Salaam,
Now that I've been stably in a relationship for nearly two years, I've gone back and read some of those pieces aimed specifically at single people that I couldn't palate the while I was single. Most of the time, I am usually dismayed that I was not able to arrive at the level of sheer self-contentment that the articles recommend. Happily partnered and not desirous of single status, though intellectually feeling that this time around, I could handle it, I wondered how much of my partnership was just for the sake of not being alone. I began to wonder if I would keep looking if I had arrived at a place where I was as content with solitude as these pieces recommend single people to be.
One of the pieces of advice that these articles often cite is that one needs to learn how to be alone, in general. Not just be single, but learn how to be content with one's own company.
And I thought about how bad I was at doing that even while still single. It wasn't that I was constantly yearning for a significant other to fill a space. But my space was constantly filled--with phone calls to my family and friends and visits from friends. The time that I actually spent alone was very meticulously filled with necessary studying while I was in school and writing projects or casual reading when I had free time. I usually exercised alone as well. But I didn't think I enjoyed this time alone--it was just a matter of course.
I enjoy hot showers after sweaty workouts, for example, but showering is something that one necessarily does alone the grand majority of times--I assume this is true even for married women.
But then, it happened. After a week of staycation and getting my life in my apartment organized for the first time since the first few months that I had moved in, I was organized enough to seek out samba class. I found one that I wanted to check out, finished my rotation duties and headed over to the class. I had a good dance and workout, walked home, cooled down and then jumped into the shower to wash the paint off of my feet (I danced barefoot on a raggedy, painted dance floor in a small cultural center in the International District) and in general enjoy the hot spray on my body.
Then, lotioned and deodorized, I sat on my futon and adjusted the temperature in my place by placing the window fan in the window, turning on the only lamp that survived the move from Boston in the corner, and settling down to write a little.
And I probably let one of those this-is-the-life sighs escape my lips before I realized...
Here I am, alone, in my own space, completely content with being alone right now, with the trajectory of the day, with how I plan to conclude my evening, with the fact that I can sit down and write.
It took me two years of a stable relationship to learn to be alone.
When my apartment was filled with papers that needed organizing, laundry to be sorted and washed and put away, dishes caked in grease that didn't come off with one round of dishwashing (but always with a clean bathroom!), I did not enjoy my time here. I spent most of the time in my bed, the only relatively clear spot in my place, with the blinds drawn because...if I have a night shift, I sometimes sleep during the day, so the goal of the bedroom is darkness. I spent most of my days at my SO's place, because he has a house, actually, and is a minimalist so has very little clutter. My house became a cluttered sleeping den with a refrigerator I was afraid to open.
Now, with all of my educational papers organized into binders and files, all of the junk mail that I had let accumulate over two years shreaded and recycled, the kitchen clean and ready for the next meal, my dining room apetizing, my reading corner restored with my papasan chair open and inviting...I have no need to be anywhere else. My space is less than 600 square feet, but I now can do almost everything I want in here. I can practice my samba moves in the living room with my small stereo system with sub woofer. I can experiment with different recipes and eat them at my dining room table or my now pristine bar area at the sink. I can curl up with a good book or medical journal and read in my reading corner. I can take a nap on my futon.
Or, like now, I can sit with my legs crossed and my laptop on my lap and write whatever comes to mind.
And my room, small and functional, can be reserved for what I always meant it to be for: sleep! Fresh sheets, organized closet and dresser drawers, dusted nightstand with my Qur'an, alarm clock and personal effects there at the side. It's back to being my bedroom again, and not a glorified dorm room of yore.
In med school more than in college, my dorm room bed was a place to eat, study, watch television, read and sleep. And repeat. And sometimes cry.
And there are so many other things that I occasionally do when I'm here, like long hair-care days. I recently spent 9 hours twisting my hair, and could spend a similar amount of time doing my next henna rinse and deep conditioning routine. And of course, there's the singing and the documentary-watching.
And this is just inside of my apartment! There's a whole world of things outside of the apartment that I enjoy doing solo - my samba classes, my workouts, shopping, eating what I want without being policed.
Not that I don't love doing things with my SO. Not at all. But there are definitely things that I did when my time was all my own that I miss now because I'm trying to balance a busy work schedule with future family time, so to speak.
That's when I wondered whether these self-help blurbs for singles are written by people who are happily partnered. Because it sounds a lot like my happily married mother's advice when I was a young, yearning girl. "One day, you'll look back at this time and be repentant," is the only thing missing from the learn to be alone injunction.
Because that's what I wish I could tell my single self now and what I'll know in the future. This time that you're spending doing whatever the hell you want is priceless. Don't sell it short for the sake of a relationship. Enjoy it. Soak in it. You may not have it again.
Especially since I have baby fever at all times, I don't feel like I'm going to get to enjoy too much of my future married life non-pregnant or mothering, insha'Allah.
So if I don't take advantage of the last of my alone time now, gone could be the days of my concurrent samba dancing, jazz club singing (!!), personal training, exercising, hair henna glossing, two strand twisting, journal writing, MPB singing all the while doctoring self.
Ahhh...I get it.
But I did not arrive at this place when I was perpetually single. I didn't know what it was like to divide my time. I had time to do all of those things but I also had time to be lonely, devastated and disillusioned. That space is now filled and is overflowing into my alone time.
So now, I know how to be alone. Yes. Great.
No, but actually, great! It just gives me hope that my success in a relationship was not dependent on my being completely happy single. In fact, part of the impetus that keeps any two of us together as disparate human beings is anything from a preference against to a fear of being alone. So that's okay.
But I didn't need to have the single thing perfect before leaving that stage of my life.
...and the fact still remains, if nothing much is going on, I'm going to end up calling my mother, preferentially, anyway.
Showing posts with label workout. Show all posts
Showing posts with label workout. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Thursday, February 9, 2012
A Tale of Two Huskies
As salaam alaikum,
My grandmother, who has been having vivid visual hallucinations that cause her great unrest and have been increasing in intensity over the past 4 years, has not seen them in the last four days, alhamdulillah.
After months and months of praying, including her on outside prayer lists, trying all sorts of interventions and consulting all sorts of specialists, most recently geriatric psychiatry, my mother and many of her siblings were at their wits' ends. The best thing that had happened for months was the trazadone I had recommended to help both of my grandparents sleep.
Yesterday, my mother told me that she finally let go, and acknowledged that it was in God's hands, that He had knowledge and she did not, and that maybe this was something that Grandmother had to go through. And she submitted, like that.
She did so because of a dream she had. In the dream, she was driving in her car, though not aware of the car around her. She was on the freeway, when she heard a lot of horns honking around her. There, in the middle of the highway, was a man barbecuing. He was still alive, and standing there barbecuing, in the middle of the street. I think she swerved away from him and sometime into the future, she was pursued by two huskies. They were beautiful huskies, she said, very cute dogs. She became quickly aware, however, that they were trying to jump into her car. When the first one tried and missed and then started running after her, she started praying (in the dream). She prayed to God that if it was His will that the huskies overtook her, she submitted, but that to please protect her if it was His will. And the huskies fell away, I think.
It was this that helped her decide to let go and let God, essentially, when it came to my grandmother.
We were having this discussion as I was walking home from the hospital. I brought home dinner and was holding it in my hand. She wondered aloud if the dream was a sign from God, if that was her sign that she needed to submit herself to Him in this way, to acquiesce, to recognize that it's in His hands and His will is greater.
As we continued to discuss the amazement at the people (which my mother has wondered if they are jinn) finally leaving my grandmother alone, a feat that was apparently accomplished by my grandfather verbally telling the people to leave the house (ummm, case study into elderly psychology much?), I rounded the corner and approached my apartment. As I came to the intersection nearest my apartment, I squinted at a dog in front of me. I knew what was happening before I saw the second dog.
There were two huskies before me. They came up to me and walked up to me, and I knew they would approach me, though I was afraid for a moment that maybe they were going to attack me as they tried to attack my mother in the dream. Instead, they sniffed at me, their little paws on my coat, and tried to take a whiff of my food. And they were beautiful dogs. So beautiful with round faces and intelligent eyes. They looked at me like, "Wait, so...you're not going to feed us, is that it?" and I told the owner to have a good night and I walked away, my voice high pitched but muted, as I told my mother that I had just seen two huskies.
My mother and I took that as a sign. Yes, that was God instructing my mother through her dream. And this was me also learning from my mother's experience. The theme of this week has been letting go and letting God and really, Muslims are those who submit and people argue about what point you can be truly considered a practicing Muslim but I think that the endpoint is not as determinable because I think too many of us miss the point. Our complete submission, so I see, is often imperfect. It took my mother months to comfortably submit to the will of God on the matter of my grandmother. It took me years to submit to the will of God in terms of my marital status, and I'm still struggling with that.
However, I saw those two beautiful huskies in my neighborhood last night that I've never seen before, and my mother and I were sure at that moment that the answer is with God, and that was enough.
In place of worrying excessively now, I have learned. I take everything that begins to worry me and I take it to prayer while sincerely believing that it will be answered. I've been using istikhara like no other time in my life. And the difference is I let go, and I have faith that God will guide me in the manner.
I finally understand. Letting go and letting God isn't about waking up every morning without any plans and expecting God to physically jettison you through your day...but at the same time, that's exactly what happens. It's but the grace of God that I'm motivated to get up in the morning and go to the hospital and learn, but the grace of God that I have the capacity to learn, that I make it safely to and from my destination, eat food that doesn't purge me, have the capacity to exercise...everything I am in a day and everything I'm protected from is by His grace. I let him reign over so many other aspects of my life. It's time to let Him reign over this part of my life without my fighting it.
So I won't revel in worry. As soon as I fret, I'm going to pray. God told me I shall not suffer, nor shall I grieve, as long as I believe and live righteously. I struggled because I did not properly believe. This is not a criticism of my faith or saying it wasn't strong, but...this is life. Life is learning to believe, learning to get that much closer to God so that when we're no longer limited by space, time and a physical body, we will be sufficiently purified in order to perceive Him.
Later, I'm going to contemplate the word purity.
My grandmother, who has been having vivid visual hallucinations that cause her great unrest and have been increasing in intensity over the past 4 years, has not seen them in the last four days, alhamdulillah.
After months and months of praying, including her on outside prayer lists, trying all sorts of interventions and consulting all sorts of specialists, most recently geriatric psychiatry, my mother and many of her siblings were at their wits' ends. The best thing that had happened for months was the trazadone I had recommended to help both of my grandparents sleep.
Yesterday, my mother told me that she finally let go, and acknowledged that it was in God's hands, that He had knowledge and she did not, and that maybe this was something that Grandmother had to go through. And she submitted, like that.
She did so because of a dream she had. In the dream, she was driving in her car, though not aware of the car around her. She was on the freeway, when she heard a lot of horns honking around her. There, in the middle of the highway, was a man barbecuing. He was still alive, and standing there barbecuing, in the middle of the street. I think she swerved away from him and sometime into the future, she was pursued by two huskies. They were beautiful huskies, she said, very cute dogs. She became quickly aware, however, that they were trying to jump into her car. When the first one tried and missed and then started running after her, she started praying (in the dream). She prayed to God that if it was His will that the huskies overtook her, she submitted, but that to please protect her if it was His will. And the huskies fell away, I think.
It was this that helped her decide to let go and let God, essentially, when it came to my grandmother.
We were having this discussion as I was walking home from the hospital. I brought home dinner and was holding it in my hand. She wondered aloud if the dream was a sign from God, if that was her sign that she needed to submit herself to Him in this way, to acquiesce, to recognize that it's in His hands and His will is greater.
As we continued to discuss the amazement at the people (which my mother has wondered if they are jinn) finally leaving my grandmother alone, a feat that was apparently accomplished by my grandfather verbally telling the people to leave the house (ummm, case study into elderly psychology much?), I rounded the corner and approached my apartment. As I came to the intersection nearest my apartment, I squinted at a dog in front of me. I knew what was happening before I saw the second dog.
There were two huskies before me. They came up to me and walked up to me, and I knew they would approach me, though I was afraid for a moment that maybe they were going to attack me as they tried to attack my mother in the dream. Instead, they sniffed at me, their little paws on my coat, and tried to take a whiff of my food. And they were beautiful dogs. So beautiful with round faces and intelligent eyes. They looked at me like, "Wait, so...you're not going to feed us, is that it?" and I told the owner to have a good night and I walked away, my voice high pitched but muted, as I told my mother that I had just seen two huskies.
My mother and I took that as a sign. Yes, that was God instructing my mother through her dream. And this was me also learning from my mother's experience. The theme of this week has been letting go and letting God and really, Muslims are those who submit and people argue about what point you can be truly considered a practicing Muslim but I think that the endpoint is not as determinable because I think too many of us miss the point. Our complete submission, so I see, is often imperfect. It took my mother months to comfortably submit to the will of God on the matter of my grandmother. It took me years to submit to the will of God in terms of my marital status, and I'm still struggling with that.
However, I saw those two beautiful huskies in my neighborhood last night that I've never seen before, and my mother and I were sure at that moment that the answer is with God, and that was enough.
In place of worrying excessively now, I have learned. I take everything that begins to worry me and I take it to prayer while sincerely believing that it will be answered. I've been using istikhara like no other time in my life. And the difference is I let go, and I have faith that God will guide me in the manner.
I finally understand. Letting go and letting God isn't about waking up every morning without any plans and expecting God to physically jettison you through your day...but at the same time, that's exactly what happens. It's but the grace of God that I'm motivated to get up in the morning and go to the hospital and learn, but the grace of God that I have the capacity to learn, that I make it safely to and from my destination, eat food that doesn't purge me, have the capacity to exercise...everything I am in a day and everything I'm protected from is by His grace. I let him reign over so many other aspects of my life. It's time to let Him reign over this part of my life without my fighting it.
So I won't revel in worry. As soon as I fret, I'm going to pray. God told me I shall not suffer, nor shall I grieve, as long as I believe and live righteously. I struggled because I did not properly believe. This is not a criticism of my faith or saying it wasn't strong, but...this is life. Life is learning to believe, learning to get that much closer to God so that when we're no longer limited by space, time and a physical body, we will be sufficiently purified in order to perceive Him.
Later, I'm going to contemplate the word purity.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Young Hotsy Totsy
As salaam alaikum,
Yesterday was my cousins 39th birthday. Yay, Cousin! She was always one of the big kids to me, as I guess she's 12 years older than me...I'm turning dundunDUN 27 this year. I'm not fearing it too much any more...the last time I feared turning an age, the year ended up awesomely...the last time I was okay with turning a year, the year still was awesome, but with an unawesome twist. Womp womp womp.
Anyway, my cousin will be 40 before I'm 30. Wow. Whereas 27 felt ancient to me before (the only reason is because this is the first time I've ever been 27...and my 20s were the first time I allowed myself to get out of child-brain and recognize that, why yes, sir, I am actually an adult...and being almost 30 is old for a child-brain person, hehe...), 39 is even more up there. Alhamdulillah, I have 12 long years before that!
So, I've gotten into making ecards for people from someecards.com. I love them, they tem a minha cara. They have my face, haha. They're sarcastic and biting, dry humor. Anyway, I decided to give her a card to wish her a happy birthday...below...
Yes! I thought this was the best picture, of a young hotsy totsy (haha, if I may borrow an outdated term) making pouty face at the poor, almost-over-the-hill cousin. I no longer feel old turning 27 (I feel 27 before I'm actually turning 27...I'm still the dreaded 26, haha), because she's 39, masha'Allah!
And insha'Allah I'll be as rambunctious and gutsy and beautiful as she is at 39...or even more!
But looking at this picture got me to thinking...hrm. I want to be a young hotsy totsy! I bethought myself that when I was in my early 20s. I felt like my peak was 20 and early 21, right before I wore hijab...ehh, which for me was the antithesis of bethinking myself young and hot, haha. And inspired a 30 pound weight gain, but that's neither here nor there. The reason I decided to take up hijab at the time, actually, was because I got so much male attention! Every time I turned around on Michigan's campus, I was getting waved at by this one, called out by the other one. I mean...truck drivers would honk, police men would call, all ethnicities, but mostly my lovely brown (Latino brown) and black men. I was like, oh my gosh, I must be a fine piece!
I didn't know the half of it, apparently...
And by the time I was 23 and had shed the khimar for the various reasons that I mentioned in a previous entry, I was more serious-minded...and I felt no longer like the young hotsie totsie. At 23! Ridículo!
So now, four years later, I'm almost 27. My weight since medical school has fluctuated 40 pounds. That 30 pound weight gain with the advent of hijab kind of opened the door of weight fluctuation into my early adult life. I've gone from weighing my high school weight to weighing what I did once I was okay with going to a co-ed gym in college to start shedding my hijabi weight (while I was still a hijabi, I lost 15 of those pounds...what a difference the gym makes!).
So blah blah blah weight. This wasn't meant to be a weight loss diary.
There's no reason why I can't be the young hotsy totsy for the rest of my pre-elderly life! I'm going to take the Brazilian perspective, as I've learned from novelas. There's no talk about the youth of the 30-somethings in the novelas...that is a given. They are young and beautiful people. The almost 50-somethings are told by their parents, "Você é jovem ainda!" You're still young!
Elderly characters talk about how they have all this life left to live...
And I love that! We don't have that here. In fact, I was telling one of my friends that I was the happiest in life when I was in Brazil, and it wasn't because of male attention, because I got no cat calls like I did in the DR. It was because I felt beautiful at baseline. I felt lovely, loved, desired and beautiful at baseline, just as I was, without the presence of anyone or the promise of anyone. I felt like everyone around me knew it, and it could have been a romanticization of my experience but I do feel like that was the vibe that I got from everyone.
Not that I'm saying everyone wanted me, haha, no...I just feel like my beauty as an individual human being, whether regarded by the other as an accident or creation, was just assumed.
I don't know...I feel like the climate is very different in the US. You get more the indifferent vibe, or even sometimes the hostile vibe, but not the your-beauty-is-a-given vibe. I don't know. I just felt happier and healthier there...
Oh yeah, and these older women one place told me I had a great body, which was hilarious...they were cute, they giggled. I was like, oh really?
No one in the US would ever tell me that unless it was a dude trying to entice me...
Anyway...this is not about me about to go out and show some leg, no. It's about me embracing my inner hotsy totsy...my inner vibrant, boisterous, happy, dancing, singing personality celebrating my youth and beauty que Deus me deu. I'm not going to say that 27 is old anymore...and I'll try not to do that anymore for any of my subsequent ages. I'm not as bright-eyed innocent as I was at 20, for sure, but I'm maybe even more excited about life, and hopeful, and activist, and all those other things that I aspired to be.
Insha'Allah, I have so much more life to live...to be old at 27 or 39.
Yesterday was my cousins 39th birthday. Yay, Cousin! She was always one of the big kids to me, as I guess she's 12 years older than me...I'm turning dundunDUN 27 this year. I'm not fearing it too much any more...the last time I feared turning an age, the year ended up awesomely...the last time I was okay with turning a year, the year still was awesome, but with an unawesome twist. Womp womp womp.
Anyway, my cousin will be 40 before I'm 30. Wow. Whereas 27 felt ancient to me before (the only reason is because this is the first time I've ever been 27...and my 20s were the first time I allowed myself to get out of child-brain and recognize that, why yes, sir, I am actually an adult...and being almost 30 is old for a child-brain person, hehe...), 39 is even more up there. Alhamdulillah, I have 12 long years before that!
So, I've gotten into making ecards for people from someecards.com. I love them, they tem a minha cara. They have my face, haha. They're sarcastic and biting, dry humor. Anyway, I decided to give her a card to wish her a happy birthday...below...
Yes! I thought this was the best picture, of a young hotsy totsy (haha, if I may borrow an outdated term) making pouty face at the poor, almost-over-the-hill cousin. I no longer feel old turning 27 (I feel 27 before I'm actually turning 27...I'm still the dreaded 26, haha), because she's 39, masha'Allah!
And insha'Allah I'll be as rambunctious and gutsy and beautiful as she is at 39...or even more!
But looking at this picture got me to thinking...hrm. I want to be a young hotsy totsy! I bethought myself that when I was in my early 20s. I felt like my peak was 20 and early 21, right before I wore hijab...ehh, which for me was the antithesis of bethinking myself young and hot, haha. And inspired a 30 pound weight gain, but that's neither here nor there. The reason I decided to take up hijab at the time, actually, was because I got so much male attention! Every time I turned around on Michigan's campus, I was getting waved at by this one, called out by the other one. I mean...truck drivers would honk, police men would call, all ethnicities, but mostly my lovely brown (Latino brown) and black men. I was like, oh my gosh, I must be a fine piece!
I didn't know the half of it, apparently...
And by the time I was 23 and had shed the khimar for the various reasons that I mentioned in a previous entry, I was more serious-minded...and I felt no longer like the young hotsie totsie. At 23! Ridículo!
So now, four years later, I'm almost 27. My weight since medical school has fluctuated 40 pounds. That 30 pound weight gain with the advent of hijab kind of opened the door of weight fluctuation into my early adult life. I've gone from weighing my high school weight to weighing what I did once I was okay with going to a co-ed gym in college to start shedding my hijabi weight (while I was still a hijabi, I lost 15 of those pounds...what a difference the gym makes!).
So blah blah blah weight. This wasn't meant to be a weight loss diary.
There's no reason why I can't be the young hotsy totsy for the rest of my pre-elderly life! I'm going to take the Brazilian perspective, as I've learned from novelas. There's no talk about the youth of the 30-somethings in the novelas...that is a given. They are young and beautiful people. The almost 50-somethings are told by their parents, "Você é jovem ainda!" You're still young!
Elderly characters talk about how they have all this life left to live...
And I love that! We don't have that here. In fact, I was telling one of my friends that I was the happiest in life when I was in Brazil, and it wasn't because of male attention, because I got no cat calls like I did in the DR. It was because I felt beautiful at baseline. I felt lovely, loved, desired and beautiful at baseline, just as I was, without the presence of anyone or the promise of anyone. I felt like everyone around me knew it, and it could have been a romanticization of my experience but I do feel like that was the vibe that I got from everyone.
Not that I'm saying everyone wanted me, haha, no...I just feel like my beauty as an individual human being, whether regarded by the other as an accident or creation, was just assumed.
I don't know...I feel like the climate is very different in the US. You get more the indifferent vibe, or even sometimes the hostile vibe, but not the your-beauty-is-a-given vibe. I don't know. I just felt happier and healthier there...
Oh yeah, and these older women one place told me I had a great body, which was hilarious...they were cute, they giggled. I was like, oh really?
No one in the US would ever tell me that unless it was a dude trying to entice me...
Anyway...this is not about me about to go out and show some leg, no. It's about me embracing my inner hotsy totsy...my inner vibrant, boisterous, happy, dancing, singing personality celebrating my youth and beauty que Deus me deu. I'm not going to say that 27 is old anymore...and I'll try not to do that anymore for any of my subsequent ages. I'm not as bright-eyed innocent as I was at 20, for sure, but I'm maybe even more excited about life, and hopeful, and activist, and all those other things that I aspired to be.
Insha'Allah, I have so much more life to live...to be old at 27 or 39.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
A Rose Much Desired is Almost Done!
As salaam alaikum,
After getting stuck on a chapter that turned out to be more important than I thought, to preserve a character that was more critical than I at first expected...I am a chapter and a half away from finishing the first full-length story that I've written as an adult. Yay!
B wants to read it. I've already given him hints, but he doesn't want to be spoiled. That's exciting, but I'm also a little nervous for him to read it, because if he only knew how much of it (especially the Desirée narration) was thinly veiled fiction, then he would instantly know tons of stuff about me.
At the same time, I'm not too concerned. I'm not worried about him knowing tons of stuff about me.
I think I'm going to go back to samba today after a two week hiatus after I twisted my ankle three weeks ago. It was a mild twist that just exacerbated an old injury, but samba for sure would have killed it. I think I'll wrap my ankle just in case, but I need to get moving again. I've also had a two week hiatus from the gym, and although I've been good at maintaining my weight so far, this week I've been a little bit of a lazy eater so it's time to get back to moving, now.
B at this time should be in DC, heading toward the rally. I would have gone, but none of my friends are going, and I figured it'd be too much if we rode the 10 hours roundtrip together, then I'd cramp his style as he was hanging out with one of his old friends. I mean, we're friends-ish, but I'm still a girl he's trying to impress, kind of, and it wouldn't be as comfortable, maybe. I don't know, I make excuses, but also I'm tired and I need to clean up my life. Tons of papers from fall 1 quarter are all around my room and I need to go ahead and put them into the binders I bought two months ago.
Yes, but RMD is almost done! Alhamdulillah! I'm going to proof it once more (because I'm OCD like that) before I give it to a couple of family members to read through. I'm nervous about this...I'm nervous that they'll say certain aspects aren't realistic, are over-the-top, or ask me why I would write about such material. We'll see. I, personally, like it a lot, but then again, I'm me.
And from there, I'm going to figure out how to get it published. A couple of my cousins are self-publishing, but I kind of want to find an agent and go from there.
But preview! I can only preview the first 120 pages or so, because around that time, the twist (!!) happens, so I don't want to give that away. But man, it's been a while since I read the first part...even though I wrote it, I forget exactly what happens. So I'm providing an excerpt. This is when Mo, very upset because he's not yet gotten into medical school, among other things, ventures over to Nisreen's apartment during her spring break, desiring to talk to somebody while all his friends are away during the break:
I have tons of reading to do this weekend, and biostats homework. I plan to do the bulk of those tomorrow, returning home in time to get all spiffed up for the Djavan concert (!!) on Sunday. I'm taking B...literally, because I bought the tickets with my WorldMusic membership. Unlike two years ago, I know a few more of Djavan's songs by heart, so it will be even more of a fun concert-going experience. B is going to be surrounded by Brazilians, artsy Berklee college world music lovers, and me, the Brazil lover.
I'm also going to convince him that we should plan to have Africa Night sometime this month. He's busy a few weekends, then his birthday is coming up, then there's Thanksgiving...so I'm thinking late November we can pull something together. Either that, or next weekend. I'm not sure if my roommate's parents are coming up for her birthday or not, but then next weekend wouldn't be the greatest. Then I figure he may have stuff to catch up on, as he's in DC for the rally this weekend. I also figure he needs to be back in time to do tutoring tomorrow. I feel like he just might fall asleep during the concert. I'll have to poke him.
So, I'm happy! Yay! Not because of B, or Djavan coming this weekend, insha'Allah, or being done with RMD, insha'Allah, or having two engaging new (but reading heavy!) courses this quarter...my program planning and design course and my Sexuality and Public Health course. It's the sum of all of these!
I guess I should do more work today than I thought...I forgot I'm retwisting my hair tomorrow. That will take some time.
After getting stuck on a chapter that turned out to be more important than I thought, to preserve a character that was more critical than I at first expected...I am a chapter and a half away from finishing the first full-length story that I've written as an adult. Yay!
B wants to read it. I've already given him hints, but he doesn't want to be spoiled. That's exciting, but I'm also a little nervous for him to read it, because if he only knew how much of it (especially the Desirée narration) was thinly veiled fiction, then he would instantly know tons of stuff about me.
At the same time, I'm not too concerned. I'm not worried about him knowing tons of stuff about me.
I think I'm going to go back to samba today after a two week hiatus after I twisted my ankle three weeks ago. It was a mild twist that just exacerbated an old injury, but samba for sure would have killed it. I think I'll wrap my ankle just in case, but I need to get moving again. I've also had a two week hiatus from the gym, and although I've been good at maintaining my weight so far, this week I've been a little bit of a lazy eater so it's time to get back to moving, now.
B at this time should be in DC, heading toward the rally. I would have gone, but none of my friends are going, and I figured it'd be too much if we rode the 10 hours roundtrip together, then I'd cramp his style as he was hanging out with one of his old friends. I mean, we're friends-ish, but I'm still a girl he's trying to impress, kind of, and it wouldn't be as comfortable, maybe. I don't know, I make excuses, but also I'm tired and I need to clean up my life. Tons of papers from fall 1 quarter are all around my room and I need to go ahead and put them into the binders I bought two months ago.
Yes, but RMD is almost done! Alhamdulillah! I'm going to proof it once more (because I'm OCD like that) before I give it to a couple of family members to read through. I'm nervous about this...I'm nervous that they'll say certain aspects aren't realistic, are over-the-top, or ask me why I would write about such material. We'll see. I, personally, like it a lot, but then again, I'm me.
And from there, I'm going to figure out how to get it published. A couple of my cousins are self-publishing, but I kind of want to find an agent and go from there.
But preview! I can only preview the first 120 pages or so, because around that time, the twist (!!) happens, so I don't want to give that away. But man, it's been a while since I read the first part...even though I wrote it, I forget exactly what happens. So I'm providing an excerpt. This is when Mo, very upset because he's not yet gotten into medical school, among other things, ventures over to Nisreen's apartment during her spring break, desiring to talk to somebody while all his friends are away during the break:
Nisreen steps forward, pulling the door behind her, as if ready to dismiss him. “I said, what can I do for you, Mahmud?” Mo’s scratching his head and running his fingers through his hair. He remembers he needs more gel; he didn’t have enough this morning. “You kind of caught me at a bad time. I was cleaning and didn’t expect anybody…”Insha'Allah, I'll be done by this weekend!
“Well, you did call me a couple of days ago, telling me I should stop by, right?” He leans against the wall, supporting himself with his left arm. He watches as Nisreen gazes at this arm.
“A couple of days ago?” Nisreen chuckles curtly. “I called you a couple of weeks ago.”
Mo’s confused. Exactly how much time has passed? He did run his last gel in lab a while ago…she’s probably right. “Damn, you’re probably right. Sorry.”
Mo notices Nisreen flinch at the damn. She waves it off, though. “No need to apologize.” She’s opening the door wider and beckoning Mo inside. “What’s time, anyway, but an artificial construct to make us more comfortable in this elusive existence?” Mo doesn’t pay enough attention to Nisreen’s statement to become confused. Instead, he finds himself tracing her curves with his pupils again. Her long-sleeved shirt is clingy enough to outline the flare of her hips. He shakes himself out of it again. This is Nisreen, this is a Muslimah, a hijabi at that…if she caught him looking her up, she’d shuttle him straight out of the house and probably toss out an astaghfirullah for good measure. He’s desperate for company, so he guesses he needs to behave himself.
By the time he returns to face Nisreen, though, she’s eyeing him dubiously. Instead of apologizing, he tries to act like he wasn’t just undressing her with his eyes. He focuses on her face instead. Nisreen’s face, usually rounded because of the way she ties her scarf, is more triangular today. Her large forehead seems to shrink as she raises her eyebrows. She’s probably raising her eyebrows because he’s stood at the door to her apartment for nearly two minutes, and he’s still not coming inside.
“Mo, is there anything wrong?” Nisreen inquires, cocking her head to the side.
She called him Mo. He likes the way her O sounded, the way her lips rounded as she breathed it out. “Naw, I’m cool,” he manages to say. He swallows.
Nisreen shakes her head. “No, this isn’t right. You don’t look good at all. Come in, sit down and rest for a little bit.” Before he has the chance to protest, Nisreen grabs his left arm and drags him into her apartment and guides him to a sofa in the center of the room. Mo watches as she closes and locks the door to her apartment. She then runs into her kitchen, crashes around for a bit, and returns with two glasses of water. “I didn’t know if you prefer room temp or ice water. I’ll take whatever you don’t.”
I have tons of reading to do this weekend, and biostats homework. I plan to do the bulk of those tomorrow, returning home in time to get all spiffed up for the Djavan concert (!!) on Sunday. I'm taking B...literally, because I bought the tickets with my WorldMusic membership. Unlike two years ago, I know a few more of Djavan's songs by heart, so it will be even more of a fun concert-going experience. B is going to be surrounded by Brazilians, artsy Berklee college world music lovers, and me, the Brazil lover.
I'm also going to convince him that we should plan to have Africa Night sometime this month. He's busy a few weekends, then his birthday is coming up, then there's Thanksgiving...so I'm thinking late November we can pull something together. Either that, or next weekend. I'm not sure if my roommate's parents are coming up for her birthday or not, but then next weekend wouldn't be the greatest. Then I figure he may have stuff to catch up on, as he's in DC for the rally this weekend. I also figure he needs to be back in time to do tutoring tomorrow. I feel like he just might fall asleep during the concert. I'll have to poke him.
So, I'm happy! Yay! Not because of B, or Djavan coming this weekend, insha'Allah, or being done with RMD, insha'Allah, or having two engaging new (but reading heavy!) courses this quarter...my program planning and design course and my Sexuality and Public Health course. It's the sum of all of these!
I guess I should do more work today than I thought...I forgot I'm retwisting my hair tomorrow. That will take some time.
Monday, October 4, 2010
And So It Begins...
As salaam alaikum,
And so, it begins...
What begins? There's something about the promise of a relationship that brings out the worst of my neuroticism...it's not just me, I know, but I personally don't like the fact that I'm so neurotic! Ughh...
It's like, I spent almost all Saturday with this dude, body language let me know, okay, this isn't really friendship track, he's interested in me for real. Granted, by the end of Sunday I'd cooled off, into Monday, I was fine...wait, this is still Monday, huh?
...ever since we agreed to hang out, I'm one day ahead at all times. I thought it was Tuesday! Aaahhh...that's better.
Why does it matter what day it is? Because I was counting the days that it's taking him to get back in touch with me.
So I'm forgoing the rules. Like, I was supposed to wait for him to say something back, right? I'm tired of playing those games! He's the one who initiated contact in the first place, and quite well, I might add...maybe he was putting forth an effort, I don't know, maybe I'm in denial and maybe I am really about to go out with a really socially awkward PhD physics student...maybe I'm deluding myself, I don't know...
I mean, I guess this was still only really our first...interaction. I don't want to use the D word. Notice the euphemisms I'm spitting here. Seeing? Going out? Interacting? I'm in denial, once again.
Why? Because I don't want to admit to myself that I'm looking forward to...being with (there's another one) a non-Muslim. Man, I even want to erase that sentence!
But at the same time, I'm...okay, wait, he responded to my text...I'll be right back.
...
:-D
Hahaha, the first emoticon of this journal, as it were!
He asked me to the Palestinian Film Festival. Melt!
Aaaaaaaaaahahahahaha!
I'm such a girl right now.
So yeah, I was going to say...neuroticism. It's like, I was fine all day, but then tonight, I as like, hmm...he's not getting in touch with me, what if something happened and by the end of the night he thought it wasn't worth it to pursue me anymore? What if by going to the gala he saw all of those young Nigerian women and looked at me and thought, ehh, I could do better. What if he thought I was standoffish because [censored]?
(This, after all, is not in my [uncensored] series...)
But, none of that is true, because he asked me to the Palestinian Film Festival! Not a zombie movie, not a shoot-em-up action flick where apparently writers aren't necessary for actual dialogue other than the best string of expletives...but something intellectual.
Can you say, match?
...we have yet to have the religion conversation. I think if things get more serious, though, it will happen. Heh.
But he's cute...and now I get to not be neurotic because he texted me back and we're going to keep hanging out and life is grand, with him in it and independent of him...just, you know, to keep things real.
One artifact of me potentially being involved with someone for the first time (I also refuse to say the R word...really mature of me, I know) is that...for some reason, I'm feeling more at ease to find men attractive.
It's like, the most counter-intuitive and counterproductive thing ever. It's like, uhh, too late now, dude! Like, there was this guy at the gala and he was wearing these pants, like 60s vines, and they are pretty much my favorite pants for a man ever right now, because he, like the late, great Otis Redding, was wearing those pants. This other dude at the gala, good Lord...I was with Obi at the time, or else I would have looked more. Then on Sunday, I was randomly noticing the legs of a bunch of the men running by. I have such a weird, backward psyche!
For so many years, I've effectively repressed my sexuality because I've never had an outlet...as in, I've never liked someone who liked me back, or was man enough to go forward with it, or time and place was incorrect, whatever. So now that something's actually working out...I think it's that I feel like I still feel it's inappropriate to express myself, heh, with the person I'm involved with, but repression no longer works so I express it to the outside world, not to who should actually be the object. Right?
So I'm experiencing the breakdown of some pretty strong defense mechanisms...anyone who knows me knows that I never talk about men looking good, about body parts, anything. For a long time, I couldn't even say that I was attracted to men. I would talk in terms of a person, what I liked in a person, etc.
So, even though I'm trying to maintain some level of propriety, like putting a lid on it, I feel like it's still boiling over the sides, and it's making the flame go orange...and thus the breakdown of my analogy, kind of.
But man, I never thought I'd be the type of woman who would dress up a man, but if B and I ever got to that stage of comfort...he's going to be buying those pants. The pants will be light colored, he'll wear, like, a pale blue or plum shirt, with these black shoes (aaahh, I don't know men's brands of shoes...I'll have to learn that!), and he'll have to use Aveeno...
See what I mean? I'm completely crazy.
This journal has not seen the likes of MQ. MQ was the last time I liked someone this much, all of 6 years ago. You think this is crazy...this other guy was absolute insanity! That was the first time I discovered that I was neurotic. Before, I was definitely more dysthimic...
So I have matured...I just went crazy this evening, that's all.
He knows just the right things to say to endear me to him, though. He has quiet skill...not quite the skill, but quiet skill...quiet game. I like it!
And so it begins. By the end of this week, I think, I may have officially lost my mind.
And yay, he's going to talk to me tomorrow!
In other news, wow, what a difference doing tricep curls makes! I'm actually using dumbbells now and not just the machine, and yeah, I'm definitely seeing the difference. That, and I've been kind of losing weight more quickly than has been intentional in the last few days. Even though I hadn't been to the gym in four days since Toilet Flood 2010 (I still hurt when I sit down...couldn't really do crunches...), I'm still losing weight. It's pretty awesome.
Okay, so this was a sufficiently disgusting entry. If I weren't trying to keep it real when it comes to what I'm actually going through, I'd be losing my street cred right about now...
And so, it begins...
What begins? There's something about the promise of a relationship that brings out the worst of my neuroticism...it's not just me, I know, but I personally don't like the fact that I'm so neurotic! Ughh...
It's like, I spent almost all Saturday with this dude, body language let me know, okay, this isn't really friendship track, he's interested in me for real. Granted, by the end of Sunday I'd cooled off, into Monday, I was fine...wait, this is still Monday, huh?
...ever since we agreed to hang out, I'm one day ahead at all times. I thought it was Tuesday! Aaahhh...that's better.
Why does it matter what day it is? Because I was counting the days that it's taking him to get back in touch with me.
So I'm forgoing the rules. Like, I was supposed to wait for him to say something back, right? I'm tired of playing those games! He's the one who initiated contact in the first place, and quite well, I might add...maybe he was putting forth an effort, I don't know, maybe I'm in denial and maybe I am really about to go out with a really socially awkward PhD physics student...maybe I'm deluding myself, I don't know...
I mean, I guess this was still only really our first...interaction. I don't want to use the D word. Notice the euphemisms I'm spitting here. Seeing? Going out? Interacting? I'm in denial, once again.
Why? Because I don't want to admit to myself that I'm looking forward to...being with (there's another one) a non-Muslim. Man, I even want to erase that sentence!
But at the same time, I'm...okay, wait, he responded to my text...I'll be right back.
...
:-D
Hahaha, the first emoticon of this journal, as it were!
He asked me to the Palestinian Film Festival. Melt!
Aaaaaaaaaahahahahaha!
I'm such a girl right now.
So yeah, I was going to say...neuroticism. It's like, I was fine all day, but then tonight, I as like, hmm...he's not getting in touch with me, what if something happened and by the end of the night he thought it wasn't worth it to pursue me anymore? What if by going to the gala he saw all of those young Nigerian women and looked at me and thought, ehh, I could do better. What if he thought I was standoffish because [censored]?
(This, after all, is not in my [uncensored] series...)
But, none of that is true, because he asked me to the Palestinian Film Festival! Not a zombie movie, not a shoot-em-up action flick where apparently writers aren't necessary for actual dialogue other than the best string of expletives...but something intellectual.
Can you say, match?
...we have yet to have the religion conversation. I think if things get more serious, though, it will happen. Heh.
But he's cute...and now I get to not be neurotic because he texted me back and we're going to keep hanging out and life is grand, with him in it and independent of him...just, you know, to keep things real.
One artifact of me potentially being involved with someone for the first time (I also refuse to say the R word...really mature of me, I know) is that...for some reason, I'm feeling more at ease to find men attractive.
It's like, the most counter-intuitive and counterproductive thing ever. It's like, uhh, too late now, dude! Like, there was this guy at the gala and he was wearing these pants, like 60s vines, and they are pretty much my favorite pants for a man ever right now, because he, like the late, great Otis Redding, was wearing those pants. This other dude at the gala, good Lord...I was with Obi at the time, or else I would have looked more. Then on Sunday, I was randomly noticing the legs of a bunch of the men running by. I have such a weird, backward psyche!
For so many years, I've effectively repressed my sexuality because I've never had an outlet...as in, I've never liked someone who liked me back, or was man enough to go forward with it, or time and place was incorrect, whatever. So now that something's actually working out...I think it's that I feel like I still feel it's inappropriate to express myself, heh, with the person I'm involved with, but repression no longer works so I express it to the outside world, not to who should actually be the object. Right?
So I'm experiencing the breakdown of some pretty strong defense mechanisms...anyone who knows me knows that I never talk about men looking good, about body parts, anything. For a long time, I couldn't even say that I was attracted to men. I would talk in terms of a person, what I liked in a person, etc.
So, even though I'm trying to maintain some level of propriety, like putting a lid on it, I feel like it's still boiling over the sides, and it's making the flame go orange...and thus the breakdown of my analogy, kind of.
But man, I never thought I'd be the type of woman who would dress up a man, but if B and I ever got to that stage of comfort...he's going to be buying those pants. The pants will be light colored, he'll wear, like, a pale blue or plum shirt, with these black shoes (aaahh, I don't know men's brands of shoes...I'll have to learn that!), and he'll have to use Aveeno...
See what I mean? I'm completely crazy.
This journal has not seen the likes of MQ. MQ was the last time I liked someone this much, all of 6 years ago. You think this is crazy...this other guy was absolute insanity! That was the first time I discovered that I was neurotic. Before, I was definitely more dysthimic...
So I have matured...I just went crazy this evening, that's all.
He knows just the right things to say to endear me to him, though. He has quiet skill...not quite the skill, but quiet skill...quiet game. I like it!
And so it begins. By the end of this week, I think, I may have officially lost my mind.
And yay, he's going to talk to me tomorrow!
In other news, wow, what a difference doing tricep curls makes! I'm actually using dumbbells now and not just the machine, and yeah, I'm definitely seeing the difference. That, and I've been kind of losing weight more quickly than has been intentional in the last few days. Even though I hadn't been to the gym in four days since Toilet Flood 2010 (I still hurt when I sit down...couldn't really do crunches...), I'm still losing weight. It's pretty awesome.
Okay, so this was a sufficiently disgusting entry. If I weren't trying to keep it real when it comes to what I'm actually going through, I'd be losing my street cred right about now...
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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