listen to mee

If I ever have my own house, I'm definitely putting this up outside:

One day my hands were cold, so I felt it would be best if I put them in my pockets. I proceeded to do so, and consequently found that there was a single cookie in my jacket pocket. I was somewhat unsure of how it got there. But I ate it anyways.

The end.

Where are you from?

At my placement, clients are absolutely fascinated by my ethnic background. After I help them with whatever they need, they insist on asking me where I'm from. At first I used to answer with a smile and a generic "I was born in Toronto." But it doesn't fly.

No, no, where are you really FROM?

So I gave up. I now just tell them I'm Egyptian. The next question is always: "oh, do you speak Arabic/3arabi?" I can't understand why some clients ask this when they themselves don't speak it.

I've noticed that poverty makes tact a frill.

Also, this is slightly unrelated but I need to say it anyways: why do non-Muslims always pick the most peripheral issues in Islam to talk about? I was at another community agency and this employee was talking to me about Islam, and the only concern he had about it was that Muslim women were not allowed to marry non-Muslim men. Was he at all concerned with Islamic creed? Issues around terrorism? Wars? Life after death? Nope. Just "what if a Muslim girl falls in love with a Christian or Jew or Hindu???"

He gave me a headache.

I lose my patience with people pretty fast. I'm starting to think social work isn't the right field for me.

Where do you pray?

The first day I came to my placement, my supervisor was giving me a tour of the premises. The only thing I could think of was observing the various nooks and corners where I could pray when I needed to. After the tour, I asked her if there were any quiet rooms I could pray in. She looked at me and said "wow, you really are very observant of your religion, aren't you?" (Considering I look like a "nun," is that really hard to believe?)

Actually I love my supervisor, she's pretty much the nicest person alive (after me, of course).

There's a little corner in the basement of this building where I go to pray. It's carpeted and it has lockers for employees to put their stuff in. A couple of times people have walked in on me and have been kind of afraid, insisting on apologizing afterwards. Some asked me "don't you need a bigger or quieter space?" And I say no, I don't. I don't think prayer is so separate from your daily life that you need to find a completely secluded place in some boiler room. Rather, you find a place where you already are and make it your own. If you work there, then surely you can pray there as well.

This makes me think of all the interesting places I've prayed while having random miscellaneous jobs. I prayed in a park once when I worked at an elementary school. In staff rooms, in other abandoned rooms. In hallways. Parking lots. And I like it that way. After all, every place we put our foreheads to the ground will be a witness for us on the day of Judgment.

So, no, I don't want a quieter place, or even a designated one for now. I just want enough space for my knees and head and enough time to ask of God.

And I know this makes you think of this. Good!

Remodelling Makkah

All I know is that I want to go for Hajj before this happens.

blogging from bed

This morning I arose to go to my morning class and started to get ready, then suddenly I felt like someone threw a brick my stomach. So what did I do? I pulled back my covers, and laid in bed until now (1:35pm) fully dressed to go out. It's kind of funny.

I think I have food poisoning considering the fact that I feel physically ill when I think about food. The timing is great since I was supposed to submit an assignment today. That's clearly not going to happen.

Also, I wish my mom was here to take care of me.

And that is all. Just thought I'd update you with my current predicament. Hurrah.

Today's Ugliness

I meet new creepy people every day. Today's story goes something like this:

Man: hi.

Me: hi.

Man: madame?

Me: yes?

Man: I'm looking for a Muslim girl for marriage.

Me: no.

Not only did I say no, but I also kind of waved him away with my hand, and had a look of disgust on my face. Rude Asmaa as usual.

As an aside, I wonder if this approach has ever worked for any man in history.

I know a boy who's six feet tall,
he rides the bus to school.
he aces papers and gets all the jobs,
but he's still a big old fool.

he buys expensive footwear
to impress all the pretty girls,
and wants to line his gummy smile
with gold teeth and a string of pearls.

he writes sharp words and puts them in beat,
popping his collar along the way,
he keeps a cool exterior
as though his heart cannot be swayed.

but we all know it's the tough who are soft,
their roughness falls apart,
with her first fluttering of eyelashes
that he begins to memorize by heart.

the boy is dead gone for her
it amuses me to say,
his fanciness is a thing of the past, and
he's enraptured in disarray.

what will become of this silly boy...
this writer does not know,
but let a few months pass him by, and
we'll see where this zephyr blows.

Why is the "right" thing always the hardest thing?

that cutie patootie

I have to post this simply due to the fact that my nephew is so cute. It's been almost 10 months since he was born, and I still can't get over it. Sigh.

A lady thought I was a nun today.

this is ugly

I'm currently sitting at the front desk at my placement, in order to assist drop-in clients. There's a man sitting here just looking at me and muttering under his breath. He seems okay, but I am still creeped out. Dumb ugly social work. Bye.

Edit: now he's looking at me and laughing :(

Dates

I love dates.

Candle-lit dinners, walks along the beach, dark movie theaters...sigh.

Okay let's set aside the corny jokes about "dates" so I can say I'm talking about the dates that come off of palm trees.

I have some today and I'm eating them in class (yeah I'm in class, we're probably talking about something important, but I guess I'll never know).

It doesn't seem to me that many non-immigrants (i.e. white folks) eat dates. Am I wrong? Whenever I offer dates to my classmates they look at them and say with a confused look: "what are those?"

It saddens me to know that people live their lives bereft of such an enjoyable food item. Even with Muslims - when I offer them dates they also say with a confused expression: "but it's not Ramadan!"

Those fools.

There is no bad time for dates, that's my motto.



Time to return to the real world. *sigh*