Love Vignette 1: The Strategic Valentine

Salaam,

I fully intended to be here more often, but I'm not. Alas, the real world and the realities of preparing to marry (namely the building the relationship part, not wedding plans in the least) have sucked me dry of late--of time, not of inspiration. There are so many thoughts I have and so many things that I want to write. So, at this hour, I am sacrificing sleep in favor of my favorite art form...

...yes, even more favorite than music, somehow...

But I can't bring myself to write anything of substance about the state of the world, about politics, about Black Lives Matter, about mass incarceration, about the Flint water crisis, about ISIS, about the refugee crisis...about the various topics that are important to me and swimming around my head right now.

So instead, I will ease myself back into blogging by posting these little Love Vignettes.

I've started easing my fiancé in by telling him stories about guys I've crushed on over the years--one, to assure him he's got no competition. But also to give him a sense of why and how I love. And in telling him these stories, it's reminded me of some of my favorite stories of childhood crushes. Some of the stories are cute. So, in honor of Valentine's Day approaching and my the impending 31st anniversary of my circling the sun (aA), I'm going to share with you some Love Vignettes.

In no particular order.

This one, for Valentine's Day - The Strategic Valentine.

Before I would fall in love for the first time, I had crushes pretty much every year of kindergarten and elementary school. I had my first crush when I was five years old in kindergarten. His name was Terry. I liked him simply because he was cute. With each year, I would fall in like with a boy for a slightly more nuanced reason. By first grade, though, I hadn't gotten that far.

By the first grade, Terry went to another school. Our kindergarten was district-wide, so all of the kindergarteners of the five elementary school district attended school in one building, Thurston Early Childhood Development Center (Thurston ECDC). Graduating from kindergarten meant going to a new school. So it was in Ms. Miller's first grade class that I would meet my next crush, Darryl.

My like for Darryl would begin a years-long preference for husky or chubby men--one that has not borne out in my present relationship, but that's a different story.

Darryl was a husky little boy. Looking back, he probably was prescribed a steroid inhaler for asthma. Or maybe he was just husky. He was in good company, because I was a chubby little girl. I liked him because he was bigger than the other boys. Bigger and a little bit brusk.

I don't think there was very much more to it than that.

Heaven for me was this one time when we were on a field trip to the Henry Ford Museum, which we lovingly called Greenfield Village, though we never spent time in the actual village, and I got to sit next to him on the bus. And we fell asleep on each other! When he woke me as we arrived to Greenfield Village, I tried to act like I was annoyed with him so he wouldn't guess that I reveled in every minute we lay on each other.

Yes, I was six.

Love as a child can be real and complex, but there is something about being a child that makes it forbidden to be out in the open. It would have mortified me for anyone, especially Darryl, to know. I kept it to myself. Most days it was easy. It wasn't like I swooned from afar. It was enough that I knew that I liked him, it was my own little secret, and I was satisfied with that. I didn't have to do anything with that, we didn't have to become an item, nothing like that. It was what it was.

That is, until Valentine's day.

As an almost 8 year old in the second grade, Darryl was still in my class. I realized that Valentine's Day may blow my cover. I don't know if a note went home with all of the kids, but all of our parents bought valentines enough for the whole class and addressed them to the whole class. The best valentines of elementary school were those that included a sucker or some other sizable piece of candy along with them. Or one of those boxes of chalky Valentine's candy. The message was dispensable.

I was advanced enough at that age to help my mother write out the valentines and assemble them. Or maybe I volunteered to help, because I had to do damage control. Darryl couldn't know that I liked him. Therefore, I had to make sure he didn't get a valentine from me that said something like, "I love you," or, "I like you," or something obvious. I didn't want it to be a thing.

So, I poured over the stack of valentines that my mother bought and found one that I thought was pretty generic and innocent such that no one would have any suspicion about my intent. I felt proud of myself and relieved that my secret was safe with me.

Then I got to school. I passed the valentine's out to my friends in class. I got to his desk and put his valentine down and said nothing. As I walked away, I heard him laugh.

"Hey, this is cool! I like this! Hey, look!" he beckoned to his friend sitting next to him. Shoot, shoot, shoot...it had backfired. What happened? Who would have thought he'd pay any attention to a valentine with a dolphin on it?

"Look at this. It says, 'I flip over you!' Isn't that cool? I flip over you."

I buried my head in the desk, mortified, wishing he'd stop reading it aloud.

My valentine to Darryl that I hand picked precisely so he'd have no idea that I liked him ended up being his favorite out of the 20-some kids in class. Probably because it was the only valentine so painstakingly chosen.

But, little did I know, he would never know that I liked him. He'd have no idea. A smart boy would begin to suspect it after he noticed a girl made effort to sit next to him on the bus so she could press her legs next to him and lie on him.

But no, he was an average boy, and average boys have no clue about those things.

I moved on to a boy named Michael in the third grade, who I liked not only for his looks, but because he was smart (I was getting there!). But not again until Kenneth in the fifth grade would I be so mortified at the possibility of someone knowing that I liked a boy.

...though I would continue to keep crushes secret until I was 25 years old.

They Don't Care About Us

Salaam,

As much as I love the Brasil version, this one is the more powerful. No wonder it was banned in the US at the time (and still is?).



And bashed in the NYT. How can saying that "they don't care about us" be bigoted. I don't understand that. To say that such an expression is bigoted is to evoke shame in one who reveals that their benevolent leader is less than caring.

No, "they" don't care about "us," and if we sleep too long, no movement, no matter how strong will keep "them" at bay from destroying "us."

Throughout history, that is the way it is. By time, man is in loss. We have to be constantly vigilant to protect ourselves and those we love from essential slavery, whether it is physical, emotional or mental.

I hear people have been playing this during marches. Some of us just now realizing what's been going on under our noses for some time.

Things that Make Me Happy (In No Particular Order)

Salaam,

Today has been an emotionally trying day. It didn't have to be. I just decided to be family doctor for my family and attempt to coordinate the care for my hospitalized grandmother thousands of miles away (still in the continental United States, yes...this darn spacious land of ours!). Mentally and emotionally, she's in the throws of dementia but otherwise, alhamdulillah, she's doing okay. I need to sit on my hands and let her attending physician do her job, though I let my mother (who spent the day in the hospital with Grandmother today) know exactly what I consider standard of care to be...

I'm day float tomorrow so I should be heading to bed soon so I can be ready to go (as ready as I'll ever be) tomorrow. In the meantime, I was watching Hey Arnold! (yes, a carry over from the last entry) and realized how much it's pretty much my favorite cartoon from the 90s. (My favorite cartoon from the 80s was Muppet Babies, hehe). My favorite part of the HA! cartoon, like many of its other fans of all ages, was the Arnold and Helga storyline. Something about unrequited love really strikes a chord...we've all gone through that before!

I did this exercise once where we were to write down all of the things that we love. It was a little bit difficult for me because love is not a verb I use often for things...or people for that matter. It feels forced. I didn't grow up with it. So as I scanned through some old fanart, some from back in the day and apparently some still being generated (I can't believe it still has a fandom!), I thought, this makes me happy...

And I'm much more likely to recognize things that make me happy than to call them things that I love.

So, in no particular order (or, order of association)...things/people/places that make me happy.

--Arnold/Helga
--requited love (once unrequited)
--crushes
--remembering a crush and feeling almost the exact same way as you remember it
--smiles
--the anticipation of unrequited love becoming requited
--"Overjoyed" by Stevie Wonder
--the notes in two bars of "Overjoyed" that hold almost all of the emotion in the song
--Stevie Wonder
--singing (especially well)
--those old school CD commercials for 80s music from the 90s
--the blue screen at the end of those CD commercials with the number (no website!) to call
--nostalgia fests in general
--YouTubing old commercials that remind me of a better time
--the Tyrese Coca Cola commercial
--the 90s Coca Cola commercial with the red circle and the flashing designs
--the "Holidays are coming" Coke commercial with the Christmas semi
--the old McDonald's characters and their commercials
--remembering when all the network stations were blocked off for that drugs special including all the cartoon characters of the time
--the theme song to the old America's Funniest Home Videos
--remembering the thunderstorm while watching AFHV and running between couches and jumping on them in the living room of our old house
--our old house
--my family
--remembering how my family used to be
--my mother
--my brother
--how my brother calls me "Dr. Sister"
--how my brother remembers things from our childhood when he was not yet verbal and not yet engaged
--remembering my childhood
--childhood
--children
--babies
--thinking of my own (future) babies, and children, and adult people
--my SO
--my large, crazy, sometimes happy extended family
--our memories recorded on VHS and now DVD
--VCRs and VHS
--saudades
--"O Trem Azul" by Elis Regina
--"Redescobrir" by Elis Regina
--"Aguas de Março" (especially by Elis Regina, but also by Tom Jobim and João Gilberto)
--remembering how it felt to learn about Tom Jobim
--Djavan
--"As" by Stevie Wonder
--"Sa Marina" by Wilson Simonal
--"Flor de Lis" by Djavan
--"Una mulata en la Habana" (if only because it was inspired by Aguas de Março)
--speaking Portuguese
--Confissoes de Adolescente
--A Favorita
--Brasil!
--learning how to swim
--my father's ability to whistle in two tones
--my father, his history
--speaking Spanish fluently
--seeing a prayer realized in real time

I could go on for a long time. Right now, what's making me the most happy is knowing that I have more than 8 hours to sleep before work tomorrow, sitting comfortably in a quiet apartment with only the sound of my new window fan blowing in the background, finally having an apartment that is a reasonable temperature (71 degrees) and feeling deliciously sleepy.

Loud fans make me happy. Fan wind blowing in my face makes me happy. Cool summer breezes make me happy. Good sleep makes me happy.

And for all of these things listed that make me happy, I am grateful for them. I am grateful to God that they exist, that they make me happy, and I know what happiness is.

I've thought of instituting a gratitude practice of sorts. My prayers tend to be a little lighter on the gratitude and heavier on the request. I think doing gratitude exercises outside of prayer will help enhance my gratitude within prayer and help me take that gratitude with me everywhere.

I am grateful for all of these happy things in my life.

I could go on...

--writing great characters
--reading old stories I've written
--"Weak" by SWV
--great dialogue
--great dialogue I've written
--songs I've written
--singing songs I've written
--cute animals
--baby animals
--baby talk...

Weekend Throwback: Odd Inspiration

As salaam alaikum,

I just thought of this song suddenly while reading a blog. I'm not sure why. I find that when something is on my mind, a song of a similar theme will suddenly pop into my head and play on repeat for a few minutes until I'm aware of what I'm thinking of.

Earlier today, it was Whitney Houston's "How Will I Know" (for perhaps obvious reasons) and Esperanza Spalding's "City of Roses" (the latter is an approximation, because I'm in the Pacific Northwest, not Portland, though-- Seattle, and I find it quite lovely).

Then, "Holding Back the Years." I tried to remember how I felt about it at the time it was Odd Inspiration for me, but I think I remember now. Reading the old entry certainly helps. This is back from my original InvisibleMuslimah. If I didn't know I was studying for the boards at the time I wrote this, I'd think I was reading old literature with how thick my prose is in spots, haha:

Monday March 30, 2009

As salaam alaikum,

I draw inspiration from odd places.  Most recently, it has been from the song, "Holding Back the Years" by Simply Red.  I don't know...it reminds me of my life up to this point, and how I've said so many times that I wasted time/energy pining for a man who didn't see me the same way at all, while I didn't realize how much I was growing and becoming the woman I wanted to be outside of that situation.

Sometimes we get stuck on a path that doesn't work for us, not because it's not destiny, just because it doesn't work.  Something could work, and that also could not be our destiny...but other times, it just doesn't work.  Like cogs in a gear...one rounded, one sharp.  The gear doesn't work, you force it, and now you've broken things.  Or, you don't force it, and just figure out that the reason it didn't work...is because it doesn't work.

I live a lot in my mind, as I was saying in my last entry.  Everything on the outside could be fine but in my mind exists a reality which I found out, shockingly so, is not the closest approximation to reality.  In my mind, I was a failure.  I was unattractive, I was a poor excuse for a human being.  I had wasted years when I was younger.  Anyone close to me (or that read my journal) knows about these inside feelings, but outside...masha'Allah, I was getting things done!

All in my head...

This song, "Holding Back the Years" reminds me of the reality that existed in my head.  The conception of me as a failure while life is moving along around me, but not leaving me behind...I'm traveling with it...and alhamdulillah, I always have...

Holding back the years
Thinking of the fear I've had so longWhen somebody hears
Listen to the fear that's gone
Strangled by the wishes of pater
Hoping for the arms of materGet to me the sooner or later

Holding back the years
Chance for me to escape from all I've knownHolding back the tears
Cause nothing here has grown
I've wasted all my tears
Wasted all those years
And nothing had the chance to be good
Nothing ever could
I'll keep holding on
I'll keep holding on
I'll keep holding on
I'll keep holding on
So tight

Well I've wasted all my tears
Wasted all of those years
And nothing had the chance to be good
Cause nothing ever could...

I'll keep holding on
I'll keep holding on
I'll keep holding on
I'll keep holding on
Holding, holding, holding

That's all I have today
It's all I have to say

This song seems sad, but I don't interpret it that way...oddly.  When he says, "I've wasted my tears/ wasted all these years./ Nothing had the chance to be good/ nothing ever could," I interpret that as my coming to the realization that, yes, energy was wasted, and because I was in that state, that downward spiral state, I didn't give the good things in my life a chance to be good...I wanted things to be bad.  I wanted to feel bad, whatever the motive...to get it all out at once or the[n] revel in it grotesquely.
I throw myself into an unnecessarily tumultuous existence, not allowing myself to realize my blessings.

"Thinking of the fear I've had so long."  Yes.  I've been afraid of life.  I move forward on some things, but some things, the things I feel I have the least control over, I'm afraid of.  And yet, Allah (swt) has blessed me with all of this, with barely my asking, barely my praying, barely my dreaming for it, and I'm going to doubt enough to fear for my future?

I'm not sure what it means to hold back the years (thus the title of the song), but I'm taking it to mean...I'm going to put those years behind me.  I want to remember them, I want to revel in them or get them over with, lest I return, but I'm going to put them away for good...forever...
I'll keep holding on to my faith, even though yes, I wasted time...Allah (swt) carried me through, little did I recognize until this point.  My mind wasn't where it needed to be for a long time, and now, alhamdulillah, it's starting to be.  He's carried me through, He's protected me, He's protecting me from my own foolishness...

So it's my inspiration.  It's saying goodbye to that fear.  With open eyes, I move forward carefully, faithful that Allah (swt) is poised to support me at all times, and never leaves me alone.

I'm going to give things more of a chance to be good. :-)

Wasalaam.