Have You Heard...?

Well, after all that drama of pulling allnighters and studying, I think my midterm yesterday went amazingly well, alhamdu'lillah, and today I actually managed to convince myself to finish an outline for a human development paper. I was half-inclined to skip the whole deal, so it took quite a lot of effort to pull it off. Even then, I madly typed up the outline in the ten minutes before it was due. Yay for me! Been a crazy few days though. Two-and-a-half allnighters in four days. Oh so exciting, yup.

It’s weird, but last-minute studying generally works for me. Perhaps it has a lot to do with the fact that, as a procrastinator, I’ve had to adapt to these slacker tendencies of mine and learn how to maximize my studying at the last minute, since I know I’m not going to make an effort to learn much in advance. Yesterday, I got to the lecture hall about 25 minutes before the midterm began, and then sat there doing some last-minute reviewing and cramming. And whaddaya know, I think I learned and retained more knowledge in those 25 minutes than I actually did during all those insane allnighters. lol. Osmosis rocks, yo.

That just reminded me of an incident from freshman year... I was rushing down a hallway so I could make it to a midterm on time, walking quickly, in my own little world, scanning a sheaf of papers raised at eye-level in a desperate effort to cram for a test that I had barely studied for. This random girl from my class was walking alongside me, busily smirking at my expression of intense concentration. Finally, she remarked patronizingly, "The way I see it, if you don't already know it by now, there's really no point at all in cramming at the last minute." I felt like smacking her. Instead, I restrained myself, raised an eyebrow, and shot back, "I'm not particularly surprised it doesn't work for you, but last-minute reviewing is a skill that I can pull off." She just shut up then. She was lucky she caught me on a stressed-out day when I had other, more important, things to worry out, otherwise I would have seriously lashed out. lol. Word of advice: Try not to piss the Yaz off, ok? She will beat you down. Thank you for your cooperation. :-D

So I missed halaqa on Sunday morning, thanks to my exhaustive allnighters and my bouts of studying up on campus. I always miss the fun stuff, darnit... Turns out one of the things they did in halaqa was, each girl wrote her name at the top of an otherwise blank sheet of paper, and then they passed 'em around the circle and everyone had to write something cool about each person. One thing I couldn't help noticing on my paper: EVERYONE wrote some variation of "funny" or "hilarious" for me. Woohoo! That made my day. Seher called me a crackhead. You swear like I can't recognize your handwriting, woman. lol j/k. Not like you were trying to be undercover or anything. lol. I liked the "A pro humble sister who got a lot going on!" part. How does one become "pro humble," is what I wanna know. Tell me, oh great Seher, my fellow cracked-out woman. Graaaaaaaand. hahaha. Oh! And someone else put down "best-dressed." LOL! Thank ya, thank ya veddy muchos. :) k, yeah, I'm finally gonna shut up about that. You know, contrary to what you might be thinking from this post so far, I really can't handle compliments. I think I did a whole post on that once, way back when. Back when I first started blogging.

Ok, I'm posting one of my random AIM away messages in here (and yes, in case you didn't know, ALL of my away messages are random, yo):

When you're having issues hearing someone's question and you've lost all patience, both with them and yourself, there are always three safe answers to fall back on...also known as the "b.s. answers"...“Yes,“ "No,” and “I don't know." Speaking from personal experience though, “I don't know," is a REALLY BAD answer to use...especially when someone asks you something you freakin BETTER know...such as, "What's your name?" or, even funnier, "Where're you from?"

This actually happened to me last week, when I got a phone call to set up an interview for an internship I had applied for a couple weeks ago (more on it later...I think it'll merit a whole post). I was talking to Seher and Somayya, and my cell phone rang. So I answered it, and this nice-sounding lady said, "Hi, I'm calling for Yasmine," so I was like, "Yes, that's me," and she said something that I didn't catch, so I was like, "I'm sorry, what was that?" And she repeated her well-intentioned question, and I sooo couldn't get it, so she had to repeat it once more. I mean, I could hear her voice, but somehow my brain just couldn't process the combination of words...I couldn't differentiate between the words themselves. Ehhh, whatever, I dunno how to explain it. But finally, I just gave up and kinda mumbled, "Uhhh, I'm not sure," and there was this awkward silence at her end, before she moved on to the topic of setting up an interview time. After I hung up, I went back to talking to Soms and Seher. A few minutes later, Seher was like, "Oh, and by the way, Yaz, you know what that woman was asking you? She said, 'Did I say your name right?' And you said, 'I'm not sure.'" HAHAHAHA. omg. I just about died laughing. So much for my genius b.s. answers. *sigh* Leave it to the Yaz, yo.

It's so wrong though, when people sitting next to me can hear stuff on my phone better than I can. Isn't that messed up?? I think it is. lol. Actually, my phone has such major reception that I can't really have private convos on it while sitting near someone else, cuz they can hear just as much of the convo as I can. Sooo wack. lol. I'm in love with my cell phone though. It's cute-lookin, and it rocks because (USUALLY, ok) I can hear EVERYTHING on it. Which is really a big deal, actually. When I first started college a couple years back, my dad bought me a cell phone since I was going to be on the road so much. An elegant little LG cell with a flip-top. *siiiigh* I sooo miss that phone, man. You don't even know. But my telephone plan was with MCI-WorldCom, and then those nerds went bankrupt, so last summer I had to switch over to my daddy-o's AT&T plan. Problem with that was, those freaks of nature over at AT&T wouldn't accept my cell phone under any of their plans. So I got a Nokia instead. One of those cutesy little ones that everyone and their mama has. Problem with THAT was that, as far as my hearing loss and I were concerned, the darn Nokia phones were only good for lookin' at, since it turned out they weren't compatible with hearing aids. I was like, wtf. I had that phone for 2 weeks, and I hated that freakin' piece of plastic with a passion. I couldn't hear jack off it, whether I was calling people or they were calling me. It would ring, and I would pull it out of my bag, look at the caller ID, answer it, be like, "Hello? What? What? Whaaaat? Ok, you know what, I can't hear you. Call me later on at home or something, ok? Bye" and then hang up all aggravated, without having heard a word of anything the person on the other end had said. After a few days of that, I just gave up on even answering it. The only thing that phone was good for was checking out the time, since I didn't have a watch. hahaha. Then I got an Ericsson. It's cute too, and we're good buddies, yupyup. Works out perfectly.

Phones are such drama, man. We have...one, two, three, four...count 'em, FOUR, regular phones at my house (not including cell phones), and there's only ONE of those that I feel comfortable using. The remaining are all annoying cuz they lack volume control, or the reception just isn't all that compatible with my hearing aids. So even if I'm sitting right next to one of those annoying phones when it rings, I refuse to pick it up, even if no one else is around. Or sometimes I run across the house to the one phone I love. Either way, it drives my family insane. They're like, "Answer the phone already! You're sitting right next to it!" I'm just like, Whatever, yo. Psshhhh. Oh, and closed-captioning rockt das Haus, says the Yaz. That's another thing that annoys the heck out of my family. But they can't say anything against it, cuz they know I have good excuses for needing it. Isn't that perfect? Muahahahaha. :-D

A lot of this post came about because I went link-hopping through my sitemeter and somehow or another ended up at LillyAnne's website. It's majorly interesting, especially since she's deaf/hard-of-hearing herself, and there's a whole section on her site devoted to "Deaf Resources." Go read the poems. NOW!! Good stuff. Trust me. Makes you think. Dude, I so want to learn sign language soon. I've been talking about it for years, but I'm always so busy with my regular college classes that I can't fit it in. *sigh*

Oh yeah, so the reason I got all sidetracked on talking about my hearing issues in this post was because I came across a post of LillyAnne's regarding how to effectively communicate with hard-of-hearing people. Yeah, so just in case any of you ever meet me in real life (not that I'm saying that'll happen or anything; that's just my example, ok)...and then let's say you're so busy madly chewing on your candy bar or friench fries, and of course keeping your gaze lowered like a good Muslim child should, or maybe you just have Attention Deficit Disorder and it's impossible for you to concentrate on making lengthy eye contact with the person you're conversing with...well, you might wanna take the following into consideration. lol.

Communicating with Hard of Hearing People

Remember, a hearing aid does not mean the individual hears normally. There still may be difficulty hearing, even when wearing the hearing aid, especially in noisy situations and rooms with poor acoustics.

Speak slowly and clearly, taking care to round off words without exaggerating. Don't shout. You may have to raise your voice a little, but shouting will only distort your words and could cause severe discomfort and/or embarrassment to the listener. Be careful in the pronunciation of proper names as they are especially difficult to understand.

Do not speak with anything in your mouth, such as a pipe or cigarette. Likewise, make sure your hands are away from your mouth.

Move away from background noise. Turn down the radio, TV, or stereo before speaking. People with hearing loss find it extremely difficult to hear above background noise or to selectively listen when there is other competing speech. Select seating in restaurants, and other such places, in the areas of least background noise and distraction.

Do not attempt to talk to the Hard of Hearing person from another room. Not only is the distance and intervening obstacles too great form them to hear you adequately, they cannot see your face. Nearly all Hard of Hearing people lipread to some degree.

Open your mouth sufficiently when speaking, but do not exaggerate lip movements.

Always face the person and make sure your face has adequate light on it.

Some people have difficulty hearing certain speech sounds. In these instances try rephrasing what you have said. Endless repetition of the same words seldom helps.

Determine what mode of communication the person prefers -- talking aloud and speechreading; paper and pencil or Sign Language.

Whenever possible, be sure a microphone and public address system, a room loop, or other assistive listening device is used for meetings, lectures, and so on.

Do not hesitate to ask what you might do to make yourself better understood.

Take care that you are talking to the person, and not down to the person. There is a tendency to speak in a humiliating, patronizing, and degrading way, especially when speaking to a hard of hearing person.

I remember once, when I was in Pakistan, an aunt of mine (well actually, she's technically Somayya's aunt. Muahahaha!) asked me a question from across the room, and because she was occupied with something else at the moment, she kept moving around and I couldn't catch a glimpse of her face in order to watch her mouth while she was talking. So after the usual her-repeating-and-me-saying-"What?"-about-five-times exchange, she came over, leaned close to me, and started talking into my ear. I jerked away, glared at her, and fumed, "Don't you ever, EVER do that again. If you want to say something to me, then say it normally, and look at my face while you're talking to me. But don't you DARE ever talk into my ear again." I got up and stalked out of the room, leaving her sitting there gaping, speechless, staring at my retreating back. Sooo funny, now that I think about it! I think she went and complained about my disgraceful attitude and sharp tongue to my mama later on. Ahhh, the things I get myself into, when I don't think before speaking. Hahaha. Who cares though; served her right. Psshhhhh...

Oh, and just in case you're all confused or something, go read my March 1st post.

k, I think right about now would be a good time to end this post, because the guy at the computer next to me keeps staring at me and it's majorly embarrassing the hell out of me. He's all trying to make eye contact (it's sooo obvious), and I'm avoiding it pretty well so far. I bet he thinks he's being all slick. Arrrrgggh. If he keeps it up, I swear I'm gonna get all sarcastically evil on him. Knowing me, I'll lean over and get right in his face and be like, "Excuse me, do you have a PROBLEM?" Heh. Yes, I have temper issues, in case you couldn't tell already. Oh wait, he's leaving now. 'S all good though, I have to go tutor anywayz. Calculus is the way to go, says the Yaz. Peace out, peoples, and be good children!

It's 3 a.m....Just Like in the Matchbox Twenty Song!

Hmm...don't even ask why I'm awake and alert at this psychotic hour. Crazy allnighters. *tsk tsk* It's like the Barenaked Ladies song: "Who needs sleep?/Well you're never gonna get it/Who needs sleep?/Tell me what's that for..." Story of my life, yo.

It's sooo cold. You know how the hard-drive for your PC has this vent thingie on the side? Well, warm air comes out of there, so I'm sitting here with one hand pressed against the vent. My left hand is nice and warm now, but my right hand (busy wielding the mouse) is suffering from hypothermia, I'm telling you. Hey, it's better than going across the house to the kitchen, just to warm up my hands at the toaster! (Although that's sounding pretty appealing right about now.)

All that talk about German reminded me (for some reason) of this one film we watched in German 5 during my senior year of high school. It was called "die Dame aus Amsterdam" (The Woman from Amsterdam), and it was a stupid movie. Hecka boring, with a funky spy plot. And a majorly scandalous subplot too. :-p It was one of those spy movies where they have car-chase scenes and everyone drives all psychotically and the bad guy tries to run the good guy off the road, but then the good guy wins in the end, of course. lol. okok...The point is, my friend Aaron and I used to laugh our heads off at the main car-chase scene in the movie, because it was so stupid...everyone was driving these hecka old VOLVOS, of all things. I mean, these were some majorly old, banged-up looking cars, which is fine, but VOLVOS?? omg. You can't have a car-chase scene with Volvos. It just doesn't work!! lol. I remember we were sitting there watching the movie, and the car-chase scene came on, and I just started laughing out of nowhere. And everyone was like, What the hell?? And the teacher was like, "Yasmina! Shhhh!" --> (Oh yeah, she called me "Yasmina" cuz of the "e" at the end of my name, and you know how in German, if you have an "e" at the end of a word, it's like an "a." Whatever. lol.) So anywayz, I was totally busting up, and the rest of the class was like, okayyyy. But then we kept watching the scene, and after a while, everyone else totally started to understand why the heck it was so damn funny too. So in the end, we were all hecka laughing, and our teacher's just standing there like, What did I do wrong?? lol. I swear, that movie was so weird. Aaron and I still laugh about it whenever we run into each other. I mean, it was such a bad movie that even now, three years later, we still have it all stuck in our heads. How damn annoying is THAT?? lol.

I had an awesome day hanging out with my homie Seher today, since she went up to campus with me. Can you believe we spent the whole hour driving up talking about FOOD?? Actually, yeah, I guess it's pretty plausible. :-D Yayyy for weird people! Seher has probably long forgotten the following story, but anything that easily amuses me is something I have a tendency to remember, so... Last summer, she, Somayya, Shereen, and I went down to San Jose for an Islamic talk or something at the masjid there. At the end, we were walking back to my car and having some crazy conversations as usual, and suddenly Seher stops in the middle of the street and turns to me all excitedly and goes, "You know what, Yaz?" I was like, "Umm no, Seher, what?" And she goes, "When we grow up and have kids, you and I should make sure they're close in age and that they grow up together!" I was like, "Hmmm, ok, why?" And she's all, "So then our kids can marry each other and all that weirdo blood can intermingle, and our grandkids can be THE WEIRDEST CHILDREN EVER!!" I was like, "COOL!!" hahaha. So Seher and I just stood there in the middle of the street and collapsed in laughter, and Shereen and Somayya were like, Omg, what freaks. haha. Somayya was all, "Ok, let's get this straight right now. YOUR CHILDREN are NEVER playing with my children! They will never be allowed anywhere NEAR my children!" And Seher and I were all, "Oh reallyyyy?? Muahahaha, just WATCH!!"

I think our rebel children will take over the world. It's gonna be great. hahah. I'm all excited about the idea of a worldwide takeover by the Weirdo Rebel Children. Life will be so cool. I only hope we're around to see it. The Revolutionary Rebels! hahah. Omg, am I really sounding high on crack? Cuz that's the way I'm feeling, for some reason. Must be these chocolate chip cookies I'm munching on. Want some? Come on over to Cali. lol.

okok, time for serious stuff: I have midterms this coming week and the next. Yay for me! (NOT.) So du'as from your end would be majorly welcomed and appreciated, as usual. :) If blogging becomes sporadic, I apologize. But I will not be held accountable for y'all going through future Yaz-withdrawals. :):)

My teeth are chattering. Gotta get back to sudying. Peace!

~YaZziE, tHe wEiRdO cHiLd WhO'S hAvInG iSsUeS cUz ShE's So wEiRd AnD RePeTiTiVe LiKe ThAt ... pLuS, ShE jUsT nEedS sLeEp (LiKe ThAt OnE BaReNaKeD LaDiEs SoNg, "WhO nEeDs sLeEp?" heheheheheh :-D

Es Rockt das Haus, Wenn Mann Deutsch Kann

Es tut mir leid. Ich habe nur jetzt erkannt, dass ich seit drei Tage nichts geschrieben habe (I’m sorry; I realized only now that I haven’t written anything for three days). Did I get the word order right? Hmmm…

Oh man, I think I’m going through a German phase all over again. lol. It’s not my fault, I’m telling you (nothing is ever the Yaz’s fault, just so ya know). A couple days ago, I ran into a high school friend, Aaron. He actually attends the same college I do, but shoooooot, I’m the queen of slackers when it comes to keeping in touch with friends. If you ask me, though, he’s majorly flaky too. Psshhhh. Summer plans came up, and nerd child that I am, I was whining about the four classes that I’ll be taking…OMG, I STILL HAVEN’T REGISTERED FOR THEM!! Arrrgggh. Be right back.

Ok, the Yaz is back. Registered for my four classes. Summer session 2 is all cool, but I’m waitlisted all through summer session 1…number 16 on the waitlist for one class, and number 20 for another. *sigh* Serves me right for remembering this now, geez. lol. I better get into those classes though, or I’m screwed.

Anywayz, while I wander through campus in the sweltering heat this summer and beat my brains out trying to study on the third floor of the library and field cell phone calls from my Ummy asking me if I’ll be coming home in time for dinner, Aaron, on the other hand, wird durch Deutschland reisen (will be traveling through Germany). I’m so jealous, man. He and another friend from high school, Ben, are planning the trip together, and I’m already scared, because that crazy kid Aaron is looking wayyy too gleeful at the prospect of driving auf die deutsche Autobahn (on the German freeway, which, in case you didn’t know, has no speed limits whatsoever, or so I hear). Talk about psychotic. I remember once, long, long ago, I had to catch a ride home with Ben, and that crackhead child raced through the treacherous curves and hills and dips of the street I live on at about 45 mph, which even I, speed demon that I am, don’t have the guts to do. I just squeezed my eyes shut and tightened my grip on the door handle. :-p

Speaking of German, this morning I ran into my German professor from freshman year while on my way to class. I called out, “Guten Morgen! Wie geht es mit Ihnen?” but of course that wasn’t sufficient for his purposes; I actually had to stop and make real conversation. Which kinda sucked, cuz I think he was on a mission to make me prove I know German beyond the standard “good morning, how are you?” lines. lol. Actually, he’s been on a mission ever since freshman year to get me to major in German. Ja, Mann, no lie. So while I stumbled through my now-increasingly-meager repertoire of German small-talk, he regarded me with an assessing gleam in his eye and finally, thankfully, interrupted me to ask, oh-so-casually, “So when are you graduating?”
“Next year, in June,” I answered warily.
“Ahhhhhh,” he exclaimed, “Well that’s plenty of time to maybe consider doing a major in German, no?”
“Wellll,” I stalled, “I’ve barely just figured out my real major; I’m not sure I’ll have time for German...”
“I recall you were a bright student,” he wheedled. “How about a minor, maybe?”
I squinted uncertainly and said I’d think about it. He gave me a wide grin in return, hugely pleased at this small success, and continued on his merry way, after advising me to review the subjunctive case and come see him if I have any questions about the German minor. Heh. Did I mention the fact this whole conversation was auf Deutsch? I need to brush up on the whole language, me thinks. Or, forget that…I should just learn Spanish. Way more useful for California purposes, yo.

I love German though, just cuz everything sounds so funky. Who needs to learn cuss words when you know German? It's so whack. I can just say anything, and it'll sound like I'm cussing people out. That was so evil though. Muhahahaha. Yes, I know i'm a crackhead, what can I say. I come by it naturally, too. I think I was dropped on my head as a baby. That would explain everything, seriously.

So I have midterms next week. Very sucky. And because I always get all stressed out to the max when test time comes around, I’ve been barricading myself up on the third floor of the university library for the past couple of weeks and trying to be productive…“trying” being the operative word here. Good news: I got 100 pages of reading done today. Bad news: I still have another 100 pages to go for that class. Worse news: I have about 5 chapters and another couple hundred pages of combined total reading to do for my other classes. *SIGH* Word of advice from the Yaz, everyone’s favorite slacker child: Don’t be like me. And, oh yeah, studying sucks. Not like you didn't already know that, though.

This whole studying deal is way more productive when I stay late on campus. Otherwise, I drive all the way home, eat dinner, and go, “Yay! Bedtime!” Not a good way to go. Being at home is sooo not productive. Which is why I came home at midnight last night. Today, I got home at 11 p.m. Same reaction from the parents both nights, either way. Ummy gave me a reproachful look as I walked through the door, shook her head disapprovingly a few times, followed me up and down the hallway and relayed the activities and household news of the day while I put my stuff away, practically smothered me with hugs and kisses, and fussed over me as if I’ve been gone for a month. So cute, my mama. Hahaha. My dad squinted closely at my face and said in surprise, “You’re awake! I was expecting you to be half-asleep!” Darn; sorry to disappoint you. lol. Dude, I can stay sooo late on campus and be wide awake, but the minute I come home I just wanna crawl into bed. I wish I could stay in the 24-hour room at the library; I’d get so much done. My parents would probably have a heart attack though. lol.

The only reason I’m even awake right now is become I’m on the computer. Duh. There’s something about the internet that’s so conducive to pulling allnighters. :-p My daddy-o came wandering around about an hour ago, urging me and Shereen to head off to bed. So funny though, cuz he has the funkiest arguments:

Daddy: You should go to bed soon. It’s terrible thing to see you all over-sleeping in the morning.
Me: What are you talking about?? We leave home while you’re still asleep.
Daddy: *sheepish grin*

You know, I kinda miss my psychotically hilarious posts. All of my relatively recent posts have been kinda serious. I hope I’m not losing my touch. Whoa, that’d be scary, yo. I need to get back into my psychotic stage. Maybe after my midterms are over, insha’Allah. :):)

While I’m in this German phase, I might as well end with this nice German quote I found posted on some anthropology professor’s office door last year. I looked it up online, but it’s been attributed to so many different people that I’m not quite sure whom to rightfully credit. Either way, good stuff to think about:

"Statt zu klagen, dass wir nicht alles haben, was wir wollen, sollten wir lieber dankbar sein, dass wir nicht alles bekommen, was wir verdienen."

(Instead of complaining that we do not have all that we want, we should instead be grateful that we do not receive all that we deserve.)

M is for Multiculturalism

It's weird how everytime I sit down to post about a specific topic, I get sidetracked on something else. I think I must have the attention span of a 6-year-old too, not just the general mentality.

So anyway, I had an interview last Friday for an internship with the Multicultural Immersion Program (M.I.P.). As a subdivision of my university's Counseling Center, the Multicultural Immersion Program is designed to educate and train selected student leaders in workshop development and implementation in the areas of race relations, intercultural communication, and related diversity issues. The intensive one-year paid (yes, paid!) internship is designed to provide thorough training to a small number of students who are then expected to serve the campus as workshop facilitators and peer advisers. As campus diversity facilitators, we'll be required to put together workshops and presentations designed to foster understanding of multicultural issues. Cool stuff, no? The interview went extremely well, alhamdu'lillah. I?m pretty confident I'll get the internship, but I don't want to babble on too much about it, in case I don't get it after all and just feel stupid in the end. heh.

So why am I doing this, you wonder? One way of looking at it is that people need to be educated. About me, about you, about themselves. So...story time: As I'm sure I've explained a couple times already, I was born and raised in the U.S., and spent eighteen months living in Pakistan, my parents' homeland, when I was 13-14 years old. In the process, I learned to accept the inevitable truth that Pakistan was also my own homeland, even though I hadn't been born there. Before living in Pakistan, I had considered myself neither wholly American nor wholly Pakistani. This predicament placed me in an uncomfortable state of limbo, although, as a child, I think I tended to lean toward the Western culture I grew up surrounded by.

My ambivalent attitude, however, changed after living in Pakistan. Through first-hand experience, I absorbed details about Pakistan and its religion, culture, and customs, as well as about the people and their way of life - also my way of life during the time I was there. Hard work and a complete immersion in the Pakistani culture were the starting points towards the discovery of my roots. Life in Pakistan taught me to appreciate the best of both East and West, and to consequently reconcile the two.

But I'll be fair and admit that it wasn't all hunky-dory, ok. For eighteen months, I missed real chocolate, had cravings for Bakers Square cream pies, cursed the fact that the electricity went out 2927890 times a day, cringed at the lizards on the walls and the cockroaches in the bathrooms, prayed that I wouldn't fall into the well during my amateur attempts at drawing up water, and put up with the stereotypical desi "aunties" who visited us in a nonstop stream for eighteen months (ostensibly to welcome us to the village, but their bluntly-put ulterior motives were more along the lines of obtaining American visas for their sons/nephews/grandsons/brothers/etc. Blah).

It really wasn't until after I returned to the U.S. that I appreciated how much the time I spent in Pakistan increased my depth of world knowledge. I'm exceedingly grateful not only to have had the opportunity to broaden my horizons, but also to have been blessed with the ability to integrate aspects of two very different cultures into my life. My pride in my Pakistani heritage has given me a self-confidence and sense of self-worth that I cannot but believe I would have lacked otherwise. While the process of reconciling my two identities was a long and difficult one for me, I feel that I have finally reached a point in my life where I am fully comfortable with my ethnicity and heritage, to the extent that I have lost the defensive feeling that initially characterized my responses to peoples' questions about my ethnicity or religion. Now that I am secure in my own racial identity, I am able to interact with people of other ethnicities and educate them about my race and religion without feeling defensive or suspicious of their motives in expressing interest in these topics.

As individuals, we all fashion our own sense of identity, and the process often takes years, even a lifetime. You all probably already know this from your own experiences. But in the end though, it's difficult to find peace and contentment in one's personally chosen identity if the rest of the world doesn't understand it at all. What good does that sense of personal content do for you then? Living in a self-enclosed bubble doesn't do jack for you, yo. Even in our modern, forward-thinking world today, people stereotype each other's identities, or scorn and mock them, or deliberately refuse to further understand them, and in the process they belittle something that is inherently precious to each individual, no matter how widely each person's sense of identity differs from another's. It therefore remains to each individual to educate the rest of the world about his identity, so that others can understand it does matter.

I personally feel that educating the people I come across throughout my daily life is an important step towards enhancing intercultural relations in our society. In one of my sociology discussion sections, I once watched a video called The Way Home, in which dozens of women were separated by racial identity and then left to talk among themselves about their experiences within the definitions of that category. One of the things that struck me the most was hearing an Arab woman, tired of the association of Arabs with terrorists and oppressed women, say in exasperation, "We accuse people of not understanding us, but at the same time we refuse to speak out about who we really are." Exactly.

The other day, I amusedly read Sana's remark about being too embarrassed to wear desi clothes in public. [No, Sana, I wasn't laughing at you though.] Among the rambling comments I left in response was the following:

"I sew most of my Pakistani clothes from fabric I buy at regular ol' American fabric stores and boutiques and places, so they're wayy not formal. I wear most of my Pakistani kameez with jeans. Looks way cool, yo. Try it sometime. Then again, I have funky fashion phases. But it's good to have your own unique style instead of dressing like everyone else, you know? And, yeah, hijab is awesome too, but I like going beyond that, in terms of dressing differently. It does depend a lot on the length and design too. Most of my kameez are like just below the knee in length, so it's perfect with jeans...kinda like wearing a mini-dress with jeans, only my kameez have full-length sleeves instead of spaghetti straps. :-p But yeah, it's way fun and awesome. And trust me, people LOVE it...so try it sometimes."

Suddenly, much to my amazement, Arshe, Sar, Abez and others were sharing their own experiences with the kameez+jeans/pants style, and Baheera added a comment about how she sometimes goes for the shalwar-and-rugby-shirt combo. I was like, wowwww, awesome. And here I thought Somayya, Shereen, and I were the only ones who dressed all differently like that. So cool.

The whole clothes issue reminded me of an incident from last fall, when I enrolled in a sociology course, the first in a two-part series entitled "Intercultural Relations in Multicultural Societies." One of the topics that hit closest to home for me was that of incorporating immigrants into the society of their adopted homeland. As my professor explained, there are three methods of incorporation: exclusion (immigrants are viewed as second-class citizens or temporary guests in their adopted country, and are "segregated" from the natives), assimilation (immigrants learn a new language and culture, completely giving up their old ones), and multiculturism (immigrants are bilingual and bicultural).

When the professor asked the class at large to express their opinions regarding immigrant assimilation, many students raised their hands and brought up a point on which I agreed: that immigrants should most definitely make an attempt to learn the language of their adopted country, because only then will they be able to interact with their neighbors and colleagues. The same students also added that while language skills are essential, immigrants should be allowed to retain their ethnic identities as well.

While I was nodding my head in agreement over the previous students' responses, the professor called on another student in the back of the class. Listening to the next student speak, I found myself taking offense at what I perceived as his lack of respect for cultures and heritages beyond those of America. I disliked his condescending tone when pronouncing, "In order to survive in America, you have to walk the American walk and play the American game, and in order to play the game you have to speak the language and wear the same clothing as the American people wear." Continuing further, he held forth his personal view that it was perfectly fine for immigrants to speak their native languages and wear their ethnic dress while in the privacy of their own homes, but when venturing out into public, the same immigrants should be required to wear American clothing and speak English.

I believe my disbelief and irritation were fully apparent from the look on my face, and I saw others sitting around me glance nervously towards me during the student's discourse. While I sat in staring at him with my eyebrow raised in utter exasperation, those around me were busy taking in my hijab and ethnic form of dress. Before the student in the back raised his hand and shared his views, I hadn't been planning on putting forth my own opinion of immigrant assimilation, because I felt that the students who spoke prior to him had already emphasized most of what I also thought about the situation.

However, this particular student's patronizing view towards assimilation, and his firm belief that all immigrants should be required to hide any vestiges or signs of their ethnic backgrounds while in public annoyed me enough that I raised my own hand and stated my own views on the matter. Although I now somewhat regret the sarcastic and combative way in which I began my "obviously I speak fluent English and wear my ethnic clothing at the same time" approach to addressing the other student's views, I am glad that I had the courage to speak up when I disagreed with what he said. While I firmly agree that immigrants should make every attempt to learn the language of their adopted country, I just as firmly believe that no immigrant should be required to compromise his ethnicity and heritage just to fit into the cookie-cutter patterns dictated by society.

Although I was born and raised in the U.S., my parents and relatives did a commendable job of ensuring that I never lost my sense of identity in terms of being a Pakistani Muslim. As a result, I consider myself to be bicultural and multilingual. While strangers may take one look at me wearing my native dress in public and instantly judge me as a "fresh off the boat" immigrant who most likely does not speak a word of English, I am completely comfortable in my identity as a woman who has learned to integrate both the East and the West into her life.

I've learned that it's all about compromise. And it's about "optional identities" too, in which people take the best of all their cultures and make that their identity, picking and choosing from their various identities that which they specifically wish to incorporate into their lives. Balancing or juggling identities is often a circus act, and eventually one becomes proficient at the pick-and-choose aspect of optional identities. In the end, I think, it's all about choosing the most appealing from everything that one is handed, and making that our own personal way of life.

Peace Is the Way to Go, Yo

As you can obviously see, I’ve added a couple cool buttons to my blog, but being the html-illiterate child that I am, I’m not exactly sure how to configure them so that when you scroll over the buttons, the corresponding url shows up (so that right-clicking on a button would lead you straight to its website). Heh. After a few fruitless attempts at fiddling around with the template and majorly screwing up my main blog page, I’ve given up. :-p So if y’all like the peace buttons, check out PeaceBlogs.org. Not only can you upload some pretty-slick-lookin’ buttons to your site, but if you oppose the war in Iraq and use your weblog to express that viewpoint, then you can also add your own blog to the list of weblogs opposing the war. Currently, there are 988 blogs from 44 countries. Masha’Allah. :) The “Don’t Be Afraid to Speak Up” button is from Jeff Gates’s site (which I somehow stumbled across), specifically from his post touching on the problems faced by some Americans as a result of speaking out against the war. As Mr. Gates explains, “The 30/70 refers to the polls which state that 30% of the public is against America’s involvement in the war in Iraq and 70% support it—numbers that are controversial in their own right.”

And if any of you technologically-competent children wanna help me figure out the whole adding-the-url-to-the-button-through-my-template deal, jazak’Allah in advance. :) Special shout-outs to sister Hafsa, who so kindly explained to me how to display images on my blog. :):)

Yo, loooong post coming up. Be prepared. Don't say I didn't warn ya. So if you strain your eyes out with reading my 40384028-paragraph-long posts, don't be blaming me then. :-D

MBAs, Munchies, and Milk

I decided to be smart like a lot of you people out there and add titles to each of my posts, since all my posts look the same (being an average of 4938979 paragraphs long), and maybe a title will help y’all make sense of my rambles. Or maybe not. Let me know how it goes.

It’s been a pretty nice day, Alhamdu’lillah. Woke up past noon for one of the few times in my life, bummed around, deliberately refused to study AT ALL, signed onto AIM (yes, my screen name is working again, although my Hotmail emails are still forever gone. *sigh*) and spent a couple hours catching up with old friends, scarfed down some cookies and milk, even as my Ummy disapprovingly clicked her tongue and predicted I wouldn’t have an appetite for dinner. Proved her wrong, of course. Oh yeah, had an interesting exchange with Somayya, since my daddy-o was up in Sacramento today and has seemingly been engaging in some mighty interesting conversations with Somayya’s father (read: meddling in our lives):

Somayya: omg
Somayya: your dad and my dad had a discussion today about OUR careers
Somayya: not good, i tell ya
Me: and why am I not surprised, is the question
Somayya: your dad told my dad the process of going to med school and now my dad wants me to change my path
Me: what crazy men
Me: hahahaha
Somayya: so stupid, i tell you
Somayya: your dad wants you to get an MBA
Me: oh my God
Somayya: he said you'd make a better business person than a scientist
Me: LOL riiiiiiight

Thanks, Daddy. As if I don’t already have enough issues regarding my major and courses of study and career choices. Blah. Somayya told them off good though. Something quite blunt about how she didn’t appreciate the two of them planning out OUR careers for us. You go, girlie.

Oh my goodness, so I’m sitting here typing out this post, and my Daddy, being the telepathic guy that he is, just asks me out of the blue, “Yasminay, have you ever thought about a career in law?”
“Umm, not really,” I answer.
“You should seriously consider it,” he says. “You’re good at all this abstract stuff…writing and analyzing and public speaking. Very articulate. Lots of self-confidence. Maybe you should think about applying to law school at Berkeley after you get your undergraduate degree next year.”

Nooooo…! Just when I think I’ve got everything all figured out, people throw me curveballs. Argh.

What else… Went to the grocery store and, just to make my Ummy happy, actually bought everything that was on the list (actually, I always do that.). Had a craving for munchies, so I dropped a box of crackers and some cheese (thought of Beans) in the grocery cart as well. “Good cheese comes from happy cows. Happy cows live in California. Real California Cheese. It’s the cheese!” Ever seen those ads? Drooled my way through the ice cream aisle, just for those of you who are OBSESSED with ice cream. Sorry, Usman, no Baskin Robbins…but there were some yummy-lookin' Dreyers flavors. And Godiva. And Ghirardelli. And yo, Somayya, did you know I discovered a whole, UNOPENED gallon of mint ‘n’ chip ice cream in my freezer this morning?? I was about to have it for breakfast (uhh yeah, breakfast at 1 p.m.), but my Ummy was not amused.

Speaking of grocery stores, I remember going grocery shopping with my dad when I was little, and being impressed because everyone at the store used to greet him by name. This evening, I went to the same grocery store, and everyone was like, “Heyyy, Yasmine! How’s it goin’?” Happens every time, actually. So cool. Never fails to amaze me. :)

The majorly weird part, though, was when I stood in line to pay, and the girl at the checkout aisle was so intent on quickly and efficiently scanning my groceries that she almost scanned the 6-pack of beer belonging to the guy behind me as part of my purchases. Quickly realizing her mistake, she set the 6-pack back down, and she and the guy both laughed. I ruefully joined in. The guy turned to me and asked in mock seriousness, “You sure you don’t want it?” I was like, uhhhhh, nooooo. Psshhhh. So anywayz, Sar says on my tagboard, “Yeah, Yaz, you are becoming a celebrity. I was in a grocery store and there was this flavoured milk called "YAZ." Now that is what I call REAL FAME. *wink*” Hahaha. That was soo cute. Reminds me of how a friend of mine used to say, "'Yaz' is the new 'yes.'" So everytime I'd ask him a question, he'd answer in the affirmative, "Yaz." But milk makes my world go ‘round, didja know? As chocolate addicts, we gotta have some good drink to wash all that sugar down, ya know. 2% low-fat all the way. Woohoo.

Ok, you know what, this is such a pointless post. I was actually going to talk about multiculturalism, but now I’ve made this whole boring “what-I-did-today” spiel way too long, and I still have tons of stuff to say about what I was REALLY going to post about. So I shall save that for tomorrow instead, insha’Allah. It’s ok though, because that means you won’t have to wait so long til my next post. It also means I get fewer harassing messages on my tagboard. So stay tuned, folks… Meanwhile, it’s past midnight, and that means…*dun dun dunnnn*…time for the Yaz to head off to bed, because she has halaqa early tomorrow morning.

Today, I viewed what has got to be one of the saddest documentaries ever made.

I stayed late on campus this evening to watch a showing of “Jenin Jenin” as part of Palestine Awareness Week at my university. As soon as the lights dimmed in the lecture hall, I busted out with my notebook and pen. I take notes on everything, ok. Must be that Wannabe English Major in me, or something.

Actually, the sadness wasn’t restricted to just the documentary itself. You want to know what’s sad? The fact that I had to explain to the normally articulate and intelligent hijabi sister next to me what Jenin is. She leaned over to ask, “Do you happen to know what this film is going to be about?” “Yes, it’s about Jenin,” I answered, figuring that was self-explanatory. “Oh,” she said, blankness written all over her face, “Who’s that?” Yes, we are in a sad state, peoples. What are we planning to do about it, is the question.

The attack on the Jenin city and refugee camp in Palestine ended a year ago today. For ten days, the Israelis bombarded Jenin with fighter planes, tanks, snipers and bulldozers. Following the massacre, the documentary-makers interviewed a wide range of surviving civilians in Jenin, varying from young children to feeble old men and women. Filmed solely in Arabic, with English subtitles, the documentary underscores the rubble and destruction left behind by the Israeli army, the strength and defiance of the Palestinian people, the heartbreak and helplessness and utter chaos that reigns in Jenin as a matter of course. “Every time we build a home, they destroy it,” laments an old man. “Every time a child is born, they kill him.”

But the effects of the Arab-Israeli conflict are obviously not restricted to adults alone. One of the most heartbreaking images in the documentary is a series of interviews with a young Palestinian girl. Thin, light-skinned, with a dark fringe of bangs, she can’t be more than eleven or twelve years old. A pretty child, the kind of girl you’d involuntarily smile at if you were to pass her in the street, just because she looks like the quintessential little sister. Yours. Mine. The kind of child who, based just on her looks, should be living a happy-go-lucky and carefree life. What’s jarring is that her eyes are the oldest I’ve ever seen…twin pools of pain and despair and defiance. For someone so young, she exhibits a bitterness and purpose far beyond her years. Her face remains deliberately blank most of the time. It’s her eyes that do most of the talking instead. Eyes that stare you down and bore into you unflinchingly and silently ask you what you’re doing to alleviate her pain. The only time she comes close to breaking down is when she admits, “My greatest wish is to go home.” But even that statement is mixed with defiance, as is everything else she says. She mentions that many of those massacred in Jenin were people she personally knew. “Israel is not the only terrorist!” she flings at the cameraman. “The whole world is the terrorist for allowing Israel to commit such atrocities.”

“What is it about animal rights?” asks one resident of Jenin sardonically. “The Western world is more concerned when an animal is killed than when a human being is.” Another man, ignoring his own advanced age and frailty, chooses to look to the future with hope: “But thanks to the young, and with God’s blessing, we will rebuild this camp whether they like it or not.”

One man sneers bitterly, “So this is what we call the conscience of the world: when the world turns a deaf ear.” Another man, his face lined and strained from watching too many of his people suffer unnecessarily, says wearily, “Hunger is not an issue; we are used to fasting during Ramadan. Smoking, they forced us to give that up in prison. But when a child dies in your arms, this will affect you for life. This is what hurts us most of all.”

Later, speaking about the massacre, he adds, “We made a legend out of our faith and our will, not weapons. I swear to you, not weapons… But what hurt us most was not the Israeli presence and their arsenal, but to be powerless to help a dying person. What hurt us most was that we were abandoned to ourselves while the whole world was watching. Nobody defended us. Nobody.”

My greatest fear these days is that I will wake up one morning and not care anymore. I fear becoming detached or complacent. I fear that someday I may lose my sense of compassion or that I will become desensitized and refuse to concern myself with the state of our world. That would probably be the saddest thing of all. And yet I even wonder about that too… Because, does crying during a documentary make a difference? Does coming home and writing a long post about it do the same? I always tell people, “Never underestimate the power of du’a,” but exactly how many du’as does it take to improve the lives of our brothers and sisters who are suffering all over the world? They undergo so much pain and harshness. They live such bleak lives; that is, if their situations can even truly be called “living.” Every second of their existence on this earth is etched with anguish and blank terror, is fraught with humiliation and horror. And I can sit here and shed a few tears and type out several paragraphs and sympathize with their plight, and tomorrow, knowing me, I’ll probably come back in a state of deliberate denial and ramble on about french fries and chocolate and my own issues (or lack thereof, as I so often laughingly remark).

Every time I get tangled up in this dilemma about not caring enough, I get to thinking about Rachel Corrie. [See my March 23rd post for more.] She cared, and she proved it. Unfortunately, I lack that level of courage and selflessness. Rachel Corrie possessed so much conviction and purposefulness that she endangered her life to support the Palestinian people, because she felt they were struggling for something that was true and just. Did you know that her hometown was Olympia, Washington? Back in the summer of 1989, my family went on a road trip to Canada, driving north through California, Oregon, and Washington State on our way to visit my dad’s cousin in Vancouver. There was a fair or carnival going on in one of the Washington cities we were passing through, so we stopped there for the day and joined in the fun. We have several photos from that day, but the one I remember best is of me astride a white pony on the merry-go-round. I’m wearing a pink-and-white checkered dress and my hair is in danger of falling out of its braid. Two of my front teeth are missing, but nonetheless I’m aiming a wide, gap-toothed grin at my dad and his camera. Eight years old, and I didn’t have a care in the world. Why am I talking about this? I’m not quite sure. I guess it’s because whenever I thought of Washington State in the past, it brought back memories of the merry-go-round and the trip to Canada. Now, Washington reminds me of Rachel Corrie instead, and it’s interesting to think that she grew up relatively close to me, just a couple years apart, probably with much of the same carefree upbringing as I experienced. And I can’t help but wonder, how did she gain so much courage and strength of conviction? How is it that an American girl like Rachel Corrie, so like myself albeit non-Muslim, formulated her ideals and strengthened her resolve and actually—ACTIVELY—attempted to make a difference in the world?

www.jeninjenin.org
Jenin Jenin @ www.arabfilm.com
(Check out the above links for more info about Jenin and the documentary)

Gather 'round, children, gather 'round, cuz the Yaz is baaaaaack! Yeah, I know, unlike the smart children such as Shadaan and Sana, for example, I neglected to warn y'all that I'd be missing in action for a few days. Then again, it's not like I planned it in advance. Life caught up with me and I got stressed out and busy and...ummm, yeah. So that's my excuse.

Jazak'Allah for the harassing messages on my tagboard and in my comment box though; nice to know I was missed. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I was lurking round on y'alls blogs throughout the week. Just didn't get much of a chance to tag or comment. But I'm up-to-date on all your thoughts and crazy activities, so don't be worryin about that. Yup, I'm the Lurker Extraordinaire. Just ask Bushra. She knows.

Anywayz, all my crazy busy weeks always involve school. Such fun, only it's really not. Ever have life catch up with you and stare you in the face, sternly and unblinkingly, and you get all flustered and wonder what the hell you're doing and where you're going, to the extent that you finally start rethinking all your priorities and decide to get your act straight? That was pretty much my experience all last week. Not that I'm even close to figuring out most of it yet. But I'd like to think I'm making some progress. And life's pretty much a work in progress anyway, isn't it? It's just that I wish I could figure stuff out and make some headway soon, so that I can get a sense of accomplishment as opposed to feeling like I'm just aimlessly drifting along.

Hmmm, somehow I get the feeling this is gonna be a freakin depressing post. Or maybe just introspective. Cuz I'm trying to sort through and figure out stuff these days, and, in this case, "stuff" means college and majors and degrees and graduate courses of study and careers and blah blah blah. Such drama. Not that it's new drama. This one I've always had. Entered college as an NPB major. Ooooh, did you know NPB stands for Neurobiology, Physiology, & Behavior? Yes, that is allll one major. No, I don't know quite what I was thinking. Spent my first year getting sidetracked on the whole pre-med deal and taking calculus and chemistry and general biology. Figured out that calculus was pretty cool after all (therefore, I tutor the subject, thank you very much), chem was bearable, and bio had just traumatized me for life. Of course, I had a pretty cynical attitude towards the whole thing too: "What I want to know is...how is the fact that I can correctly name an organic compound like 4-bromo-6-(2,2-dimethylpropyl)-3-ethyldecane going to help me as a medical doctor, much less as a pediatric audiologist? I mean, why do we have to KNOW this stuff?? Bunch of b.s., if you ask me." So obviously that mentality didn't help.

Spent my second year taking random liberal arts classes so that I could "figure stuff out" and have some excuse to stay away from more science lectures and labs. Discovered the Human Development major last summer, and finally this whole college major deal has some aim, but did I mention the fact that I'm planning on pediatric audiology as a career goal? So now I gotta figure out about grad school and Masters degrees and what the hell I'm planning on doing after I finish my undergrad degree in June '04, insha'Allah. Yo, du'as are always appreciated. Send some my way, please. :):)

I went to see my advisor in the Division of Bio Sci last week, and she was concerned about the fact that I'm so stressed about all this. She ordered, "Drop anthro." No arguments. Oh, and she mentioned the fact that the Dean of the Division of Bio Sci is not amused by the fact that I've been an NPB major for nearly three years and still haven't taken any of the upper-division requisite courses for NPB. Actually, I find the fact that I've managed to dodge all those boring lectures and labs pretty amusing myself, but then again, I'm kinda backwards and easily amused like that. Anyway, my goal is to, insha'Allah, be prepared to declare Human Development by the end of the summer. Shoot, might as well be productive during summer sessions. It's not as if I have anything better to do, so four classes during the summer should do me some good...two in each summer session. Oh, and I went in to talk to the Human Development advisor last week too...at this rate, I can still graduate in a year, right on schedule, even with all the crazy tangents I've been going on. Pretty slick, yo.

Anyway, if your brain is spinning in confusion already, you should be extremely glad you weren't around to read my non-existent blog about this time a year ago. Now that was the REAL drama time, cuz I hated bio and was in the process of trying to decide what I wanted to major in instead, and was seriously contemplating English or Comparative Literature. Talk about as extreme a switch from organic chem as you can get. It was horrible. At least NOW I have it all semi-figured-out. I was just re-reading some old emails I sent to a close friend back during that time, and if that's not depressing then I don't know what is. Check this out:

I need to figure out what the hell I want from life. Actually, I know WHAT I want pretty well...What I need to figure out is how to freakin' GET there. I was writing to my best friend Faith the other day and explaining my whole major dilemna to her. And she emailed me back with what I consider to be the best advice from anyone so far. She wrote, "I say, go for what you're really going to enjoy. For instance, what do you usually think about when you don't have to think about anything? What do you think about when you're walking down the street, or sitting and vegging all by your lonesome? Don't go into something that you don't already think about often because you'll end up forgetting a lot of information you've learned or you'll just end up hating the career you go into."

I mean, yeah, everyone and their mama has already told me, "Do whatever makes you HAPPY." That's what another friend said to me just this morning, and it's great advice. But I think Faith summed it up even better when she asked me what I think about when I'm walking down the street or just bumming around. Obviously, the answer is NOT bio! And that really made me wonder what I DO think about...apart from random thoughts about french fries, chocolate chip cookie dough, and what my next act of rebellion should be.

Sooo...let's see... I think about poetry. I think about novels. I think about quotations from dramatic works. I think about the piles of books I want to read the next time I don't have anything to do all day. I think about how much fun (yes, fun!) it would be to be an English major and do nothing but read. Before I started listening to music for reals, which was around the same time I started college and began commuting, all I did was read. Long before I got into the habit of looking up lyrics online, I spent hours reading book reviews on Amazon.com. I probably have 50 CDs right about now, but I have about 4 times that many books crammed into the little bookcase that stands in the corner of my room. I'm not trying to compare and contrast music and reading here...just trying to figure out what kind of place literature has in my life. What will I do with an NPB degree that is not even remotely related to and will make me waaay overqualified for my career of choice, which is pediatric audiology? I can get a Master's in audiology, no matter what I choose to major in an an undergrad, so why not make the next 3 years fun and major in something I love?

Last week I was at Rita's, and she was showing off a thick psychology textbook she had just purchased for $50 from the campus bookstore...not because it's a required book for any of the courses she's taking as a psychology major, but because she saw it and was intrigued enough by the subject matter to spend that much money on a book she doesn't really need. I said wistfully, "That's like me with the books in the English literature section." She looked back at me levelly and replied, "That should tell you something." It definitely does tell me something...Like Faith says, Major in the things you think about when you're outside the classroom. It sounds so simplistic, but it makes so much sense.

Dang, old emails bring back memories. Ummm, so yeah...That was all my drama for the day. Thanks for listening. Give me a few days, and insha'Allah I'll soon be back to my psychotically-hilarious-Yaz-mode. fi aman'Allah, peoples.

I was doing some reading for my religious studies class (Islamic Scriptures) and came across this passage from a commentary by Neal Robinson, called Discovering the Qur’an: A Contemporary Approach to a Veiled Text.

Subhan’Allah this is sooo beautiful. I hope y’all enjoy it too, and maybe juxtapose it with your personal experience as a means of perfecting your own approach to the Qur’an:

What I have said about the respect which ordinary Muslims show for the Qur’an, and about the dynamic appearance of the written text, is epitomized by this extract from a meditation by Hasan Aksari. He was moved to write it when a young friend of his told him about his mother. The mother had never been taught how to read, yet before dawn she would rise and kindle a lamp, unfurl her prayer mat and remove her Qur’an from its green silk wrapping.

For a long time she would allow her eyes to rest on the two open pages before her. The letters in green ink from right to left, row beneath row, each shape mysteriously captivating, each dot above or below a letter an epitome of the entire scripture, each assembly of letters a group of dervishes raising their hands in zikr, each gap between two enigmatic shapes a leap from this world into the next, and each ending the advent of the day of Resurrection.

She would thus see a thousand images in the procession of that script and would move from vision to vision.

After spending much time in just looking at the open book, she would then, with strange light glowing on her face, lift her right hand and with the right finger start touching the letters of each line, then another line, to the end of the page. What transpired between the book and that touch, and what knowledge passed, without any mediation of conscious thought, directly into her soul, only the Qur’an and the strange reciter could know. The entire world stood still at this amazing recital without words, without meaning, without knowledge. With that touch a unity was established between her and the Qur’an. At that moment she had passed into a state of total identity with the word of God. Her inability to read the scripture was her ability to hear once again: Read! Read, in the name of thy Lord.

Salaaaaaams, everyone! :) ok, as y'all can see, I'm in a MUCH better mood today, so if you missed out on my pissed-off schizophrenic post down below, don't bother; you didn't miss much. Heh. Let's just put it this way: I have multiple personalities, and so far y'all have had the dubious honor of seeing only my nice side. I wasn't feeling very nice last night though. But that's what this blog is good for...Venting purposes. In my view, at least.

Nine hours of unbroken sleep can do wonders for the Yaz's temper though. I woke up this morning in an ambivalent mood about whether I should continue to be pissed off, or chill out and just get over it. I was still leaning towards annoyance, but then, just before leaving home, I happened to read DeGrouchyOwl's latest post about Pakistani drivers and shoe launchers and car tazers, and the matter was decided for me, because I almost fell off my chair laughing. Sister, you so brightened up my day, just when I needed it! Anyone in need of a laugh, go read that post right now. Heck, go read it anywayz. It's hilarious. ;) And Jazak'Allah to everyone who took a risk on reading my post from last night and majorly cheered me up with their comments instead of covering their ears and running away! :):) Shoot, I wouldn't have blamed you for running away. It's scarier when you see me pissed off in real life though. Ask Shereen and Somayya. I have a tendency to traumatize people, cuz everyone always thinks I'm such a nice, easy-going child, and then I get all mad and it kills their theory. lol. Ah wells.

BTW, Usman bro, your advice and violent tendencies are hilarious, but you really shouldn't be encouraging me to punch people in the nose, man. Little do you know, I have already completely mastered the art of violence. The last time I tried your method, I was about 10 years old and broke my brother's nose. He's two years younger than me, so that makes me a self-proclaimed bully (hey, at least I admit it). Needless to say, my parents were not amused. :-D:-D And I'm tellin you, my relatives are never going to let me live that event down, ever. :-p

I think Sahar is on a roll. Everyone's favorite HTML child has come up with an ingenius gift for everyone. Go check out her latest post too, if you haven't already. I love you, Sahar. You made my day too! :) And I like Shereen's idea: Anyone wanna help me come up with a new, creative AIM screen name? I'm warning you though...Don't get offended if y'all rack your brains to think of something cool, and I smile and nod and agree and then just go ahead and do my own thing. Taking advice and listening to other people's opinions about something that involves me isn't one of my strong points. lol. But I'll still appreciate the help!

I left my cell phone at home today. I was driving up to school and thought I heard it ring, but just when I reached out my hand towards my bag to feel around for my phone, I remembered I left it on my dresser at home. It's ok though. Sometimes it feels nice to be unreachable. Even when I have it with me, it's on "silent" most of the time. But it still gives me a feeling of security to have my cell phone with me while I'm out on the road. So the Yaz shall just have to drive a bit slower and calmer than her usual practice on her way home tonight. :-D

Sooooo...crazy first week with the school, yo. It's weird, usually I start out every quarter with brand new classes, feeling all excited and on top of things and looking forward to everything. Somehow this quarter has been the opposite so far. It's only Friday afternoon, and I'm already feeling stressed to the max. I started out with three human development classes, an anthro class, and a religious studies class. Over the course of the past week, I dropped one of the HDE classes, dropped the anthro class and added another one, added and then dropped a neurobiology class, and changed my discussion section for the new anthro class. I think I've bought all the textbooks I need, but I'm not quite sure, because all these schedule changes have got me all confused these days. Welcome to my life as a university student. :-p Shoot, I miss kindergarten, man. My most mind-boggling dilemnas back then were, Which color crayon should I use? And, Does paste taste good? Let's try it! And, Who should I pick to play tetherball with me during recess today?

My HDE 100C professor is hilarious. I'd call her ditzy to the max, only she's a young PhD candidate. But she giggles a lot, and gets confused sometimes, yet she's so charming and self-deprecating that you can't help but laugh right along with her. She also talks really, really fast, almost stumbling over her own words sometimes. Now THAT I have issues with. It's a 200-people lecture hall, and even though she uses a microphone and I sit in the 3rd row, it gets funky sometimes. The first day, I kept thinking she was talking about AIDS and teas, and I was like, Whaaaaat? Where is this going, yo? Then I finally realized she was discussing age and keys, and I was like, Ohhhhhh. LOL!! Her enunciation is all off, and I'm telling you, there are tons of words and phrases out there that sound similar, leading to confusing situations for me. For example, my friend Amber once exclaimed, "Look at the sky, Yazzie!" And I was like, "This guy? What guy??" Hilarious.

My anthro TA is pretty amusing too. He says his memory sucks, so on our first day of discussion, he went around the room and had everyone state three true and one false facts about themselves, and the rest of the class had to guess which one of the 4 was false. And he was jotting it all away so that he could remember who was who. lol. Anywayz, when my turn came, I was all, "My name is Yasmine. I weighed one pound at birth, I'm an international exchange student, I live in the Bay Area, and I have hearing loss." Everyone narrowed their eyes and scrutinized my face, and this is how it went:

-You don't live in the Bay Area.
-Actually, I do.

-You don't have hearing loss.
-I do.

-You didn't weigh one pound when you were born.
-Actually, I did.
-WHOA!

And then they kinda gave up or something, so I started laughing and helped them out: "By default then, that means I'm NOT an international exchange student." Everyone was like, "Ohhhh...." Hecka funny, yo.

Did I tell you, Somayya and I have all our classes together. It's so fun, man. Watch out, world, here come the crackhead children! :-D

Don't be looking for humor here today, yo. I'm hella pissed off at the moment, and I'm definitely NOT funny when I'm pissed off. Just warning you. If you can't handle that, go away already.

I was going to make an amused comment about my #1 fan Sana, and how she's been madly lamenting my absence on the tagboards and comment boxes lately, and I actually had a few funny things from today to post about as well, but now I'm way too freakin bitter to blog about my day, dammit.

I got home this evening and actually decided to sign onto AIM for the first time in almost a month. I'm an AIM addict, but I cut down on it around finals week last quarter, and then somehow I could never find the time to get back into the swing of things. Too busy with classes and errands during the day, and I've been neglecting my vampire tendencies for weeks as well, since I've actually been sleeping at night instead of pulling random all-nighters spent talking online. Good for me, yes.

So how come I attempt to sign onto AIM, and this little box pops up with the nightmare message, "Suspended account." I click on the "more info" button and this stupid page loads, telling me that my screen name has been suspended or cancelled. wtf, man. AIM is FREE, helloooo. Screen names are not supposed to be suspended. What the hell is wrong with this deal?? And it's not like I got my password wrong or something. I know I typed in the right one. But my screen name and everything related to it is gone. Just like that. So there goes my buddy list with the 170+ screen names. Too bad I didn't save it on my computer. Grrr... So now I have to creatively think up a brand-new screen name, and start my buddy list over from scratch too. Damn you, stupid AOL. I freakin hate you right now.

One stupid surprise was bad enough, but, still, I could have handled ONE. But it doesn't end there. So I've had this one Hotmail email account for several years, but about a year ago it ran out of space, so I deleted all the unnecessary emails and kept using the account until it was impossible to send or receive any more emails without deleting the emails I wanted to save. So I gave up on Hotmail and switched over to Yahoo instead, and I now use the latter as my primary email account, but Hotmail is the one with some of my most important and meaningful emails, and I periodically sign into it to check up on stuff. So today I attempt to sign in, and...guess what? Stupidass window pops up, telling me that because I hadn't signed into Hotmail for at least 30 days, all my emails and folders have been deleted. And guess what else? I can reactivate the account itself, but can't retrieve any of my old emails. They're all gone. For ever. Damn damn damn!! If I had wanted my emails deleted, I could have freakin done that myself, thank you very much. Instead, I saved selective emails because they were from special people in my life and I found them meaningful and significant enough to keep. Those were years worth of noteworthy emails from family and close friends that meant something to me. You stupid fucked up, freak of nature Hotmail...I hate you and your damn "sign in within 30 days" policies. Damn you, too. I'm more pissed off about this than about the AIM deal. That I could handle. This makes me wanna cry. Or throw something. Preferably at the damn computer, but I know that's not going to do jack.

Sorry, this is not a typical post. Welcome to the real Yaz. Have you guys never seen me pissed off before?? How ever did you all manage to miss out on that, is the question, considering the fact that I have a short temper and zero patience. :-p I apologize for subjecting you to my stupid profanity too...something I gave up on a long while back. But right now i'm sooo unbelievably pissed off. Maybe tomorrow I'll come back and edit all the expletives out of here, but for now they're making me feel good. So deal with it. This is my blog. So there.

I'm going to go to sleep, because I'm too pissed off to do anything more productive.

And, Sana, I still love you.

I feel way tired today, and I've only gone through 2 days of classes so far. lol. I think it's the commute, because even though I've been going to bed pretty early and getting plenty of sleep, my one-week break from driving got me all out of shape. Funny how, for other people, "getting in shape" means working out in terms of running, lifting weights, whatever. For me, the phrase has more to do with mentally and physically preparing myself for commuting once again after a refreshing break. Whoopdeedooo... :-p

Anywayz, forget that. I didn't even mean to start this post off with random self-pity. Self-pity is stupid (my new philosophy :-D). I wanted to talk about the mountains.

I love the hills and mountains. And, alhamdulillah, even though I commute to school I don't mind the distance half the time simply because I have beautiful scenery to stare at for most of the drive. It's so relaxing. It's my "quiet time," all to myself. Going places with someone can be fun, but it obviously depends on the person. Most of the time, i'd rather drive on my own, because it means i don't have to talk, i can be lost in my own thoughts for however long i want, and i can blast my rock or Zain Bhikha or Dawud Wharnsby Ali or Surah Ya'Sin or anasheed or whatever i'm listening to without having to impatiently turn the sound down to listen to someone's annoying attempts at conversation. And again, not everyone i go places with is annoying. But sometimes i'm still annoyed. And there's a difference. lol.

But the mountains... Green, green, everywhere these days. It's like they envelope you as you drive through. They dominate the landscape and fill the sky, yet still look so serene and peaceful instead of dark and threatening. It's an interesting combination: our upper-middle-class/affluent East Bay cities juxtaposed with the simple yet dynamic illustration of Allah's creation in the form of our infamous mountains. When I was little and we used to drive from the Bay to Sacramento to visit what I call the the psycho soap opera drama family (you would call them...relatives. lol), I used to gaze wistfully out the car window and dream about living in the hills when I grew up. And I don't mean a house in the hills, either. I meant, just live there. I must have been about 8-9 years old then, because I remember my dream of living in the mountains was influenced for the most part by this thick book I read in third grade, called My Side of the Mountain, which was the story of a kid named Sam who ran away from home to go live in the Catskill Mountains of upstate New York for a year, fashioning a new home for himself in a hollow tree, with only a falcon and a weasel for company. I liked that book, yo. And every time our car wound through the hills to get to Sac-Town, I'd press my face against the glass and dream about living all alone in the mountains and roaming up and down them as I willed. Shoot, it'd be pretty awesome to do that even now...go pitch a tent on the side of a mountain and somehow survive through simplifying my life to the fullest extent. Man, I wish...

But, hey, at least I still have my mountains all around me, everyday.

Ya Allah, thank You for granting me the joy of looking out the windows of my home and seeing the mountains everyday. Thank You for the blessing of being raised in the Bay, and after we moved away and I gave up all hope of ever returning, thank You for answering my childish, self-indulgent prayers and allowing us to come back to live in my childhood home. Thank You for gifting me with the ability to appreciate Your majesty and the beauty of Your creations every time I gaze at the mountains. If it be Your will, please allow me the joy of remaining in the Bay forever; otherwise, grant me the capacity to acknowledge and be thankful for the beauty You have blessed this world with wherever I may go. Ameen.

There, that's my garbled du'a for myself. I'm not much in the habit of offering du'as for myself, except during finals week, of course. ;) I vaguely recall reading a hadith back when I lived in Pakistan that said something to the effect that one receives so much more thawaab in making du'a for others. I think it was a hadith about Hadrat Umar (RA), who, at the end of each salah he performed, would make du'a for everyone he knew, but always neglected to ask anything from Allah swt for himself. If I got the hadith wrong, please correct me. And if you know the exact wording, please post it for me. Jazak'Allah.

My family is big on du'as. It's kind of a given in our household. When the 3 of us were really little, it was our habit to join our hands together, and then pile our hands over our dad's. It's like those Russian dolls...one stacked inside the other, big to small, culminating in the tiniest one inside. It used to be our dad's large hands, then me, Nasser, and Shereen stacking our chubby little hands on top of his. A pile of hands, joined in du'a. One of my earliest memories is of the 3 of us doing du'a with our father. We were sitting in our living room, and I remember looking down at our hands and marveling how like a bowl each pair of hands seemed, joined as they were in preparation for du'a. And I looked up and asked, "Daddy, why do we make our hands like bowls when we do du'a?" He opened his mouth to reply but, before he could speak, I answered my own question with childish eagerness, "Oh! I know! It's so when Allah sends us blessings, they fly right down into the bowl so we can catch them easily and not lose them!" I don't remember my dad's reply...he probably laughed and agreed with my explanation. But even now, every time I join my hands together to make du’a, I still recall the excitement with which I processed that thought: the hands as bowls, fashioned to receive blessings from Allah.

In our family, we have what we call the “short du’a” and the “long du’a.” The short du’a is recited at mealtimes and when we drive to somewhere close by our home. It consists of Surah al-Fatihah, Surah Ikhlas, and the Aqeedah.*

*the Aqeedah: Aamantu bil’lahi, wa malaa’ikatihee, wa kutubihee, wa rusulihee, wa’l yaum al’akhiri, wa’l qadri khayri’hee, wa shar’rihee, min al’lahi ta’alah, wal baath’i baad al’mauwth...I believe in Allah, and His angels, and His Books, and His messengers, and in the Last Day, and that everything good and bad is from Allah, and in all the rest that comes after death.

We recite the long du'a primarily when we're driving somewhere further from home, which basically means when we go anywhere beyond our hometown. The long du’a is Surah al-Fatihah, Surah Ikhlas, the Aqeedah, Surah al-Baqarah:verse 21 (rabbana aathina fi’dunya hasanat’tan wa fil akhiri hasanat’an, wa kina azaab an’naar: Oh, our Lord! Grant us good in this world, good in the Hereafter, and protect us from the hell-fire), Surah al-Baqarah:verse 286, the Dua-i-Janaazah, and Surah al Baqarah:verse 255 (Ayat-al-Kursi). It's not really as long as it seems. Three or four minutes, maybe. Du'a is the first thing we take care of as soon as we get in the car. It's another given. When I'm on my own, as for example in the mornings while i'm heading up to school, I recite Surah Ikhlas 3 times, and add on Surahs al-Falaq and An-Nas and and the next two ayaat that follow Ayat-al-Kursi.

And then we have a round of "Shaabaash's." LOL! I guess that started when we were little and our dad wanted to praise us for learning the du'a correctly, so he would say, "Shaabaash!" to each of us, all proudly, whenever we got it right. And it just stuck. So even now, if we go anywhere as a family, there's a string of five "Shaabaash's" at the end of our du'a. The craziest is whenever the cousins are with us...it'll be like 32948902842 (okok, maybe 7-8) people in one car, and the "Shaabaash's" just seem to go one forever then. lol. Cute, very cute. What can i say.

Hilarious, you guys...I was going through my SiteMeter after 439585928 years (dunno why i have one when i never even check it out. lol) and discovered that someone did a Yahoo search for "french fries+headache" and came up with MY BLOG. hahahah. okok, i understand the french fries part. But headaches?? We don't talk about headaches, chiefly because the Yaz is not in the habit of suffering from headaches and thus does not discuss that subject, and we only talk about what the Yaz wants to talk about, right?? LOL. :-D

k, i'm madly typing this in between classes. I promise y'all will get your usual loooong Yaz-length update SOON, but i gots to head out to another lecture in 2 minutes. I'm taking 3 human development courses, and anthro course, and a religious studies course this quarter...which tallies up to 19 units. Soooo insane. Watch me die of exhaustion before the quarter is over. :-p Actually, i might drop the anthro class though. We shall see...

The religious studies class is called Islamic Scriptures. Hecka interesting so far. The prof is Turkish. Can read and write Arabic...he scrawls words and phrases in Arabic across the board for those of us in the class who can read it. Says "insha'Allah" a lot. I like that. :):):) We're required to have a Qur'an for the class, obviously, and can use one from home instead of buying it from the university bookstore. The course's corresponding Qur'an in the bookstore is an Ahmed Ali translation. Arabic on one side, English on the other. Beautiful layout, masha'Allah. I'm thinking i'd like to just buy it from the Bookstore, even though we have lots of Qur'ans at home, just cuz i like the way this one is put together. Quick question...Hopefully someone can help me with this...Has anyone heard of the Ahmed Ali translation before? (I've heard of Yusuf Ali.) And if you have, do you happen to know how reliable it is? He's based in Karachi, according to his introduction. Help me out if you can, insha'Allah.

Will type up a loooong post, insha'Allah when i get home later this evening. Til then, be good children and have a beautiful Cali-kinda day. :-D I'm running late. Catch y'all laters...