And I mean that in a very non-violent way.
Original "Charlie Bit Me"
Arab "Charlie Bit Me"
Monday, May 17, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Kauthar at the Gym
Sometimes during the night Kauthar would dream that she could touch her own heart, feel it beating warm blood into her body, calm it away from the pangs of hurt. She would wake with a start and find her right hand laying on her chest; that's as close as she would ever get.
II
Kauthar never thought she was exceptionally beautiful. There were the bulges she furrowed her eyebrows at in the gym mirror, the slightly crooked bottom teeth when she smiled, and the generally boyish features of her face. No, definitely not the typical ascetically pleasing woman.
A woman should be symmetrical and thin. Her hair should fall in a perfect wave just to below her shoulders - frizzed by neither rain nor humidity. The curves of her body should be slight, alluring, render her a sculpted masterpiece.
Needless to say - that she was not. And the ugliness she wore on her exterior cloaked her inner demons; perhaps people would not look so far into her heart if she looked unbecoming.
III
Kauthar's kick-boxing class instructor was a petite Caucasian woman with disturbingly bulging shoulder muscles and an unnaturally high pitched voice. The class consisted of moves and routines she'd all but forgotten the names of. Uppercuts, roundhouse kicks, and something about breaking a man's nose by slamming his face into your knee.
The room was large, made up of clean wooden floors and ceiling-to-floor mirrors. While the women around her pumped their fists to the beat of the music, Petite High Pitch Instructor shouted orders at them on her wireless microphone. It was an odd sight - 40 women violently uppercutting the empty space ahead of them, yelling in unison as their fists hit the air.
For weeks, Kauthar could not get into the groove of the movements or memorize any sequence of moves. She would lose herself in the sea of women with unrequited anger - focus on the new ones in class and notice the build up of sweat on their necks, and the constrained look on their faces. The instructor's voice was lost in this - she did not exist.
On the 4th visit to the class, the instructor walked in and chirped: "alright ladies! It's time to picture that one person you've wanted to just clobber, but have always been too nice to!" Kauthar scoffed at the ludicrous suggestion. She was here to lose her bulges, not take out her violent tendencies.
She turned away from the instructor to hide her upturned eyebrow and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She saw ugliness.
Her eyes lit up under angry brows as she curled her fingers into fists. She saw his head jerk back as she rammed her fist into his nose, she saw him stumble onto his hands and knees when she forcefully kicked the hollowed side of his head. She slammed his head into her knee, and threw him aside like a used tissue.
She angrily twisted her body back to the mirror, hands still clenched as if to challenge its reflection. And for the first time in months, behind her reddened face, she saw raw, limitless beauty.
II
Kauthar never thought she was exceptionally beautiful. There were the bulges she furrowed her eyebrows at in the gym mirror, the slightly crooked bottom teeth when she smiled, and the generally boyish features of her face. No, definitely not the typical ascetically pleasing woman.
A woman should be symmetrical and thin. Her hair should fall in a perfect wave just to below her shoulders - frizzed by neither rain nor humidity. The curves of her body should be slight, alluring, render her a sculpted masterpiece.
Needless to say - that she was not. And the ugliness she wore on her exterior cloaked her inner demons; perhaps people would not look so far into her heart if she looked unbecoming.
III
Kauthar's kick-boxing class instructor was a petite Caucasian woman with disturbingly bulging shoulder muscles and an unnaturally high pitched voice. The class consisted of moves and routines she'd all but forgotten the names of. Uppercuts, roundhouse kicks, and something about breaking a man's nose by slamming his face into your knee.
The room was large, made up of clean wooden floors and ceiling-to-floor mirrors. While the women around her pumped their fists to the beat of the music, Petite High Pitch Instructor shouted orders at them on her wireless microphone. It was an odd sight - 40 women violently uppercutting the empty space ahead of them, yelling in unison as their fists hit the air.
For weeks, Kauthar could not get into the groove of the movements or memorize any sequence of moves. She would lose herself in the sea of women with unrequited anger - focus on the new ones in class and notice the build up of sweat on their necks, and the constrained look on their faces. The instructor's voice was lost in this - she did not exist.
On the 4th visit to the class, the instructor walked in and chirped: "alright ladies! It's time to picture that one person you've wanted to just clobber, but have always been too nice to!" Kauthar scoffed at the ludicrous suggestion. She was here to lose her bulges, not take out her violent tendencies.
She turned away from the instructor to hide her upturned eyebrow and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She saw ugliness.
Her eyes lit up under angry brows as she curled her fingers into fists. She saw his head jerk back as she rammed her fist into his nose, she saw him stumble onto his hands and knees when she forcefully kicked the hollowed side of his head. She slammed his head into her knee, and threw him aside like a used tissue.
She angrily twisted her body back to the mirror, hands still clenched as if to challenge its reflection. And for the first time in months, behind her reddened face, she saw raw, limitless beauty.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Kauthar and the Old Hag
Kauthar was the type of person who baked brownies while wearing a crisp white shirt - very little foresight. Hindsight was always her forte though - she remembered anniversaries very well. Especially the sad ones. It was all Kauthar could do to push out those sombre memories from her conscious mind.
Instead of obsessing over her past failures, she tied herself down with work - a work that tired her to the bone. Physical pain was always the more acceptable one anyway; it was the sort of pain you could complain about without getting pitied looks of others, saying I am so glad I'm not you.
Over the last few months, Kauthar had come to realize that she was beginning to be set in her ways. She liked specific hijabs and wore them incessantly. She had owned the same pairs of shoes for years, and when their soles wore too thin, she'd quickly go back to the same store and purchase an identical pair. Her personality had matured into a calm, collected woman of a darker-coloured persuasion.
It made her angry sometimes, worried, upset to know that she had become who she was meant to become without consulting her heart or her logical mind. It had just happened this way.
II
Kauthar had reached the end of the subway line, distracted with her intense reading of The Book of Negroes. She slammed it shut with tears pricking at her eyes and got up angrily to leave the train. She noticed a small older woman slumped against the subway window, presumably dozing. her face was shielded by mounds of straight white hair.
Out of a natural desire to be useful, Kauthar approached the woman and nudged her gently while calling softly: Excuse me, we're at the end of the line. The woman would not wake - her body seemed to be frozen in a slump. Kauthar began to panic - what if the woman was dead? What if she had had a heart attack on the way home and nobody had noticed? So she shook her harder until the woman finally roused. She lifted her head up and stared incredulously at Kauthar and barked: "What do you want?!"
Kauthar reeled back in surprise. The woman's hair had fallen away from her face and her eyes were stony, squinted, and cold.
"We're at the end of the line, so I thought I'd wake you up" Kauthar muttered.
"Well why don't you just mind your own business and leave me alone?" the old woman hissed.
Kauthar turned around and walked out of the train, quietly blaming herself for trying to help.
Instead of obsessing over her past failures, she tied herself down with work - a work that tired her to the bone. Physical pain was always the more acceptable one anyway; it was the sort of pain you could complain about without getting pitied looks of others, saying I am so glad I'm not you.
Over the last few months, Kauthar had come to realize that she was beginning to be set in her ways. She liked specific hijabs and wore them incessantly. She had owned the same pairs of shoes for years, and when their soles wore too thin, she'd quickly go back to the same store and purchase an identical pair. Her personality had matured into a calm, collected woman of a darker-coloured persuasion.
It made her angry sometimes, worried, upset to know that she had become who she was meant to become without consulting her heart or her logical mind. It had just happened this way.
II
Kauthar had reached the end of the subway line, distracted with her intense reading of The Book of Negroes. She slammed it shut with tears pricking at her eyes and got up angrily to leave the train. She noticed a small older woman slumped against the subway window, presumably dozing. her face was shielded by mounds of straight white hair.
Out of a natural desire to be useful, Kauthar approached the woman and nudged her gently while calling softly: Excuse me, we're at the end of the line. The woman would not wake - her body seemed to be frozen in a slump. Kauthar began to panic - what if the woman was dead? What if she had had a heart attack on the way home and nobody had noticed? So she shook her harder until the woman finally roused. She lifted her head up and stared incredulously at Kauthar and barked: "What do you want?!"
Kauthar reeled back in surprise. The woman's hair had fallen away from her face and her eyes were stony, squinted, and cold.
"We're at the end of the line, so I thought I'd wake you up" Kauthar muttered.
"Well why don't you just mind your own business and leave me alone?" the old woman hissed.
Kauthar turned around and walked out of the train, quietly blaming herself for trying to help.
Monday, May 03, 2010
Alhamdulillah!
Do you know what Alhamdulillah means? It means all praise and thanks are due to Allah (subhanahu wa ta'ala). There is nothing that happens to us - good or bad - that we shouldn't truly thank Allah (swt) for.
The last few weeks have been so lovely...just having extra time to really ponder life and all the things that I've been blessed with. I am so thankful for what Allah (swt) has given me.
The one du'aa I consistently made this past year was: "O Allah, remove all sadness from my heart and make me content with what You have decreed for me."
I truly feel that Allah (swt) has answered that du'aa. Hence, Alhamdulillahs are need all 'round. :)
The last few weeks have been so lovely...just having extra time to really ponder life and all the things that I've been blessed with. I am so thankful for what Allah (swt) has given me.
The one du'aa I consistently made this past year was: "O Allah, remove all sadness from my heart and make me content with what You have decreed for me."
I truly feel that Allah (swt) has answered that du'aa. Hence, Alhamdulillahs are need all 'round. :)
Saturday, May 01, 2010
His Reaction to 2 Things
1. This is what I painted in my painting class last week:
This is what my nephew thinks of it:
2. This strawberry is (ahem, was) monstrously huge:
This is what my nephew thinks of it:
Babies are fun audiences.
This is what my nephew thinks of it:
2. This strawberry is (ahem, was) monstrously huge:
This is what my nephew thinks of it:
Babies are fun audiences.
happy place
Sometimes when I'm stressed out about something, I close my eyes and picture myself lying on a fresh patch of spring grass, looking up at perfectly fluffy white clouds. The sun soaks my limbs with warm shine, and I definitely know I'm not lying in dog poo. In my right hand I have a blue freezie, and in my left, a bag of freshly popped popcorn.
My happy place is here.
My happy place is here.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
5 Years of Randomly Placed
Today marks my blog's 5 year anniversary. I'm not sure whether to celebrate the deliciousness of creative expression or mourn the copious amounts of time I've wasted.
I was contemplating doing something special today, but my procrastination got the better of me. As it turns out though, I did do something special today without even knowing: I went to a seamstress to get a bridesmaid dress made for myself for my friend's upcoming summer wedding. I am wearing peach. I think it will be kind of hilarious (as you may know, there are very few things in life that I don't find at least slightly hilarious).
It made me think about how we go through life observing the changes around us - people marry and divorce, they come into our lives and leave, our family members grow older, fashion trends change, and seasons shift and merge into one another. But rarely do we contemplate how we ourselves have changed throughout all of this.
It's a little frightening to realize that change is so automatically internalized - that the small details we encounter in life have the potential to plant or water the seeds of love, compassion, hatred, sadness, wisdom. And do we change because the world has changed, or does the world change because we have?
I have changed in the past 5 years, and so have you! I bet most of you reading this right now weren't here at the inception of Randomly Placed. A few of the keepers have stuck around, but my readership evolved, just like I did. And doesn't all this change feel so seamless?
Some sad things have happened to me over the past five years, but also some of the most beautiful and lovely things have happened, too. And interestingly enough, only in retrospect are we able to examine the good things and good decisions of our pasts and conclude that we actually had very little to do with any of it.
The more I study my life and realize how much laughter and tears there were, and how utterly imperfect I am, the more I realize how free from imperfection my Lord must be. And how content I am in the deepest, most profound ways to have Him as my Creator.
I've learned so much, but I still have a long way to go. It has been an honour hosting you, and I hope you will stay with me as this journey continues.
I was contemplating doing something special today, but my procrastination got the better of me. As it turns out though, I did do something special today without even knowing: I went to a seamstress to get a bridesmaid dress made for myself for my friend's upcoming summer wedding. I am wearing peach. I think it will be kind of hilarious (as you may know, there are very few things in life that I don't find at least slightly hilarious).
It made me think about how we go through life observing the changes around us - people marry and divorce, they come into our lives and leave, our family members grow older, fashion trends change, and seasons shift and merge into one another. But rarely do we contemplate how we ourselves have changed throughout all of this.
It's a little frightening to realize that change is so automatically internalized - that the small details we encounter in life have the potential to plant or water the seeds of love, compassion, hatred, sadness, wisdom. And do we change because the world has changed, or does the world change because we have?
I have changed in the past 5 years, and so have you! I bet most of you reading this right now weren't here at the inception of Randomly Placed. A few of the keepers have stuck around, but my readership evolved, just like I did. And doesn't all this change feel so seamless?
Some sad things have happened to me over the past five years, but also some of the most beautiful and lovely things have happened, too. And interestingly enough, only in retrospect are we able to examine the good things and good decisions of our pasts and conclude that we actually had very little to do with any of it.
The more I study my life and realize how much laughter and tears there were, and how utterly imperfect I am, the more I realize how free from imperfection my Lord must be. And how content I am in the deepest, most profound ways to have Him as my Creator.
I've learned so much, but I still have a long way to go. It has been an honour hosting you, and I hope you will stay with me as this journey continues.
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