Truth and Cheesecake

And I’ll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I’ll know my name as it’s called again

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the future, but in a different way than I used to. where I want to be in a few years, how I want to get there and what I want to accomplish are all important, but what transcends these thoughts now is the principle that all of this must be done while maintaining inner peace. peace with the world, peace with my thoughts, peace with myself. these thoughts have been profulent lately, flowing through my mind with urgency. with such a rapidly changing world, it seems only appropriate that we learn how to adapt and survive with an equally rapid rate – or face being left behind.

Career wise, I have to admit that I am exactly where I want to be. From an early age, I quickly learned that I had a knack for finding employment, and as I grew older, I perfected this skill to find the employment that I actually wanted. I know it is cliché, but there is much truth to the saying that anything can be accomplished if the mind is determined, something that I’m sure everyone has proven to themselves at some point in their lives. Working in the public service and becoming part of the Governement of Canada’s work force was a goal I set myself in second year of university – and one that I attained a year later. Fast forward another couple of years, a lot of hardwork and much networking, and I am presently a project manager in training for PWGSC’s Real Property branch. Voila! I look back and remember all the times I thought I didn’t have what it takes, that I wouldn’t make it and realize how little I understood then.

My sights are now set on something different. something greater. Since my passion has always been in human rights, I am considering completing a Masters in Human Rights.  (even though i’m not sure if such a thing even exists as a stand alone Masters? Research on the topic still remains to be done). What I would want the focus of my Masters to be would be the violation of human rights during the Bosnian war, and the much supported theory that rape was used as systematic weapon of war against Muslim Bosnian women by the Serbian army during this time. From the moment that I flipped through the pages of Crimes of War (by Pulitzer-prize winning journalist Roy Gutman and David Rieff) in my local public library many years ago, the plight and terror that these women have endured has stayed with me. Some of the accounts I’ve read online of the torture and rape they survived at the hands of these soldiers, and the murder of their sons and husbands and fathers which they witnessed   haunt me to this day. I feel that the least that I could do as a fellow human being for them is to bring awareness to their suffering and to honour their bravery to the best of my ability. and the best way I can think to do this is to make light of the injustices these women suffered and producing an academic paper, adding to the proof and awareness to their plight.

another idea that I am pursuing is one of social change and diversity within the Ottawa community. Still a new-born idea, it’s something that I want to further develop and brainstorm on. I want to touch on the idea of the hardships that immigrants to Canada have faced over the years, and perhaps offer services to young Muslim women (and their families) to help them cope with the duality that living in Canada can bring to their lives. I know that growing up here, I struggled with issues of self esteem and relationships for many years before finally finding my footing. From my experience, young Muslim women cherish their culture and religion and all that it encompasses: the importance of family, modesty and dignity. But similarly, I believe that some (not all) often find themselves in conflict, trying to balance and understand how they fit into the Western world they step into every time they leave their Eastern homes, to attend school or to meet friends. I’m thinking of developing a program which offers support and (hopefully free) advice to any girls in the community who are dealing with self esteem issues, violence, depression, or unhealthy relationships, or are simply looking to know themselves and their environment better. I am considering perhaps attending various highschools across Ottawa and speaking to the young girls, holding workshops, organizing mentor programs, etc – Definitely still an idea in the making.

Lastly, I am hoping to venture into the world of sustainable energy and the possibility of expoloring these options in the Middle East. With the political arena on nuclear energy in Iran being such a hot topic, I feel like the niche for this would be very fruitful. I am presently working on joining the team of Green Prophet – an organization dedicated to news regarding developments in sustainable energy in the Middle East. Further to this, I want to learn how to live a more sustainable, efficient lifestyle here in Ottawa and how this can be mass marketed to the rest of Canada and perhaps the world.

I can only say that among all this, my continous gratitute is to my family and to my religion – without which I would be lost in this abyss that we call our planet =)

the curtain falls and floats slowly to the ground before our eyes and we realize suddenly - I drove here too fast, I got here too quickly.

there are times in life where it seems that the only thing we’re capable of is seeing the possibility of what could be. the joy and hope of it bursting in your heart takes you over, something like a sweet madness. and before long, you are a person so far and so different than any you’d ever imagined yourself to be.

dwelling in the realm of being frank, I can only say that everything which has happened has been well deserved. In fact, I think there is little in this life that happens to us which we don’t deserve. It is said in Islam that God never puts us through experiences we’re not designed to withstand – that the pain of any obstacle or tragedy in your life is proportionate to the silent strength you carry inside you which will eventually pull you through. consequently, this is why I have come to the conclusion that there is little (good or bad) that happens in this life which we haven’t fairly earned.

there was a time where I used to look at the world through softly layered eyes – optimistic to a whimsical point. having been raised by simple parents, I thought that the only thing I ever needed to do was work hard and be good to others around me, and that eventually, I would get my due. but these layers of inexperience have been pulled away as years went by, and now my eyes easily detect the crude lines of the realities they witness. sweet sugary grains that once used to coat my outlook are now gentle warnings to tread carefully and to trust slowly. there was a time when words and declarations made a believer out of me. now, i find myself appreciating the men and women who don’t make promises easily, striving to only making those they can keep, and for those women who stick to the truth under all circumstances, even at the risk of losing what they had set out to win. women who believe in themsleves and transcend the traditional definition of a ‘strong woman’ by being a strong human being.

it’s time to come clean.

i wake up and turn my face to the light. Outside the air is grey and windy, rain falling in disarray, fog stagnant and still. the remains of my dreams linger, the emotions they’ve stirred still fresh and heavy in my chest, almost like an aftertaste that can’t be washed away. under the covers, I run through what I remember of them, over and over, and the same scenarios play like silent films in my mind. it’s only then that the pain on my skin springs to the surface and fills my consciousness with it’s presence, and I am once again reminded – reminded of that day last October when I donned a paper gown and my life changed for ever. The day of no return. the weather had been similar that day, perhaps a bit colder. Realizing how close I had been to a year anniversary makes me dizzy with an overwhelming feeling of not knowing which way to steer my thoughts, and I grow restless.

It’s only 4am but i push aside the covers like I push aside these thoughts and welcome the cold that greets me. as every cell in my body screams in protest against the promise of a new day, I force my feet to touch the hardwood floor. I linger there for a few moments, repeating my mantra. Family, perserverance, sucesss. I let myself remember the words he told me, the calmness of his voice; a two hour conversation that had been waiting half a decade to happen, happening at the exact moment when my heart had a desperate need for it. There’s nothing you can’t do.

i know that there is much and more to be said of what I have come to learn: the strength of the human character and our capacity to simultaneously cause and endure pain – and much and more to be said of the truth that I have yet to be able to convey. I rememeber the things I’ve said in anger and I feel a regret and a shame that quickly turns into irritation, for so often now, my kindness has been mistaken for weakness and the consequences have been dire. I know that it takes strength to be kind – that it’s kindness that shows how solid the foundation of your character is, but this thought brings little comfort.

I tip toe quietly down the hall and stop short of my parent’s bedroom. Pushing softly against the door, I peek through and see my parents, tangled in the warmth of blankets and the depth of sleep. This habit has settled in me recently, to check on my parents as they used to check on me as a child. The gentle rise and fall of their chests with every breath brings comfort and with their love in my heart, I begin a new day.

this world is cruel. it will chew you up and spit you out before you can even realize what has happened, what is happening.
but my skin is now made of armour and my heart carved from the mountains of my people, and i have learned now, finally, that there is no giving up. there is no looking back. heart on my sleeve, facing forward, I conquer all.

i stand, arms crossed, and I examine my life.
I know the things that have  [allegedly] happened have been described in great detail, many times over, leaving the busy lips of idle-minded people; some presume that they know why things were done the way they were – and others, feeling the need to somehow be associated with the latest talk, even go as far as to claim they saw it themselves. whatever the case might be, I guess if you repeat a lie often enough, it becomes your truth. and this, I say from heart-heavy experience.

as i type this, three different Apple reps step up to me gingerly and ask if they can ‘help me out with anything’. i look around the store and smile at their question. anything?

sometimes i wish i could take your hand and insert it into the cavity of my chest where my intentions live, and in the concave of my mind where they come into existence. that way, maybe, the rest would be saved. maybe then, the fear of being misunderstood or the fear of misunderstanding would no longer exist

********************************

I stand at a cross-roads. in fact, I have been standing here for a while now, examining my options. the problem is that, despite what the world might have you believe, not everything is as clear cut as right and wrong, leave or stay, yes or no, black or white. every decision is a gradient of two opposites, feeding off of one another. to others looking in, it might seem so obvious what the correct decision is. but to those making it, the gradient is ever changing and elusive. it doesn’t stand still long enough in your heart for you to be able to say ‘this is what is right’. mon cœur est fatigué

I took the day off today from work to come to Carleton. do some “life admin” as k would put it.

I was a bit taken aback when I walked into this lab and saw it so deserted. during my years at carleton, this engineering lab had never been short of students. many of us would camp here all day, especially during exam periods. show up in the morning, pick a computer, and by the late hours of the night, the place was littered -  empty chip bags,  tim horton’s cups and eraser dust covered the tables and sometimes even sat on top of monitors.
oh and who can forget the distinct smell – a mixture of men’s cologne (female minority), instant noodles (which we lived on) and youth (which we hadn’t yet realized).

walking in early this morning, I scan the room and notice that not much has changed. I think I’m alone until I notice a girl sitting on the opposite end of the room, directly across from where I had chosen to sit.
so I examine her: she is sitting with a straight back, wearing a pink and white hijab. she seems modest and quiet, frowning at something she is reading on the screen.
from the edge of mymonitor, I can see only the upper portion of her face. only her eyes show and i imagine she must be seeing me in the same way. we squint and stare for a moment, before both returning our gazes to the glowing screen in front of us. I think of how different this girl and I are. I wonder for a moment if she might be judging me? the shawl around my head, the bangs. I wonder if she too knew what she was capable of, like I did.
we sit on opposite sides of an empty room, like two people sitting at the opposite ends of a human spectrum, the variance between our lives uncalculable.

I wanted to write about what’s been happening lately, but as is the way with me, i seem to run away, even in script.

write about anything, it says, with the exception of that.

twenty five years and my life is still – still
trying to get up that big great hill – of hope

i step gingerly from pavement to pavement, avoiding urban collisions. a young girl sitting on the sidewalk holds a piece of cardboard with the word CHANGE written on it in black marker. i kneel by her and ask her what she means.

her tired face and eyes glossy from street life turn to me and say “it’s never too late”.

i see evidence of it everywhere, in everyone. from flaunting curls, to a skin that darkens with time – the lies we tell ourselves in order to move forward. to move ahead.

it feels as if i tell the whole world, i will still not have said enough // the duality of my life gives way to a strange feeling which I can never quite recognize. it is only later, in reminiscence, that i see how nostalgic I am for a simpler time and a simpler me. how that feeling is one of sudden understanding.

i’ve come to the realization that kindness, above all, pays the highest return. it disarms and liberates – and in a way only kindness can, it becomes the exquisite compliment to truth. because it is only when you are kind to others that you can begin to be true to yourself // to face your true-self.

not knowing when the dawn will come, I open every window.

********************************************************

this book, The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy, reminds me of damp, rainy October afternoons at the public library near my highschool. afternoons spent curled up on a couch by the window, slurpy in one hand, book in the other.

My favorite from this book is “Stick Boy and Match Girl”

Rest of the book can be found here.

I have been easy lately, with these thoughts. The norm is that I fight them, from inception to realization, every step of the way. but these ones, they have been different. they flow in almost unnoticed, while I have my head turned and busy looking elsewhere. heuristic questions that almost seem to propose themselves. sometimes even answer themselves. they swoop in and sit down before I even have the time to realize they are there, occupying brain matter with a ferocious determination, seeking demanding an answer.
what subtlety!

these eyes that I can’t break away from and guitar notes that float / heavy bring comfort and tension. it’s a good thing I’ve learned my lesson.

San Fransico’s Russian Hill

A photographer by the name of Håkan Dahlström took this photograph giving the illusion that the building was tilted, rather than sitting on a very steep incline. to see what it really looks like, you can tilt the image to approximately 20 degrees as such:

how cool is that !

if only we’d allocate as much time looking forward as we do looking back.

my stats show that the post with the most hits so far has been noctivagant. i like that – socially aware individuals make me happy =)

I just started reading Edward Said’s Orientalism, and already I can see traces of Conrad. more to come as I read.

2007:

The contents of the matter have been sealed and locked. somewhat of a metaphorical air-tight container. a mental parking lot where i am storing things i refuse to think about. even I am impressed at how well I’ve manage to do this.
the bus jerks and comes to a crude stop – I look up, impatient. a public advertisement aimed at the city’s youth reads out “why drive high?”
someone had crossed out the words ‘drive high’ and replaced them with “pollute”.
why drive ?
I remember stopping by a construction site that night. in my confusion, the protruding columns had seemed so fascinating. i had stood there behind the barricade, and idly counted reinforcements, making random calculations of strength and ductility in my mind. amused at my own fragmented education, i had taken a picture that hadn’t come out at all – the darkness of that night seeping its way into the lens of my camera.

the salty air blowing off of the gulf brings comfort. I jump from one thought to the next in random formations as droplets fall  from the sky and cover my face. the narrow streets of this small persian town are inviting and wholesome – doors painted in bright colours, people with smiles so genuine it pours from their eyes like the sea that surrounds them. everywhere there is water – a thin layer of moisture that covers doorknobs and drips silently from small parked bicycles, leaning against clay walls. the kind of climate where plants and roots and traditions bloom into richness.
and so surrounded by my countrymen and countrywomen, i write pages.

happiness has hit me like a train. and as would be expected with such a sudden, high blunt force, there was a considerable amount of pain involved. bitter-sweetness that covers the edges of my vision, a constant reminder of all that I have been blessed with and all that I hold in my hand.
the season is changing. the season has changed.  emotions have been shed like layers of summer and replaced with the warmth of compromise. I’ve often sat wondering at the steps I’ve taken, sometimes angry, sometimes relieved. always reaching out into the darkness and depth of sleep for arms that are always-present.

there was a night when I spoke for hours. starting in the darkness of the night and into the early light of morning, i spoke. I spoke, and he listened. hours which to me, seemed like 1 solid hour // of confessions and carefully placed sutures pulling me together again, preparing for the inevitable healing which always follows a cut. I wonder sometimes at the consequences of this night. the vulnerability it brought out and the pain it caused. the one night that made me realize what it means to be stuck. stuck between a rock and a hard place, and taking a leap into faith.

my morning tea has gone cold, and around me lies evidence of my activity: highlighters with open caps, the peel of a tangerine and candy wrappers litter the table. a few more weeks and things will change, yet again.
change is, after all, the only constant I’ve ever been able to count on.

i have come to the painful realization that secrets are necessary in this life.

a man sits across from me in the busy cafe. face clasped into the palm of his left hand, he stares out onto the busy street. in front of him, sits a coffee that is no longer steaming, cold now from the wait. I wonder what he is thinking, his expression blank and blinking. is he wondering about a loss? a gain?

sometimes, writing becomes a need unfulfilled. in my mind, I have already written novels, many times over. created characters into existence, and destroyed others over the length of chapters that span pages. in my mind, i’ve already put together the words that explain how I feel, how it happened, how it is. but time, the most eluding enemy I have ever known, never permits these words to be put into physical form. digital form. the hours slip by with such stealth that I am often left wondering the actual length of an hour, of a second. both always interchanging in their meaning.

I have found something I never thought I would.

Kanye – Runaway (Full Length)

looking back now, in retrospect, it feels like we shrank eternity and fit it in the span of a few weeks. how powerful it made us feel – turning pages at an unprecedented rate, somewhat like a novel we couldn’t put down, reading swiftly, eager to see what came next. sometimes I held the page in half turned expectation, wondering in awe at what will be on the other side, eager to discover, always feeling as if the words were not being read as quickly as the heart desired.

sometimes it startles me to think that in the process of living, we are writing – each stroke of arm or each beat of heart, recorded in a book that writes itself only as it comes into existence through our actions.

I don’t vocalize my strengths. partially because i am still in the process of convincing myself of what they truly are – their definitions still in need of some fine tuning and refining. but sometimes I realize that I should. we all make conscious (or sometimes unconscious) attempts at perfection – but is it enough?

in the darkness, the tip of his cigarette was the rising and setting sun – crimson and unforgettable. I stare and wonder how I got there ? which steps I took at which fateful intersection? love isn’t the instant gratification of a body or the materialistic release of monatery values. love is the accumulation of paired thoughts and shared experiences, of words said in kindness and in anger, and of moments of sweet, awkward discovery. but love, above all, is the accession of looks exchanged across crowded rooms filled with unsuspecting strangers, looks that speak across a silent medium of air and moments, words that the lips could never have the courage to muster.

you can trust me, said Miss Trust, turning a rock in her hand pensively. some of the decisions made at night seem strange in the morning.

it leaves me in the middle of an intersection. it leaves me or I leave it?
I wonder this only momentarily / knowing that when the result is the same, the means no longer matter.

these circles i draw around myself have become redundant in their predictability. sometimes it feels like nothing is new – that everything is redone, rehashed. the same concept, just cut up different.

as soon as we give in, we’ve given away. it’s jokes.
isn’t it strange how we must always play these games?

today your love // tomorrow the WORLD!

once again, a simple turn around an unsuspecting corner, and everything has changed.

the initial moment a new thought crosses the mind is almost perpetual in it’s ability to be unforgettable. the introduction of a new concept, something never before experience or considered, vellicating the surfaces of my eager mind. possibilities flow from every neuron and suddenly, perspectives have travelled spectrums.

there is something about the human condition angers me. the endless almost cruel cycle of pain inflicted due to pain caused. people’s behaviors and thoughts, beliefs and understandings, all altered by the accumulation of the things others have done to them – things that they will in turn do to others. where does it end ?

these arms have, one by one, buried to the ground the reasons for my sadness. the sincerest of eyes soften in my presence and there is peace in a silence that envelopes my heart whole.

occasionally, the uncertainty that has been a companion for so long creeps to the surface, where it stays, dancing in the lines of my vision regardless of where I look. Destiny has a way of unfolding itself, he said. words that both comfort and frighten me with their finality.

hands fit and the contrast of skin on skin tells a story I could never put into words. you give me the most gorgeous sleep. living in the now is all I can do.

I guess I thought I was immune. My system, composed partially of distilled resilience, a dab of this fleeting sense of belonging and the rest, filled to the brim with the quintessential hope of my youth. But here I am, sick and coughing, nose running and head pounding with knowledge which I’d rather not have acquired.

An elderly woman climbed slowly onto the packed bus. She gazed over at the designated seating, already filled with the glowing faces of men and women seated in exhaustion, healthy but tired from a day of work and a heat heavy and clinging. Eyes began to shift, each trying to avoid the gaze of the elderly woman, now gripping the railing, her frail arms attempting to balance the motions of the moving bus. For a few suspended moments, no one moved, each hoping that the other would get up and give up a seat which, in all effect, already belonged to the elderly woman.
finally, a slightly overweight hijabi woman who had previously been engrossed in her novel, looked up and seeing the situation, immediately stood up. gently guiding her arms around the small older woman, she maneuvered herself aside and gave up her seat. gratitude flowed from the elderly woman’s lips, lilting in her Asian accent. Others looked on with looks of relief.

How deep does human apathy go? From allowing an elderly citizen to stand in a crowded bus during rush hour traffic, to pedestrians walking by a person collapsed or injured on the side of the street – what defines our capacity for compassion? Do values and faith develop a sense of immunity to an apathetic existence? Or is compassion something one is born with, and cultured into?

What is there in the unsaid? The words that pile and accumulate in tension, taut and heavy with the weight of silence in which they are carried. I climb a concrete roof that covers the subway, feel the hardness beneath by feet. I climb and twirl in wheels of confusion and it’s only on the landing that I see what he sees. Eyes shaded by the promise of a drunken remedy. I’ll help you down, they say. Take my hand.

The vulnerability of the moment, seeing him for the first time ever and in that state. It’s almost like a movie, or something you’d read about in one of those paper back top sellers that you picked up on your way through Chapters, almost as an afterthought, walking through just to get to where you want a little bit faster. to cut across the sea of pages and bound words, and make it there on time, even though you’re not really running late in the first place. His lips parted and he said things that made me feel like I was in one of those indie small budget movies, the ones where scenes are cut and pasted with inexperienced ambition – raw in their form, humane in their essence. Good intentions that harm more than they do good.

The woman behind the counter was Indian. She smiled at me, with a look that was strangely free of judgment. I paid her and thought to myself, how many times before have I done this? They say a mistake that is repeated is a mistake that is earned. Well, they don’t really. But they ought to, seeing how we tend to live not only in clichés, but the reality which we embedded in each, an excuse in the making.

We’re just random particles.

An afterthought to my initial decision. This isn’t what I had imagined. I walked in veiled, walked out unveiled, like a transitory moment where I am who I am, and just as suddenly, who I’m not. Maybe even now, simultaneously. Trying to change the nature of what is really happening with kisses on closed eyelids and a forehead that creases in anxiety. Later, when I have time to reflect, I worry that maybe everything will need to be rearranged again. Reshuffling parts or whole emotions, stacking them to make space for more. A new sensation that grips me by the throat and asks me to give in. it’s nothing I haven’t handled before, I think.

And right now, all that matters is the feeling of residual sand on my feet and the rivers flowing in my eyes, coming home to a family that is always loving, regardless of what I might have done. and everything is okay.

Grief settles thick in the throat,and lungs:

thousands of sorrows being suffered, clouds of cruelty,
all somehow from love.

Wail and be thirsty for your own blood. Climb
to the execution place.
It is time.

The Nile flows red: the Nile flows pure.
Dry thorns and aloe wood — are the same until fire touches.

A warrior and a mean coward stand here similar
until arrows rain.
A subtle lion with strategy gets the prey to run toward him,
saying
Kill me again

Don’t try to figure this out.
Love’s work looks absurd, but trying to find a meaning will hide it more.

Silence.

a girl, in her early twenties, sits at a table on the patio of one of the bars on St-Catherine street. even though the sun’s intensity had lessened with the passing of time (it was late afternoon), it was evident from the empty glasses that line the table that her and her partner had been there for a while. she wore jeans and a pair of designer flats, with their heels clicked back in impatience, pedicured toes peeking. occasionally, the wind would move strands of her dark hair across her face, or pull at the checkered shawl around her neck, which she adjusted absentmindedly. her partner, a man in his rather late twenties, sat to her right. he wore a navy golf shirt and khaki pants the colour of his hair. he spoke in hushed tones and a slightly turned head, as if he was constantly speaking of something he deemed highly important. her face, however, seemed unregistering of the urgency of his message. with furrowed brows and her eyes glazed and wondering, she stares at the glass of wine she holds in her hands, swirling the liquid and watching it’s movements with a distant concentration. finally the man’s frustration becomes evident from the clenching fists and raised voice. she pauses her swirling and stares at him for a moment, shifting her concentration to the sudden lines of worry that have appeared on his face, almost as if noticing him there for the first time.

he meets her gaze and for a moment, the observer is tricked into believing that the storm might have passed. that the conflict and the weight of what she’d revealed to him might have become lighter through the touch of their love. but before this thought becomes reality, the scene shifts and she is gone, wind carrying her away with every step of swirling promises, broken hearts and open ideals. the man, left behind at the table, the man with the heart of strength like the steel structures that surround him, simply sits. lighting a cigarette, he lifts his head in submission, staring silently at the cloudless summer night.

mornings have become difficult. these mornings, with their weak light, promising nothing short of a restlessness bound from within. one that comes with the first thought of the day – a frustration at the lack of answers, and the lack of purpose. what now? they ask. what are you going to do now?
these mornings, taunting and relentless, mock the idealistic vibrance of my far away dreams.

the sadness has given way to a void. a void so vast that in my dreams, it sits as a field so endless that it envelops my thoughts whole — a realm where I can’t even imagine visiting, at the risk of getting lost in the abyss that seems to hold everything I’ve ever wondered about.

it is not a bad feeling, and rather painless. but this restlessness that has settled in my heart is something to be reckoned with. it follows me wherever I go, to whichever state of mind I seek refuge. As I run tucking away thoughts of change and challenge, the void sucks them back into the frontal lobe of my tired, overcharged brain. think about them, it says. think about them now.

revolutions are born in the heart