
...alternatively, I was thinking of making it a book of short stories, poetic prose if you will, about B and I, except it wouldn't be a children's book. Still, I would be Butterfly, and he would be Long Legs.
Hehe, my Long Legs. :) By proxy, hehe, if you will...
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Cooking! Now I'm tired...
As salaam alaikum,
I decided to cook for the week on Saturday. Wow. I think I have enough food for the week. It took me five hours, which my roommate thought was excessive...but then again, I've never seen her spend more than 5 minutes preparing food. My other roommate usually spends an average of 15 minutes on meals, whereas I spend anywhere from 45 minutes to 2 hours usually because, ahem, I'm actually cooking from scratch.
Anyway, come to dinner! The menu consists of:
Burritos with chicken, butternut squash and brown rice, served with a homemade black bean salsa
Tuscan vegetable soup, with a medley of spinach, tomatoes, carrots and zucchini, served with Parmesan cheese
Mango barbecue chicken, served with my homemade, tangy mango sauce
Tropical fruit lassi, sweetened with light agave nectar, over ice
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
The three recipes I have foodnetwork.com to thank for. I have a normally narrow repertoire that consists of fried rice, jollof rice, rice and stew, foo foo and soup, cabbage soup (the American kind), vegetable korma, tandoori chicken, mango lassi, fried chicken, baked chicken, pasta salad and quesadillas. Put those foods in rotation, and I get tired of them really quickly.
...I guess that's not the narrowest of repertoires, but whatever.
Oh yeah, and also Dominican rice and beans, tostones and fried plantains with mmmm batidas de lechoza (papaya) y piña (pineapple), just like I had in the DR. GOSTOSA!
Okay, so I'm not a slouch. My poor woman's attempt Indian food, my Nigerian food a la my father, Dominican standards and my very American standards and bastardizations of other peoples food. Not bad.
But I want to expand my repertoire of poultry and vegetables so that will give me greater impetus to cook food that I can carry with me and eat at school and, later, at work. I had started regaining weight...well, after a week in which my downfall was characterized by such act as eating a whole bag of jelly bellies in a day...
Womp womp womp.
But last week, I cooked on Monday and my food lasted until Friday afternoon. It was glorious! And I'm pretty much back to the weight I should be.
So, it's back in the kitchen...hmm, maybe next time I won't spend 5 hours cooking, but it took that long because it always takes a long time to cook something for the first or second time as you get used to the recipe and do things inefficiently.
However, standing on my feet for five hours without respite made my feet tired. If I'm ever the matriarch of a big family insha'Allah, I will bring a chair into the kitchen and keep idling interlopers out!
As I told my roommate, being in a relationship means my biological clock has come to a complete halt. Eerrrrrkkkk! No babies! It's like those commercials from the 90s for furniture stores. "No payments, no interest until 1998!" Okay. No babies until 2015! At least, seriously...
But I do look forward to having my own little family of cuties. :) I went to a spirituals concert last night with my public health mentor and her family. Masha'Allah she's got an adorable little family...three kids, 11, seven and three. The baby was at home and the seven-year-old was falling asleep by the end of the concert. She's an OB/GYN, clinical director of Women's Health at Children's/BWH and she works in community health centers (what I want to do, insha'Allah!). She helps me see that it can be done.
She had her first baby at 33, I think. That's a good age to start...the earliest I'm considering is like, maybe the last year of residency (thus 2015...I'll be 30...aaaaaahhhhhh!), since I want to do fellowship. Then, there would be a gap, and maybe I'd have one after in the second year of my practicing (2017-2018), so I could, like, get actual maternity leave.
That all depends on if, you know, I'm married by then, haha! B knows I'm a schemer...he'll be alright. He already said that he wanted four. He asked me how many I wanted. I said three or more.
My roommates, like my cooking time, think that four children is excessive. So do they also probably think that the meticulousness with which I cleaned the house was excessive. I do look forward to being the matriarch and sharing these responsibilities with my husband...until the kids are old enough to take over, muahahaha!
Seriously, who needs a cleaning service when you have children! Trick them into helping when they're young, and you've got service until they move out! That's my plan, anyway...
Okay, I'm getting ahead of myself.
I sent B a message telling him that one day I should cook dinner for him (I already made him breakfast one day), or we should cook together. Together, we can make a poor couple's attempt at Nigerian food. Together, we can rule the world...muahahahahaha!
Just kidding.
Anyway, back to work today...sitting for hours instead of standing!
I decided to cook for the week on Saturday. Wow. I think I have enough food for the week. It took me five hours, which my roommate thought was excessive...but then again, I've never seen her spend more than 5 minutes preparing food. My other roommate usually spends an average of 15 minutes on meals, whereas I spend anywhere from 45 minutes to 2 hours usually because, ahem, I'm actually cooking from scratch.
Anyway, come to dinner! The menu consists of:
Burritos with chicken, butternut squash and brown rice, served with a homemade black bean salsa
Tuscan vegetable soup, with a medley of spinach, tomatoes, carrots and zucchini, served with Parmesan cheese
Mango barbecue chicken, served with my homemade, tangy mango sauce
Tropical fruit lassi, sweetened with light agave nectar, over ice
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
The three recipes I have foodnetwork.com to thank for. I have a normally narrow repertoire that consists of fried rice, jollof rice, rice and stew, foo foo and soup, cabbage soup (the American kind), vegetable korma, tandoori chicken, mango lassi, fried chicken, baked chicken, pasta salad and quesadillas. Put those foods in rotation, and I get tired of them really quickly.
...I guess that's not the narrowest of repertoires, but whatever.
Oh yeah, and also Dominican rice and beans, tostones and fried plantains with mmmm batidas de lechoza (papaya) y piña (pineapple), just like I had in the DR. GOSTOSA!
Okay, so I'm not a slouch. My poor woman's attempt Indian food, my Nigerian food a la my father, Dominican standards and my very American standards and bastardizations of other peoples food. Not bad.
But I want to expand my repertoire of poultry and vegetables so that will give me greater impetus to cook food that I can carry with me and eat at school and, later, at work. I had started regaining weight...well, after a week in which my downfall was characterized by such act as eating a whole bag of jelly bellies in a day...
Womp womp womp.
But last week, I cooked on Monday and my food lasted until Friday afternoon. It was glorious! And I'm pretty much back to the weight I should be.
So, it's back in the kitchen...hmm, maybe next time I won't spend 5 hours cooking, but it took that long because it always takes a long time to cook something for the first or second time as you get used to the recipe and do things inefficiently.
However, standing on my feet for five hours without respite made my feet tired. If I'm ever the matriarch of a big family insha'Allah, I will bring a chair into the kitchen and keep idling interlopers out!
As I told my roommate, being in a relationship means my biological clock has come to a complete halt. Eerrrrrkkkk! No babies! It's like those commercials from the 90s for furniture stores. "No payments, no interest until 1998!" Okay. No babies until 2015! At least, seriously...
But I do look forward to having my own little family of cuties. :) I went to a spirituals concert last night with my public health mentor and her family. Masha'Allah she's got an adorable little family...three kids, 11, seven and three. The baby was at home and the seven-year-old was falling asleep by the end of the concert. She's an OB/GYN, clinical director of Women's Health at Children's/BWH and she works in community health centers (what I want to do, insha'Allah!). She helps me see that it can be done.
She had her first baby at 33, I think. That's a good age to start...the earliest I'm considering is like, maybe the last year of residency (thus 2015...I'll be 30...aaaaaahhhhhh!), since I want to do fellowship. Then, there would be a gap, and maybe I'd have one after in the second year of my practicing (2017-2018), so I could, like, get actual maternity leave.
That all depends on if, you know, I'm married by then, haha! B knows I'm a schemer...he'll be alright. He already said that he wanted four. He asked me how many I wanted. I said three or more.
My roommates, like my cooking time, think that four children is excessive. So do they also probably think that the meticulousness with which I cleaned the house was excessive. I do look forward to being the matriarch and sharing these responsibilities with my husband...until the kids are old enough to take over, muahahaha!
Seriously, who needs a cleaning service when you have children! Trick them into helping when they're young, and you've got service until they move out! That's my plan, anyway...
Okay, I'm getting ahead of myself.
I sent B a message telling him that one day I should cook dinner for him (I already made him breakfast one day), or we should cook together. Together, we can make a poor couple's attempt at Nigerian food. Together, we can rule the world...muahahahahaha!
Just kidding.
Anyway, back to work today...sitting for hours instead of standing!
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Love Hasn't Changed
As salaam alaikum,
It took me 9 hours yesterday to twist my hair. Whoo! What an ordeal. It's my fault for making them too small. I meant to write this entry yesterday when I was so inspired, but after running errands today, this is the first chance I have to do it. Just as well.
I'm seeing B after not having seen him for two and a half weeks this evening, iA. And I barely talked to him over break, too. I maybe had hour long conversations with him three times...the rest of the time, it was trying to text him or just failing to call him. Break was lonelier, even though in the presence of my family, this time and I don't know why. I guess I just feel like my parents have their own routine and whereas those first few times I came home, we'd hang out, this time it was like I was just an accessory. They enjoyed my time at home, though.
But that's not what I was going to write about...
If this were even a few months back and someone told me that my life depended on not listening to music anymore, I would have declared myself unable. Now...I think I would actually be able to pull it off.
Why?
Because, I felt entitled.
What?
Yeah, it's confusing, but let me explain.
As I became a more practicing Muslim in college, I learned so many things about Islam and Muslims that I never knew. For example, growing up, I had little idea that some Muslims consider music to be haram. I mean, I did remember that my mother would "fast" music for the entire month of Ramadan, a tradition I upheld for about 6 Ramadans...so, stemming from her reasons for doing that, I could understand it. As I worked to decide how conservative I wanted to be, I considered stopping listening to music altogether.
In the meantime, I think Yusuf Islam had come back to music and I read part of his explanation why...I never got through the whole thing. I considered that pretty powerful...a revert who had denounced music, abandoning his career, coming back to music.
So, I resolved to employ what I now know is media literacy...I am very cognizant of what I take into my body, what it means, how it affects me. I absolutely will not listen to music with Atheist themes, even if slight, or any songs that go against my theology (if they are religious songs).
But now, at this juncture in my life, I see the wisdom in not listening to music that I didn't see before...
I said I felt entitled. That was the other reason why I didn't give up music. I was trying to be patient, and in the name of Allah (swt) and my Islam, I avoided all relationships so that I would be sure that sex would only happen in marriage, and that the process of my getting married was done properly. But at the same time, I was lonely, very lonely. There was a time in my late teen years where I cried myself to sleep nearly every night, I think, for every day that I was still alone. At the same time, I prayed and I prayed and I became more practicing and I prayed...but without the fullness of faith that all would be alright.
So, in my mind, I was suffering, but for me, it was a self-righteous struggle. Yes, I was just another Muslimah striving in the way of Allah (swt), striving, praying to achieve patience, persevering, in a time when my body is ready and fully capable of being a wife and a mother. Listening to music, whose themes addressed love and for me was often a catharsis...was the least I could do, the least of several other evils in my mind.
Because I was waiting, because I was perpetually single and in wait for half my religion to realize itself, I was entitled to have my music.
But now, I'm moving forward and on into uncharted territory. I'm never going to be perpetually single again...even if this relationship were to end, the 7 year drought (if I count from 18 onward) has ended.
And it's not that I rationalized that I no longer need music...I just, no longer feel about music the way I used to.
That being said, I did listen to about an hour and a half of my favorite Stevie Wonder songs on youtube while doing my hair and still enjoyed it, so it's not like I totally dislike music. I can just do without it.
So if someone told me that my life depended on it or that it was better at this point for me not to listen to it, I'd be able to do it.
But still, love hasn't changed.
And what do I mean by that?
I listen to some of the songs and I remember how I felt about my last major crush, MQ. The song that describes how I felt when I first started falling for him was "Overjoyed," by Stevie Wonder ("And though you don't believe that they do, they do come true. For did my dreams come true when I looked at you. And maybe, too, if you would believe, you, too, might be overjoyed, over love, over me"). The song of my disillusionment was Djavan's "Doidice." (translated: "I fell in love? Maybe, it could be. I went crazy? I don't know, I've never seen it. I need to leave. After I discovered that there is you, I never existed again.")
There's not one song that describes what it's like for me when I fall in love. The reason I can go without listening to music now is that I now feel validated...what I felt, those crushes, I fell in love with those men. I'm validated because I'm in the process of falling in love with another, and I'm not there yet, and I know where it can go.
I can't even put into words what my love is, but once I'm there, I'd follow the man to the ends of the earth if that's where he was going without batting an eyelid. For me, love is not mystical-magical. It's part admiration (of a man's intellect, his personality, his aspirations, his charity) and it's part my estimation of whether or not this person is good with God.
I'm not yet in love with B because I'm still gauging his faith and what he thinks about my faith. MQ was easy. He was already Muslim, so I made assumptions about where he was in his faith. But if B were Muslim, I'd be praying for him to propose to me already!
So yes...I listen to old music and I know, I've been in love before, and the formula is the same. Love for me hasn't changed. I'll know it when I'm there.
But now that I'm sure of it...and now that I'm experiencing a relationship...most of the music where people try to approximate the feeling seems hackneyed at best. It pales in comparison to the real experience and is valueless, often. Or rather, their value-thin.
For me, love is not valueless. There is no romantic love for me because romantic love sounds devoid of spirituality, while my falling in love is so linked to spirituality and my conceptions of religion...and practicality. I only fall for someone who I think has feelings for me back. That's not romantic.
So love hasn't changed. I still know how it feels. I'll know it when I get there, if I get there with B or not. But I'm growing so I'll get there in a more practical way, in a better time frame. I'm growing and I'm learning things that I knew abstractly would exist that I'd have to deal with and here I am, facing them, on to the next one, as it were.
Now, just waiting for him to get off of work so we can have dinner...the quesadilla I made and the cherries I ate will hold me until we finally get things going, which I posit will be 7-8pm.
It took me 9 hours yesterday to twist my hair. Whoo! What an ordeal. It's my fault for making them too small. I meant to write this entry yesterday when I was so inspired, but after running errands today, this is the first chance I have to do it. Just as well.
I'm seeing B after not having seen him for two and a half weeks this evening, iA. And I barely talked to him over break, too. I maybe had hour long conversations with him three times...the rest of the time, it was trying to text him or just failing to call him. Break was lonelier, even though in the presence of my family, this time and I don't know why. I guess I just feel like my parents have their own routine and whereas those first few times I came home, we'd hang out, this time it was like I was just an accessory. They enjoyed my time at home, though.
But that's not what I was going to write about...
If this were even a few months back and someone told me that my life depended on not listening to music anymore, I would have declared myself unable. Now...I think I would actually be able to pull it off.
Why?
Because, I felt entitled.
What?
Yeah, it's confusing, but let me explain.
As I became a more practicing Muslim in college, I learned so many things about Islam and Muslims that I never knew. For example, growing up, I had little idea that some Muslims consider music to be haram. I mean, I did remember that my mother would "fast" music for the entire month of Ramadan, a tradition I upheld for about 6 Ramadans...so, stemming from her reasons for doing that, I could understand it. As I worked to decide how conservative I wanted to be, I considered stopping listening to music altogether.
In the meantime, I think Yusuf Islam had come back to music and I read part of his explanation why...I never got through the whole thing. I considered that pretty powerful...a revert who had denounced music, abandoning his career, coming back to music.
So, I resolved to employ what I now know is media literacy...I am very cognizant of what I take into my body, what it means, how it affects me. I absolutely will not listen to music with Atheist themes, even if slight, or any songs that go against my theology (if they are religious songs).
But now, at this juncture in my life, I see the wisdom in not listening to music that I didn't see before...
I said I felt entitled. That was the other reason why I didn't give up music. I was trying to be patient, and in the name of Allah (swt) and my Islam, I avoided all relationships so that I would be sure that sex would only happen in marriage, and that the process of my getting married was done properly. But at the same time, I was lonely, very lonely. There was a time in my late teen years where I cried myself to sleep nearly every night, I think, for every day that I was still alone. At the same time, I prayed and I prayed and I became more practicing and I prayed...but without the fullness of faith that all would be alright.
So, in my mind, I was suffering, but for me, it was a self-righteous struggle. Yes, I was just another Muslimah striving in the way of Allah (swt), striving, praying to achieve patience, persevering, in a time when my body is ready and fully capable of being a wife and a mother. Listening to music, whose themes addressed love and for me was often a catharsis...was the least I could do, the least of several other evils in my mind.
Because I was waiting, because I was perpetually single and in wait for half my religion to realize itself, I was entitled to have my music.
But now, I'm moving forward and on into uncharted territory. I'm never going to be perpetually single again...even if this relationship were to end, the 7 year drought (if I count from 18 onward) has ended.
And it's not that I rationalized that I no longer need music...I just, no longer feel about music the way I used to.
That being said, I did listen to about an hour and a half of my favorite Stevie Wonder songs on youtube while doing my hair and still enjoyed it, so it's not like I totally dislike music. I can just do without it.
So if someone told me that my life depended on it or that it was better at this point for me not to listen to it, I'd be able to do it.
But still, love hasn't changed.
And what do I mean by that?
I listen to some of the songs and I remember how I felt about my last major crush, MQ. The song that describes how I felt when I first started falling for him was "Overjoyed," by Stevie Wonder ("And though you don't believe that they do, they do come true. For did my dreams come true when I looked at you. And maybe, too, if you would believe, you, too, might be overjoyed, over love, over me"). The song of my disillusionment was Djavan's "Doidice." (translated: "I fell in love? Maybe, it could be. I went crazy? I don't know, I've never seen it. I need to leave. After I discovered that there is you, I never existed again.")
There's not one song that describes what it's like for me when I fall in love. The reason I can go without listening to music now is that I now feel validated...what I felt, those crushes, I fell in love with those men. I'm validated because I'm in the process of falling in love with another, and I'm not there yet, and I know where it can go.
I can't even put into words what my love is, but once I'm there, I'd follow the man to the ends of the earth if that's where he was going without batting an eyelid. For me, love is not mystical-magical. It's part admiration (of a man's intellect, his personality, his aspirations, his charity) and it's part my estimation of whether or not this person is good with God.
I'm not yet in love with B because I'm still gauging his faith and what he thinks about my faith. MQ was easy. He was already Muslim, so I made assumptions about where he was in his faith. But if B were Muslim, I'd be praying for him to propose to me already!
So yes...I listen to old music and I know, I've been in love before, and the formula is the same. Love for me hasn't changed. I'll know it when I'm there.
But now that I'm sure of it...and now that I'm experiencing a relationship...most of the music where people try to approximate the feeling seems hackneyed at best. It pales in comparison to the real experience and is valueless, often. Or rather, their value-thin.
For me, love is not valueless. There is no romantic love for me because romantic love sounds devoid of spirituality, while my falling in love is so linked to spirituality and my conceptions of religion...and practicality. I only fall for someone who I think has feelings for me back. That's not romantic.
So love hasn't changed. I still know how it feels. I'll know it when I get there, if I get there with B or not. But I'm growing so I'll get there in a more practical way, in a better time frame. I'm growing and I'm learning things that I knew abstractly would exist that I'd have to deal with and here I am, facing them, on to the next one, as it were.
Now, just waiting for him to get off of work so we can have dinner...the quesadilla I made and the cherries I ate will hold me until we finally get things going, which I posit will be 7-8pm.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Dony! Doni! Done!
As salaam alaikum!
It's done! It's done! Yes yes yes done done done!
What's done? My story, of course!
A Rose Much Desired is done! Yayayayayayay!
I was kind of dizzy because I haven't eaten all day...not because I spent all day writing this, nor am I fasting right now. It was unwise of me to not eat in my condition wink wink ladies you know what I'm talking about wink, but I had tons of stuff to do, wanted to finish my work for my sexuality class early, cleaned my pigsty of a room while listening to Pandora, all of this stuff...and then I just decided to sit down at about 3:30pm to finish the story, now that I'd come up with an idea for the second-to-last chapter, and I just went for it. The last chapter was very quick to write, because I've known what happens in the last chapter forever, and there it was!
I was finished as of 5pm tonight. After three years (because I started writing it November 1, 2007, right?), 256 pages 10 point Verdana double spaced, 93,000-some words, the first novel that I've ever written as an adult is finished. Alhamdulillah!
...now, for the gargantuan task of editing it...a second time. The first read through of it started in May, as I was starting my family medicine rotation. I've spent the last three or four months writing the last 40 pages or so, and now, it's done!
Woohoo!
Editing it will take me a little bit of time, and then after I edit through it once, I'm soliciting my cousins, my mother and B to read it. B...hahaha, we'll see what he thinks of me after he reads it, but he wants to read it, so I'm like, ohhh-kay...
And then, while folks are reading it, I'll look into this publishing thing...I just want to try my hand at getting published, just once!
...now, here's hoping I don't hate it when I read it.
I hope I can get it published so everyone who's known I was writing it can read it! Yayayay!
It's a celebration!
It's done! It's done! Yes yes yes done done done!
What's done? My story, of course!
A Rose Much Desired is done! Yayayayayayay!
I was kind of dizzy because I haven't eaten all day...not because I spent all day writing this, nor am I fasting right now. It was unwise of me to not eat in my condition wink wink ladies you know what I'm talking about wink, but I had tons of stuff to do, wanted to finish my work for my sexuality class early, cleaned my pigsty of a room while listening to Pandora, all of this stuff...and then I just decided to sit down at about 3:30pm to finish the story, now that I'd come up with an idea for the second-to-last chapter, and I just went for it. The last chapter was very quick to write, because I've known what happens in the last chapter forever, and there it was!
I was finished as of 5pm tonight. After three years (because I started writing it November 1, 2007, right?), 256 pages 10 point Verdana double spaced, 93,000-some words, the first novel that I've ever written as an adult is finished. Alhamdulillah!
...now, for the gargantuan task of editing it...a second time. The first read through of it started in May, as I was starting my family medicine rotation. I've spent the last three or four months writing the last 40 pages or so, and now, it's done!
Woohoo!
Editing it will take me a little bit of time, and then after I edit through it once, I'm soliciting my cousins, my mother and B to read it. B...hahaha, we'll see what he thinks of me after he reads it, but he wants to read it, so I'm like, ohhh-kay...
And then, while folks are reading it, I'll look into this publishing thing...I just want to try my hand at getting published, just once!
...now, here's hoping I don't hate it when I read it.
I hope I can get it published so everyone who's known I was writing it can read it! Yayayay!
It's a celebration!
Monday, September 6, 2010
Police at Iftar and Cultureless Muslimah
As salaam alaikum,
Well, HLM (Harvard Longwood Muslims) had their last iftar Friday night. This was the first year that I wasn't able to make each iftar...one because I wasn't in Boston, and the other because I was with my parents. I mean, I would have taken my parents (free food), but I think that would have been an overwhelming and not enjoyable experience for my father, haha...and probably not for me, either. And stressful for my mother, because she hasn't belonged to a Muslim community since the days of the NOI (1970s). Yeah.
As we were praying, there were a couple of little kids running through the isles that I was trying to ignore/not collide with, and I had a feeling that it'd be like this if I ever made it to ISBCC for Jummah (I may start going to HLM Jummahs, since I'm back at Longwood and have that break before my Gender and Health class...). Anyway, poor kid was terrified and start tapping his mother (who was next to me), saying, "Mom, mom, there's a scary police man here! He's watching, he's going to get us!"
I didn't pay too much attention because...well, I was trying not to, anyway, but sure enough, after Maghrib I got up, my scarf around my shoulders to see an officer of sorts...I didn't stare at him to see if he was security or police, but he was there, arms crossed, watching as we prayed.
And you know, I could henceforth erupt into a rant, waxing philosophically, reflect on how outlandish parties were held by my medical school classmates, kegs were smuggled in, and the only time the police came was when some jilted student who had to be in the hospital early the next day got angry and passive aggressively called on them...but we know how it goes, yeah? I'm actually surprised that hasn't happened before.
After all, my extended (very extended) family at one of the reunions that I could make, was gassed by the police during their Sunday dinner after church because they were called on a noise violation or something at the hall they'd rented. Granted, this was the South, but though I was upset I wasn't surprised. Same thing...I'm not surprised about this, and I don't think most people even noticed, but it was unnecessary.
But then again, when you have Americans thinking that no gathering of Muslims is free of violence (as I heard of one assembly in Chicago...wow, they must live in a terrified world), I expect nothing less.
To shift gears dramatically, also during the iftar, I had a couple of really interesting interactions that I think will be summarized by paraphrasing a conversation that was had between two of the sisters at my table. I met this sis, Maliha, Friday who is in my concentration. Another sister at the table who was a dentist (forgetting her name right now...) started this line of conversation with Maliha that went something like this:
"So Maliha, where are you from?" "Oh, I'm from India, actually..." "With a name like Maliha, I would have expected you to be Arab!" "[Maliha gives an explanation of her father's choice for her name.]" "And where were you before now?" "[Maliha tells where she's lived]" "You know, looking at you, I wouldn't think you were Indian." "Oh, I get that all the time!" "Yeah, I'd say you were maybe...Persian, maybe even Turkish." Another sister, Safia, gets into the conversation, "Maybe it's the way that she ties her scarf, too." "Yes, I think that's it."
This conversation is not an isolated incident. During the last couple of iftars, the group I usually hung out with has been busy doing rotations and have not been able to attend. As a result, I sat at a different table each time and met new people. I realized this was a rich experience and while I'm sorry I didn't do it earlier, I have an entire additional year to do it, since I've decided to prolong my education with this public health degree, so I'm not too sorry.
But anyway, maybe this conversation would seem normal for Muslims who actually have a culture, but for this cultureless Muslimah, it was quite an overwhelming and seemingly tedious conversation!
I'm not calling myself crude and therefore uncultured...I'm saying, I don't have a culture. I've been reminded of this several ways. For one, all of the very Nigerian students in my public health school class have forced me to recognize how American I am, from claiming that I mispronounced my own name (I took that as a major affront!) to reflecting on my American accent. Then, I'm a third generation American Muslim. Before that, we were Southern Baptists...before that, we were a conglomeration of African religions as slaves. On my father's side, he was Faith Tabernacle, a denomination of Christianity that I know for stressing faith ("We live by faith, not by sight," and "Faith without works is dead" type of thing)...before that, the only story I hear is of in 1900, my grandfather was in the arms of my great-grandmother as she ran from the white men (the British). So who knows what religion they were. My grandfather was a Faith Tabernacle pastor...his is an interesting story that I would be digressing too much to tell.
Anyway, all of that to say...my Muslim "lineage" doesn't run deep, certainly not as deep as those of most Muslims who attend the iftars.
So I get a very similar ethnicity probe when I come to iftars. "What is your name?" "Chinyere." "[pause] Wait, say that again?" "Chinyere." "ChEEN-yeh-ray?" "Yes, awesome. What's your name?" "[they say their name]." "Nice to meet you!" "Likewise. [pause] Such a(n) [adjective] name. What ethnicity is it/where is it from? What does it mean?"
And I end up having to tell an abbreviated version of my life's story because my name isn't a Muslim name. Which is fine...I like talking about myself (should be rather obvious by now), but man, how fascinated by (if not fixated on) ethnicity and culture are we!
I am cultureless. Yes, I am American, I was born in the US, but seriously? So many of our customs are borrowed from other people's cultures, anyway...what we have that is unique is an artifact of industrialization and the bastardization of cultural practices from every immigrants home country, and bam, made in the USA. But my Islam is cultureless. On Eid (and at my first nikah/Jewish wedding), I don't wear "my country's" Muslim woman attire...I end up inventing an outfit of my own, usually made up of a dress and pants. If I were ever to host an iftar, I'd end up making my own bastardized versions of Dominican and Nigerian food...with maybe pasta and fried rice thrown in, which in themselves are cultural knock-offs.
The thing is...I guess I could adopt someone else's culture, but I don't want to. After all of this time of stressing about whether or not I have a culture, I really don't care as much anymore, but I kind of like the American mut feel to my existence. I think it's beautiful, actually, a gift from Allah (swt), much as I am (as that's what my name means in Igbo, God's gift).
I'm teasing, but the fact remains...that is my name.
Anyway, I do actually enjoy making up my own outfits, cooking other people's cultural food, cooking "soul food" and experimenting with Nigerian food. I like speaking two languages of people I am not at all related to. I like dreaming up my own customs and gatherings, making them real once I have a family of my own.
I like the idea of incorporating American and Nigerian culture into my eventual wedding ceremony with whoever I end up marrying...we'll have to substitute palm wine for like, white grape juice or something, and then, we'll like, jump a broom after the nikah...something like that.
I always say if life throws you crap, make lemonade, but the fact of the matter is, life isn't throwing crap. Facing every adversity--or in my case, idiosyncrasy--and reacting accordingly is in fact a blessing that is purposeful and meant to make us stronger people...and sometimes to make life more colorful. I'm not worried at other people turning up their nose at my bastardness. Let them turn their noses up even higher, so that I may know who they are and avoid them.
Somewhere out there there's someone who will appreciate my culturelessness...that's all I'm waiting for, though not with bated breath.
...and my misuse of this word has just ascended to dangerous heights. I'd better get to sleep while I'm a little head...
A little...
Well, HLM (Harvard Longwood Muslims) had their last iftar Friday night. This was the first year that I wasn't able to make each iftar...one because I wasn't in Boston, and the other because I was with my parents. I mean, I would have taken my parents (free food), but I think that would have been an overwhelming and not enjoyable experience for my father, haha...and probably not for me, either. And stressful for my mother, because she hasn't belonged to a Muslim community since the days of the NOI (1970s). Yeah.
As we were praying, there were a couple of little kids running through the isles that I was trying to ignore/not collide with, and I had a feeling that it'd be like this if I ever made it to ISBCC for Jummah (I may start going to HLM Jummahs, since I'm back at Longwood and have that break before my Gender and Health class...). Anyway, poor kid was terrified and start tapping his mother (who was next to me), saying, "Mom, mom, there's a scary police man here! He's watching, he's going to get us!"
I didn't pay too much attention because...well, I was trying not to, anyway, but sure enough, after Maghrib I got up, my scarf around my shoulders to see an officer of sorts...I didn't stare at him to see if he was security or police, but he was there, arms crossed, watching as we prayed.
And you know, I could henceforth erupt into a rant, waxing philosophically, reflect on how outlandish parties were held by my medical school classmates, kegs were smuggled in, and the only time the police came was when some jilted student who had to be in the hospital early the next day got angry and passive aggressively called on them...but we know how it goes, yeah? I'm actually surprised that hasn't happened before.
After all, my extended (very extended) family at one of the reunions that I could make, was gassed by the police during their Sunday dinner after church because they were called on a noise violation or something at the hall they'd rented. Granted, this was the South, but though I was upset I wasn't surprised. Same thing...I'm not surprised about this, and I don't think most people even noticed, but it was unnecessary.
But then again, when you have Americans thinking that no gathering of Muslims is free of violence (as I heard of one assembly in Chicago...wow, they must live in a terrified world), I expect nothing less.
To shift gears dramatically, also during the iftar, I had a couple of really interesting interactions that I think will be summarized by paraphrasing a conversation that was had between two of the sisters at my table. I met this sis, Maliha, Friday who is in my concentration. Another sister at the table who was a dentist (forgetting her name right now...) started this line of conversation with Maliha that went something like this:
"So Maliha, where are you from?" "Oh, I'm from India, actually..." "With a name like Maliha, I would have expected you to be Arab!" "[Maliha gives an explanation of her father's choice for her name.]" "And where were you before now?" "[Maliha tells where she's lived]" "You know, looking at you, I wouldn't think you were Indian." "Oh, I get that all the time!" "Yeah, I'd say you were maybe...Persian, maybe even Turkish." Another sister, Safia, gets into the conversation, "Maybe it's the way that she ties her scarf, too." "Yes, I think that's it."
This conversation is not an isolated incident. During the last couple of iftars, the group I usually hung out with has been busy doing rotations and have not been able to attend. As a result, I sat at a different table each time and met new people. I realized this was a rich experience and while I'm sorry I didn't do it earlier, I have an entire additional year to do it, since I've decided to prolong my education with this public health degree, so I'm not too sorry.
But anyway, maybe this conversation would seem normal for Muslims who actually have a culture, but for this cultureless Muslimah, it was quite an overwhelming and seemingly tedious conversation!
I'm not calling myself crude and therefore uncultured...I'm saying, I don't have a culture. I've been reminded of this several ways. For one, all of the very Nigerian students in my public health school class have forced me to recognize how American I am, from claiming that I mispronounced my own name (I took that as a major affront!) to reflecting on my American accent. Then, I'm a third generation American Muslim. Before that, we were Southern Baptists...before that, we were a conglomeration of African religions as slaves. On my father's side, he was Faith Tabernacle, a denomination of Christianity that I know for stressing faith ("We live by faith, not by sight," and "Faith without works is dead" type of thing)...before that, the only story I hear is of in 1900, my grandfather was in the arms of my great-grandmother as she ran from the white men (the British). So who knows what religion they were. My grandfather was a Faith Tabernacle pastor...his is an interesting story that I would be digressing too much to tell.
Anyway, all of that to say...my Muslim "lineage" doesn't run deep, certainly not as deep as those of most Muslims who attend the iftars.
So I get a very similar ethnicity probe when I come to iftars. "What is your name?" "Chinyere." "[pause] Wait, say that again?" "Chinyere." "ChEEN-yeh-ray?" "Yes, awesome. What's your name?" "[they say their name]." "Nice to meet you!" "Likewise. [pause] Such a(n) [adjective] name. What ethnicity is it/where is it from? What does it mean?"
And I end up having to tell an abbreviated version of my life's story because my name isn't a Muslim name. Which is fine...I like talking about myself (should be rather obvious by now), but man, how fascinated by (if not fixated on) ethnicity and culture are we!
I am cultureless. Yes, I am American, I was born in the US, but seriously? So many of our customs are borrowed from other people's cultures, anyway...what we have that is unique is an artifact of industrialization and the bastardization of cultural practices from every immigrants home country, and bam, made in the USA. But my Islam is cultureless. On Eid (and at my first nikah/Jewish wedding), I don't wear "my country's" Muslim woman attire...I end up inventing an outfit of my own, usually made up of a dress and pants. If I were ever to host an iftar, I'd end up making my own bastardized versions of Dominican and Nigerian food...with maybe pasta and fried rice thrown in, which in themselves are cultural knock-offs.
The thing is...I guess I could adopt someone else's culture, but I don't want to. After all of this time of stressing about whether or not I have a culture, I really don't care as much anymore, but I kind of like the American mut feel to my existence. I think it's beautiful, actually, a gift from Allah (swt), much as I am (as that's what my name means in Igbo, God's gift).
I'm teasing, but the fact remains...that is my name.
Anyway, I do actually enjoy making up my own outfits, cooking other people's cultural food, cooking "soul food" and experimenting with Nigerian food. I like speaking two languages of people I am not at all related to. I like dreaming up my own customs and gatherings, making them real once I have a family of my own.
I like the idea of incorporating American and Nigerian culture into my eventual wedding ceremony with whoever I end up marrying...we'll have to substitute palm wine for like, white grape juice or something, and then, we'll like, jump a broom after the nikah...something like that.
I always say if life throws you crap, make lemonade, but the fact of the matter is, life isn't throwing crap. Facing every adversity--or in my case, idiosyncrasy--and reacting accordingly is in fact a blessing that is purposeful and meant to make us stronger people...and sometimes to make life more colorful. I'm not worried at other people turning up their nose at my bastardness. Let them turn their noses up even higher, so that I may know who they are and avoid them.
Somewhere out there there's someone who will appreciate my culturelessness...that's all I'm waiting for, though not with bated breath.
...and my misuse of this word has just ascended to dangerous heights. I'd better get to sleep while I'm a little head...
A little...
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!
Monday, August 23, 2010
Height of...Happiness
As salaam alaikum,
(I wrote this actually a few days ago, but am posting it now...)
If there's something else I don't often blog about, it's about happiness. I mean, in general, I think I talk plenty about the meaning of life, what's fulfilling to me, what's amused me...well, okay, that's a lie, I think I do talk about what makes me happy. Family medicine makes me happy, for example.
But there are just some times when my happiness goes above even that. This last week with my parents here vacationing over the river in Cambridge, I've had a few of those moments...not necessarily with them or because of them, but just in general.
One of them happened while I was...
- sailing out on the Massachusetts Bay, at Long Warf, seeing families enjoying the sunny day outside
- watching a clip of Glee and seeing how cute the Glee kids were and their excitement about seeing posters of themselves in New York
- biting into a plum, discovering that it was one of those that's purple inside, therefore sweet, then eating it
These moments inspire a level of happiness in me that I'm not quite able to explain. It's like...happiness at the cusp. It's like, it makes me so happy, I almost want to cry, but I don't...not because I'm holding back, but because I don't cross that threshold yet. And because crying is kind of a release of emotion, not crying sustains that happiness in my chest, and it makes my chest feel really light. It's a feeling that I can't exactly recreate, but the remembrance of the specific event or image does make me smile and I experience a similar lightness in my chest. It's pretty amazing.
So sometimes I get these feelings out of the blue, with nothing in particular happening, and I feel like it's a premonition. I had that feeling yesterday evening as my father dropped me off in front of my apartment. There were a bunch of guys crossing the street who must have just left the hospital because they had cups of coffee in their hands from coffee central. There was nothing quite that interesting about the guys except that as we passed them, I got that light feeling in my chest, though I wasn't smiling. And then I got this sudden premonition...something happy is going to happen to me in a few days time.
I had this feeling earlier, except the premonition was that it was going to happen "soon," which could be in a few months time...which is sooner than soon has ever been for me.
But now, it's a few days.
I don't know what to make of all of this happiness. I'm going to revel in it and take it to prayer. What better time do I have than this, smack dab in the middle of Ramadan!
Keep me in your du'as!
(I wrote this actually a few days ago, but am posting it now...)
If there's something else I don't often blog about, it's about happiness. I mean, in general, I think I talk plenty about the meaning of life, what's fulfilling to me, what's amused me...well, okay, that's a lie, I think I do talk about what makes me happy. Family medicine makes me happy, for example.
But there are just some times when my happiness goes above even that. This last week with my parents here vacationing over the river in Cambridge, I've had a few of those moments...not necessarily with them or because of them, but just in general.
One of them happened while I was...
- sailing out on the Massachusetts Bay, at Long Warf, seeing families enjoying the sunny day outside
- watching a clip of Glee and seeing how cute the Glee kids were and their excitement about seeing posters of themselves in New York
- biting into a plum, discovering that it was one of those that's purple inside, therefore sweet, then eating it
These moments inspire a level of happiness in me that I'm not quite able to explain. It's like...happiness at the cusp. It's like, it makes me so happy, I almost want to cry, but I don't...not because I'm holding back, but because I don't cross that threshold yet. And because crying is kind of a release of emotion, not crying sustains that happiness in my chest, and it makes my chest feel really light. It's a feeling that I can't exactly recreate, but the remembrance of the specific event or image does make me smile and I experience a similar lightness in my chest. It's pretty amazing.
So sometimes I get these feelings out of the blue, with nothing in particular happening, and I feel like it's a premonition. I had that feeling yesterday evening as my father dropped me off in front of my apartment. There were a bunch of guys crossing the street who must have just left the hospital because they had cups of coffee in their hands from coffee central. There was nothing quite that interesting about the guys except that as we passed them, I got that light feeling in my chest, though I wasn't smiling. And then I got this sudden premonition...something happy is going to happen to me in a few days time.
I had this feeling earlier, except the premonition was that it was going to happen "soon," which could be in a few months time...which is sooner than soon has ever been for me.
But now, it's a few days.
I don't know what to make of all of this happiness. I'm going to revel in it and take it to prayer. What better time do I have than this, smack dab in the middle of Ramadan!
Keep me in your du'as!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
When Life Throws You Crap, Make Lemonade!
As salaam alaikum,
I got a fair amount of studying done this morning, but as usual, during studying, I'm prone to get distracted. I was starving because I had run out of all of my fruit, which is basically what I snack on between breakfast and dinner with this new diet I'm on. I guess it's working. I'm also working out 1-2 hours six days a week. Cardio and weights, then Saturday is my samba class. All of this, and I was pretty much starving at noon while trying to study. Like seriously, I felt my body shutting down.
I eventually found some stale crackers in the pantry, but that was no good. It was time to go shopping!
There was no way I was going to walk 30 minutes to go the Shaw's. My former roommate when to great lengths to be cheap, but I needed to buy frozen stuff and I didn't care that it was only 73 degrees outside. Stuff was still going to melt, and I didn't want to walk 30 minutes from Boston into Cambridge to Somerville with a granny cart. So I dug up my Peapod account and my groceries will be delivered tomorrow evening. Awesome!
Alhamdulillah, the obsession circuit has calmed down and today has been a much more normal day. I'm also going to try something. For some reason, randomly, I was studying...pulm, I think, I suddenly remember this man remarking about how good his sisters' lassis were.
For those who don't know, lassi is a beverage made in India/Pakistan. My favorite is the mango lassi...I get it pretty much every time I get Indian food.
Then I thought about "A Man's Hands," the short, autobiographical piece that I wrote for the Muslim women's relationship anthology, and how it begins with me thinking about "Sadiq" while exchanging glances with "James" while sitting in an Indian restaurant, and how Sadiq existed for me as an apparition, and how I'd once imagined learning how to cook Indian food to appease his mother if we ever got together.
And I was like, pssh, I don't care about him! I like Indian food. It's like, give me foo foo and soup any day, and I'll chew on stock fish with the best of them, but Indian food is awesome.
So I didn't have to be ending up with this guy to learn how to cook Indian food. Let me continue being the cultural contradiction that I am and learn how to cook Indian food.
And if it comes down to it, there are several Indian import stores in Boston and Cambridge. I know this one lady stopped me in the street one day on my lunch break from clinic and offered to do henna for me. I can only imagine coming back from lunch break with henna, haha...my preceptor would have loved that. Not really. But they probably have spices.
So, I don't have all of my groceries yet, but I made mango lassi tonight. It's...awesomely easy to make. My next task...I'm going to make chicken tikka masala.
...hahaha!
I'll wait until I get home to make foo foo and soup. In the meantime, I have to see if I can find real yams from somewhere.
So what does this have anything to do with anything, especially the title? Taking crap and making lemonade?
That's exactly what I'm doing. My butt is huge right now. I'm working out like crazy and dieting to try to lose all the weight I've gained over the last two years, and then some. If I'm going to diet, I'm at least going to eat stuff that I like. And while occasionally my mind gets stuck in maladaptive circuits and I think of this man, maybe I can do something with this circuit and redirect it to something productive.
So I'm going to be cooking a lot more in the upcoming days...Igbo, Dominican and Indian food. Why Dominican food? Because it's been a long time. I'm going to make several beverages...lassi, avena and batidas.
And I bought some Guaraná for good measure.
And once I get done studying, I'll look into picking up another language. I know I'm 25 and I'm pushing it in terms of language learning, but I'm up for a new challenge.
This is, after all, my "year off." Samba class is cool, but there are tons more other random and fun things I can do with my life right now instead of letting my brain get the better of me.
So I'll try it...I'll let you know how it goes!
{Currently listening: Never Give You Up - Raphael Saadiq f. Stevie Wonder and CJ}
I got a fair amount of studying done this morning, but as usual, during studying, I'm prone to get distracted. I was starving because I had run out of all of my fruit, which is basically what I snack on between breakfast and dinner with this new diet I'm on. I guess it's working. I'm also working out 1-2 hours six days a week. Cardio and weights, then Saturday is my samba class. All of this, and I was pretty much starving at noon while trying to study. Like seriously, I felt my body shutting down.
I eventually found some stale crackers in the pantry, but that was no good. It was time to go shopping!
There was no way I was going to walk 30 minutes to go the Shaw's. My former roommate when to great lengths to be cheap, but I needed to buy frozen stuff and I didn't care that it was only 73 degrees outside. Stuff was still going to melt, and I didn't want to walk 30 minutes from Boston into Cambridge to Somerville with a granny cart. So I dug up my Peapod account and my groceries will be delivered tomorrow evening. Awesome!
Alhamdulillah, the obsession circuit has calmed down and today has been a much more normal day. I'm also going to try something. For some reason, randomly, I was studying...pulm, I think, I suddenly remember this man remarking about how good his sisters' lassis were.
For those who don't know, lassi is a beverage made in India/Pakistan. My favorite is the mango lassi...I get it pretty much every time I get Indian food.
Then I thought about "A Man's Hands," the short, autobiographical piece that I wrote for the Muslim women's relationship anthology, and how it begins with me thinking about "Sadiq" while exchanging glances with "James" while sitting in an Indian restaurant, and how Sadiq existed for me as an apparition, and how I'd once imagined learning how to cook Indian food to appease his mother if we ever got together.
And I was like, pssh, I don't care about him! I like Indian food. It's like, give me foo foo and soup any day, and I'll chew on stock fish with the best of them, but Indian food is awesome.
So I didn't have to be ending up with this guy to learn how to cook Indian food. Let me continue being the cultural contradiction that I am and learn how to cook Indian food.
And if it comes down to it, there are several Indian import stores in Boston and Cambridge. I know this one lady stopped me in the street one day on my lunch break from clinic and offered to do henna for me. I can only imagine coming back from lunch break with henna, haha...my preceptor would have loved that. Not really. But they probably have spices.
So, I don't have all of my groceries yet, but I made mango lassi tonight. It's...awesomely easy to make. My next task...I'm going to make chicken tikka masala.
...hahaha!
I'll wait until I get home to make foo foo and soup. In the meantime, I have to see if I can find real yams from somewhere.
So what does this have anything to do with anything, especially the title? Taking crap and making lemonade?
That's exactly what I'm doing. My butt is huge right now. I'm working out like crazy and dieting to try to lose all the weight I've gained over the last two years, and then some. If I'm going to diet, I'm at least going to eat stuff that I like. And while occasionally my mind gets stuck in maladaptive circuits and I think of this man, maybe I can do something with this circuit and redirect it to something productive.
So I'm going to be cooking a lot more in the upcoming days...Igbo, Dominican and Indian food. Why Dominican food? Because it's been a long time. I'm going to make several beverages...lassi, avena and batidas.
And I bought some Guaraná for good measure.
And once I get done studying, I'll look into picking up another language. I know I'm 25 and I'm pushing it in terms of language learning, but I'm up for a new challenge.
This is, after all, my "year off." Samba class is cool, but there are tons more other random and fun things I can do with my life right now instead of letting my brain get the better of me.
So I'll try it...I'll let you know how it goes!
{Currently listening: Never Give You Up - Raphael Saadiq f. Stevie Wonder and CJ}
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