That thing

This woman with a heavy Polish accent asked me today why I wear "that thing on my head." She's like, "but you're so beautiful, why don't you dress like the girls here? Are you married? Does your husband make you wear it?" I brushed her off nicely by saying that I wasn't married and that I choose to wear it and all the rest of the little cushy, pretty and polite words that I could think of. Then, later on when I was at work, there was this older man who was standing around waiting for his wife. So my coworker noticed him staring at her and she asked him "can I help you with anything?" And then he literally says: "no, dear. You're just very pretty, so I want to look at you." If only that Polish woman was around. Then I'd tell her, THAT is why I wear that thing on my head. Alhamdulillah for Hijab. The end.

An amazing hadith

Forget my self-proclaimed vacation. I love this hadith so much that I had to post it. The Messenger Muhammad (saw) said: "Some peoples will come on the Day of Judgement and their Imaan will be outstanding, it's light will shine from their chests and from their right hands. So it will be said to them, 'glad tidings for you today, Assalaamu alaykum and goodness for you, enter into it (Jannah) forever!' So the angels and the Prophets will be jealous of the love of Allah for them." So the Sahabah asked, 'who are they O Messenger of Allah?' He (saw) replied, "They are not from us and they are not from you. You are my companions but they are my beloved. They will come after you and will find the book (the Qur'an) made redundant by the people, and a Sunnah which has been killed by them. So they will grab hold of the book and the Sunnah and revive them. So they will read them and teach them (the Qur'an and the Sunnah) to the people and they will experience in that path a punishment more severe and more ugly than what you (O Sahabah) have experienced. Indeed, the Imaan of one of them is equivalent to the Imaan of forty of you. The Shaheed of one of them is equivalent to forty of your Shuhadaa'. Because you found a helper towards the truth (the Prophet [saw]) and they will find no helper towards the truth. So they will be surrounded by tyrant rulers in every place, and they will be in the surroundings of Bayt ul-Maqdis (al-Quds). The Nussrah (victorious material support) of Allah will come to them, and they will have the honour of it on their hands." Then he (saw) said "O Allah give them the Nussrah and make them my close friends in Jannah." [Musnad of Imam Ahmed]

With Cream and Butter!

Asmaa, your blog misses your randomness. Alas, my hope is that my posts will stink so badly that Asmaa will be forced to return. I would like to share some good news. Yesterday my family and I were reunited with a long lost friend. She has brought much happiness and excitement into our once bland life. A few months ago, we thought she was lost forever. Here she is! Barefoot Contessa.. Who cares what her real name is.. Spring Will Be Pretty Spring will be pretty. Just give it a week, When flowers are blooming down by the creek. Bees will be buzzing as trees start to bud, But for the moment I'm covered with mud. Snow has been melting, since winter is through, Replacing the whiteness with puddles of goo. I stepped off the sidewalk and into the ooze. Next thing I knew, I stepped out of my shoes! Mud on my ankles and mud on my clothes. I stumbled face-first and got mud up my nose. Spring will be pretty, but I must confess, The first days of spring are a muckety mess!

Distressed

My most recent blogs have sucked. Like, really sucked. My humour has been drained from every possible angle. Any humour that I've attempted within the past few weeks, whether on this blog or in person, has been horrible - or at best, mediocre. This is unacceptable to me; it goes against everything I stand for. I need to regroup, gather my thoughts, reload my weapons, don my armour, bounce my bouncy ball, eat my cake - where am I going with this? Never mind. The point is, I don't feel good about blogging right now, so I'm taking a bit of a break. Mars, my apparently evil sister, will take over for a little while until I can't stay away any longer. I haven't actually told her that she's taking over, but I'm sure she'll be thrilled. Maybe.

Interesting Conversation at 7:38 a.m.

So I'm waiting for the bus this morning.... Random guy: "So you're arab right? Syrian? Palestinan?" Me: "No." Random guy: "Egyptian?" Me: "Yeah.. where you from?" [ok u know when someone asks, you have to ask in return] Random guy: "I'm from Bakistan" Me: "Oh Bakistan" (it just felt so natural to say it with a B) *Moment of silence* guy: "Cos you're fair...You must be born here. Usually people that are born back home are darker" Me: "uhhh not necessarily" guy: "So you go to highschool?" Me: "No, I'm a teacher" guy: "Highschool?" Me: "No, elementary." He then continues talking about a friend of his who is also an elementary teacher. [Who cares what her name is, what grades she teaches, or on what intersection her school is located?!] People, this is Toronto, the norm is to look away. Occasionally you may say "good morning," ask about the time or comment on the weather. But let's not talk to each other please...especially about skin colour or Bakistan.

a letter

Dear random readers, If you know me, you know I don't complain much. And if I do, it's usually in jest. But right now, I can't help it. I'm tired. And I'm irritable. And I'm going to fail a test that I have at 6pm tonight since I haven't done ANY of the readings for it - let alone review. Plus, I had to give a mini speech yesterday and I totally made a fool out of myself, which I guess is normal... So, in short: if you see me, avoid me. (and if you haven't already, scroll down to the very bottom of my blog) Love, Asmaa

An Arab in Love

So, umm you should seriously check this out. Especially if you're of the Arab nature. It's a bit frightening the first time you listen to it, but once you get used to it, it's just hilarious. Love poem, by an angry Arab trying to speak English a non-arab says: it sounds like an angry arab asmaa says: naw, it's an arab in love asmaa says: which is essentially the same thing Edit: I just remembered this from grade one for some reason. One two, buckle my shoe three four, shut the door five six, pick up sticks seven eight, lay them straight nine ten, a big fat hen

The gift of shirk

I'm finally considered to be important enough to get junk mail in the mail! This is the real deal, not the "oh-my-goodness-I-can't-believe-I-have-to-press-"empty"-on-my-bulk-mail-folder-AGAIN" junk mail. Except that apparently only Christian missionaries like sending me junk mail. I think I filled out a survey once and then those little supercalafrajalists sold my name and address to these people. But it's entertaining. Here's one thing that I got recently: Exhibit A: little statue of Mary. Exhibit B: They say "Please accept this gift" (i.e. please accept, then give us money so we can convert little starving children in Africa to Christianity). Under it, my dad (who usually picks up the mail) writes "Please don't. This is the worst gift." My little sister: How come the church sends Asmaa gifts and not me? It's not fair.

40 years of the MSA

Did you know that the MSA at U of T has existed for 40 years? Yep, since 1966. Interesting, since we've had Jummah prayers at Hart House since then, but women have only been allowed in Hart House starting 1972 (stolen fact). So, on Friday we had an exhibit of some of MSA's stuff over the past 40 years (old constitutions, Muslim Voice magazines, and the like). I'm just going to post the best part of the exhibit (past TMV magazine covers) The beginning years... The later years... Those are my favourite covers out of all of them: just so much sophistication and beauty. Whoever was the editor that year definitely had good taste. Ahem, anyways - we had a classy dinner in the evening and here's the food: Yes, the food. The first course: The second course: Dessert: Umm, interesting food (besides the fact that I kept dropping pieces of my salad on the dirty floor and I was forced to pick them up, wipe them off, and eat them - lest someone else do so). And yet, throughout the dinner, all I could think was "where is the naan and channa masala?"

Haj, for you

A poem I wrote about a friend of mine, at her request. And, the loving person that I am, I decided to oblige her. "Asmaaaaaa can I ask you for a favour..." With the same hands I've rolled and kneaded bread I've waved at my friend from afar and her face lit up though her night was long and overflowing with work on genes her mind, though hidden, writes itself on sheets of paper handed in on time or late to professors who mistake her for another girl as always. The swish of her abaya makes me wonder if I should convert to abaya-dom and her swift remarks on the issues of the day are scathing and yet I laugh and wave. Too much work and not enough play makes Hajera a psychotic nutcase.