Author: TheAnywayGirl

#MuslimWomensDay

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woman-in-niqab-walking-560x382

Credit: Depositphotos.com (2019)

I attended a training recently on personal development, and a memorable assignment given was to chart our journeys to self-actualization. But before you do that, the trainer advised us, you must be self-aware. So we each had to draw life maps constituting past events leading to our present occasion. I was appalled, I’d only known these people for 3 days, and I was expected to turn over and reveal the marking scheme to my person? Until the first went up, and dared the rest of us to be equally candid in our stories.

It wasn’t until I started drawing a chart of my journey that I noticed a pattern to my frame of mind. Going back to the 7 year old me, the 15 year old me, the 21 year old me was a revelation in how we choose to condition our minds to take in this world. What drove my outlook on life, my worries, my dreams, and my vision. It’s so easy to get caught up in running after the next big thing, and forget where it was you started. And it’s jarring to see how far you’ve come, with hardly a thought on how easy it was for that journey to take a completely different path. So here I was battling all these bizarre emotions dredged up when I thought back to how close I was to making this decision or choosing that offer, and feeling all urrghh I don’t want to do this in public! But it had to be done. With nary a sprinkling nor omission, none that I dared do when each of them had promised me honesty.  I can’t stand self-amazement, when a majority of our lives are dictated by forces outside our control, but neither can I stand to be ungrateful. And what I have been is extremely fortunate but ungrateful.

There were many many highs and a few lows whose sadistic pleasure I derive in ruminating about. I was almost ashamed to stand there and tell this amazing group of people who’d told me stories about resilience and grit, at how easy my life has been. That I have a benevolent God who with a single tear rushes to give me the smallest of my desires, more than I ever ask for. A loving family that never demands or asks anything of me, and is the first to support the wildest of my dreams. And friends who have stuck by me throughout this journey, and never shun me however long, selfishly so, I take for myself.  It astounds me that I find myself exactly where I have always dreamt of being. And yet I’m impatient, I’m greedy, I want everything to work out for me, and I dare to have a timeline for it. Isn’t this the height of arrogance?

Having recently experienced the loss of my father, I promised myself that I’d take to heart those things that were most important to us. That they’d be dearer to me than this shallow shallow vision that I have of myself and my place in this world. And yet I always think I’ll have time-I take it for granted that my Lord has been accommodating towards me, and that He’ll allow me to do those things that He loves at my own time. And I inexplicably seem to expect this kindness when I show none- how can He not judge me?

Thinking back to those that so recently left us in New Zealand, I wonder what their thoughts were at the sound of death. Did they ever think that that would be their last jum’a? That sister, Allah yarhamha, who met her death at the courtyard as she thought to turn back towards the House of Allah, or flee from the sound of hate. Did she have time to call to her Lord, did she have time to regret any mistakes, and what kind of mistakes? Did she have time to beg Him for His gardens? Did she have time to be happy and thankful to Him when shown her place in it? That old man, Allah yarhamhu, who saw evil, and still wished peace upon it. Was it his custom to invite peace into the House of Allah, or simply routine of habit that propelled him to utter those words before he went to face his Lord? Is it really, habit, that is?

That my lifestyle would be so immersed into my Creator, and what He loves, that my ending merely affirms this routine of habit? But it isn’t, you see. My life is reverent of this world and all it entails, and spares mere minutes for my other life, my eternal life. And I’m chock full of myself, and I think myself to be important. And I overestimate my relationship with my Lord,  that He’ll forgive me, with nary a whisper for it, and be there for me no matter what. And that He’ll never forget me when He’s got billions of my kind, and I only have Him, and forget Him often.

Listening to my colleagues’ life maps reminded me how much of a priviledged life I have lived, how little I have been tested and how much I take for granted. I take for granted a slow ending to my life, allowing me much needed time to repent and flee back to my Lord. I take for granted how much love and sweetness I have tasted of this life, and how much bitterness others have. I take for granted this knowledge of my Creator and these insights into how best to live my life in the manner that He recommends to me, for my own peace and fulfillment in this world. And how much capacity for self-awareness He allows me, to shift paradigms of thoughts and habits, once so ingrained in my life, for His pleasure. That I can suddenly switch around and so desire this new way. And that I believe myself to be strong of will, when it’s my Lord who breathes it into me.

There are planes and planes of people inside us. And we don’t know how much we’re capable of until we make that commitment to probe, and tap further into these vast paradigms. There is so much goodness, and so much evil that we each have capacity for. And so much faith, so much belief in the goodness of our Creator and His intentions for our differences in this world. And His benevolence that goes eons. But we must do our parts. We must put in the work that He requires of us. One that is grateful of the favours we have which we are not entitled to, one that respects each other, that honours each other, and appreciates our diversity.

I don’t know how else to put this, so that the most ignorant man in the remotest desert of Australia understands it. We may look different, but you don’t really believe that we truly are, do you? Certainly not where it matters most. Deep within us, you see, we all have the same worries, the same dreams and desires out of this life. The same regrets. The same blood even, dare I say! Imagine it, because it’s true. There’s a lot more in common that we have if you but looked for it. And our differences are, and will not ever be enough to tap into these evil paradigms within us.

None of this. We’ve got stuff to do, let’s get to it. So on this day, my lovelies, have an accepting and affirming one will you?

Muslim handshaking: What about it?

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offense-offense-everywhere

Credit: Consequences Toy Story, he.memegenerator.net

I’m not a scholar, I’m not a theologist, I’m not a teacher, I’m not even the most practising of Muslims. When it comes to faith, my life is chaos, chaos! We’re on some positive vibes train this year, so I’ll rephrase that. My life isn’t all chaos, granted it could be more sharply refined – we realize that and are trying our best to smooth over those rough edges and live as per the tenets recommended to us. We try. Obviously, part of this trial entails much testing in our interactions with the world. And testing obviously requires that you receive some bit of resistance, commensurate to the effort and action you put out. Basic science. Sometimes though, its reaction is vastly superior to the action you put out, and you’ve got to give Newton’s assumptions a rest.

So if you haven’t been living under a rock in rural Afghanistan, you have obviously come across cultures and people who are vastly different from you. Vastly. Beliefs, cultures, languages, views, chins. The whole shebang. And because they’re used to this very particular way of thinking and living, affirmed daily by the societies they inhabit, they automatically think everyone lives like them. And would further think you’re intolerably gauche if you adopted a different perspective to life. Different era gauche, that should no longer exist in this world. Sometimes when they say this, they mean you should not be living amongst them.

And sometimes these norms translate to a perceived authority regarding how we’re all required to interact with each other. It extends to what our physical boundaries should conform to, and what our personal spaces should look like. It’s kind of difficult, when you’ve got a large part of the world thinking and behaving in a certain manner and then you, singular lone you, attempt to go against the tide. It looks a bit like this.

Going against the tide

Credit: gozzim.blogspot.com (2015)

It does, I have realized, stretch the limits of everything Newton believed. Err, throw in the entire world too. And all because, when you extended your hand to me, I declined to shake it.

It’s not just a Muslim thing. It’s a hippy thing. In the world of “me too”, throw in a quarter of the scarred women involved. Orthodox Jewish women favour it. And until recently, in British Victorian society, it was not good form for a man to shake a woman’s hands unless it was offered. Certainly not when they were mere acquaintances. Everyone wore gloves, and there were strict rules governing interactions with the opposite sex. Such simple times those. Err, excluding the lack of inheritance, property, financial and just about every single legal right that would equate the value and status of a woman to that of a man, of course. Could we bring back the gloves idea, though? I’m crazy about that.

So the shaking of hands people, I’ve come to discover, is a minefield rife with the most violent of detonations. I’ve had all sorts of reactions to this, from the sweetly accepting, to those who bear fixed smiles though their eyes scream “weird!“, to the aggressive opposers, condescending mockers. Everything across that spectrum, I have heard it all. 

And I do understand them. Really. You see, once upon a time, I was one of those bare minimum kind of Muslims who thought everyone else was too extreme. I never wore hijab throughout my primary and high school, as we weren’t allowed to, and once I joined the real world, was the farthest thing from what you would call a practising Muslim. I was also deeply unhappy. If you’d told me there was meaning to life, besides the accumulation of wealth, and beating everyone to it before I died, I’d laugh at you and tell you to stop spinning stories. Nothing ever seemed worth doing. Until one holiday season in university when a friend encouraged me to learn more about Islamic jurisprudence, and recommended a strict religious institution to enroll to. It’s the best thing that has ever happened to me. I got to make friends with women I had previously thought had nothing to do with me, and I got to see a side to life that I deeply long to go back to. It’s the happiest I’ve ever been, the most peaceful I ever was. Life was simple, too simple it seemed – it was “will my Creator approve of this?” Yes, move on. Nay, chuck it out.

And once I went back to uni, I was a changed woman. I wore niqab, I stopped shaking my classmates’ hands, and carried on with life, using the frame that I had acquired in those few months I was there. Blissful times those. While I had to stop wearing niqab (story for another day), the rest I diligently maintained. No big deal, until I joined the workforce. And had to constantly tell my colleagues and clients that I did not wish to shake hands. I could understand the embarrassment that accompanied it. And would always try to comfort them, citing a longstanding rule, that applied to everyone. But I learnt from this, and desiring a bit more control in such interactions, would warn each new person beforehand, either through email, or through whomever was introducing us, to respect this boundary. 

It almost sounds petty. And you know what? I kind of get why you would think so. You see, I come from a culture that values tradition, and in many cases puts its merits, before religion. Personal boundaries are completely disregarded, and I have met several distant relatives who’d brush this all aside and hug and kiss me, as they wished. My attempts to enforce this rule met with much opposition and derision. But I hardly ever meet these people, you see, so I can deal with this circumstance once in a while. And its accompanying hypocritical sentiments. It kills me, this evident discriminatory treatment I have seemingly adopted, it does. Some of my work involves meeting with communities and constituents who live unimaginably difficult lives. It’s painful to decline someone’s hand, in these set of circumstances. Extremely so.

My day to day work however occupies a huge chunk of my life. And I must be comfortable, and at peace, if I’m to be productive. I recall one of my bosses telling me to lose this habit, if I wanted to progress. Lose myself you mean? It’s not that easy you know. I used to be bothered when people gave such unsolicited opinions, and went through unnecessary turmoil in refuting ignorant statements when I was younger, now I laugh about it. I shake old men’s hands. I shake children’s hands. Some Muslim women don’t find all this to be terribly important. It confuses people. It does, Wilbur, doesn’t it? What’s even more confusing though is that you noticed it, and would want all of us to act in the same manner. For you. And your comfort. Would you also like to pay my bills then, since you’re so invested in my life? No?

It singularly has to be one of the most negative first impressions one could make in this modern world. I’ve had several people completely decline to engage further with me. Muslims, even the most devout you’d think, have criticized me for it. But I cannot stomach the alternative. The alternative is immense sadness and extreme guilt from choosing to obey the creation over the Creator. How could I ever pick man, over God? How could I ever think I’d be successful by choosing to be dutiful to fickle, malcontent subjects, who have no real power over my life, before the Most High, who routinely fulfills the deepest of my desires. And how could I ever derive peace from such a decision?

My Lord has directed me not to do it, that is why I do not shake hands with strange men in my life. It’s not a recourse that interferes not with the central tenets of my religion, nor is it a discriminatory symbol of my faith that I could simply do away with (I’m looking at you ECJ), it’s my raison d’etre. It’s my sanity. There are many reasons behind it of course. This blog is not about those reasons, and the philosophy behind it all. It’s enough for me that my Provider is displeased to see me interacting in this manner, and that He would wish that I refrained from it. This far He’s brought me, this greatly He’s honoured me. This far He’s guided me, through much ferment, and brought immense happiness into my life, when I have least expected it. When I have least deserved it. And remains my lodestone in this tumultuous, chaotic world. Quite simply, He, and everything about Him, is the reason why I’m still alive today. That is your competition.

To live and let live, it sounds almost too simplistic. I don’t intend to interfere in your life, I won’t encroach into what brings you comfort. Why is it so hard to extend the same to me? Does it offend you? Your entire life does offend me if I’m honest with you. But I don’t care enough really to address it, I’ve got stuff to do. And as long as it does not harm me, I will never raise it to you. You’re entitled to my respect and dignity, as a human soul, however offensive your life. So why is it so inconvenient for you to extend the same favour? And why only you, and people like you? And who said you get to dictate how to interact with me?

It’s not trifling. And it’s not personal. I hate to see you embarrassed, it’s the last thing I want, believe me. I certainly don’t think I’m better than you. You write great books, I admire that. But this is way above you, and your offended sensibilities. The next time you meet a Muslim woman, try and behave like a reasonable human being, and errm, respect her views and personal boundaries? However offensive. Please?

 

A time to kill perfection

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Credit: The Gift of Imperfection, Umairhaque.com, 2018

I’m done. With thinking, expecting, planning, projecting, outlining. To hell with it all. I’m done with the crippling disappointment that accompanies most of my projects and initiatives. Work, applications, reports, papers. Relationships. Life moments. Plans. Dreams. I have perfected the art of internally scourging myself. I have mastered the frontiers of its accompanying agony. Nothing escapes her clutches, my inner voice. It’s almost a sadistic pleasure she enjoys, in tormenting us. This? You really want to put this out? You want to apply to this? You think you can do this? You think you can explain this? Who do you think you are? Before producing anything, I would have often fought countless battles within me. Exhausted, I would then venture to convince my frenemies and haters, categories that I’ve relegated most of my world to. I jest. Not really.

I remember taking ages to upload a post, and even then, I’d be mortified at it all. Seeing grammatical errors. A poorly explained idea. Or a less erudite answer to my questions. I’d upload, and then put a password to my posts. A password that only I had. I’m intimately familiar with the perimeters of my misery – I’d be gloomy, dejected, grieve, and finally, fall into depression. It’s a sequential pattern that I can almost always pin point to the last nanosecond, when I would flip to the next. Whatever it was, it would never pass my tests, standards, ideals. Judgment and shame would be my bosom companions. Of course I’d be better, how I could I not, I thought? I have never believed in unsolvable problems. And so I pored over countless articles on the arbitrary construct of perfection in our minds, of the fulfillment in imperfection. To no avail.

It eluded me. The why of it all. And how? How does one proceed to just live it? How do I practice it? How do I forget who I am, and overhaul my entire life to take on this imperfect mantle that almost everyone seems to be comfortable wearing? How do I find contentment in it? How do I untangle a lifetime’s habit that moves not without plans and outlines? That scripts every future event to the last T, and despairs at every last disruption to those well laid plans. That balks at any spontaneous adventure sprung upon us. That morosely stares at every bearer of surprises, good and beyond good, in my life.

It’s a loop. I recognize it. One that admits that my most perfect plans can be taken over by forces that are extraordinarily more powerful than my own. That my powers falter at circumstances so unpredictable as to always command a space in my life’s equation. Tragic events, present emotions, ill health, destiny. The most perfect constant variable, I’d call it. And on the other, it admits that there must be a halt to my critique. That it’s infinitely more malignant than benevolent. My shoulders now sag at the burdens laid by that voice. That I must turn off my most favoured past-time, thinking, which comes at the cost of attempting it all. It’s never ending. And it’s not worth it anymore. No one, not even I, deserve the weight of that voice, the piercing of that gaze. The crispness of those recollections. It’s never a simple demur this, it’s almost always a flogging. I’m spent. We can’t do perfection anymore. And not because we don’t want to. You have no idea. If I could, I’d still be there. But we have no capacity for it now, you see.

This is my sole resolution for this year. No more perfect lists and plans for me. We’re making an exercise of this imperfection scheme. We will be the most imperfect writer, the most imperfect researcher. The most imperfect counsellor, the most imperfect human being that lived this year. You think you’ve seen terrible reports, posts ey? You think you’ve seen terrible papers, unstomachable work? Tighten your lenses people, pull up your visors haters, I’m taking you down a road that even I don’t lead my enemies to. Came here to learn about taming that beast? Move along honey, not today. Here, we’re sharpening our imperfection knives. We’re driving down unplanned – panic, anxiety, self-doubt and failure be damned. We’re dedicated to drawing the most imperfect demarcation lines between success and failure. Drafts? What drafts? There are no drafts this year, no do-overs. I’m taking us into portals and within channels that are hopelessly, inconceivably unswimmable. There are no awards this year, here we just flail our arms and drown.

So hello imperfection, my old friend. How do you do?

My circle: Rules of engagement

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ending friendships

Courtesy: Tumblr (2018)

I’ve always thought that my primary purpose in this world was to serve- to serve God, and to serve humanity. That I always had to be there for whoever needs me, that I had to pour my essence and entire being into them, to make things right for them, to help them realize their dreams. Whilst I still believe this, I’ve learnt to temper my approach these days. If someone takes and takes, and never gives, do you still have to keep giving? But what if you give and give, and have nothing left to anchor your dreams? I never thought that I’d ever get there. I’ve always thought of myself as resilient, and howsoever wounded, generally unswayed by the vagaries of life. Until I got to that definitive point, and realized that however loose, my boundaries of unconditional service had calibrations, and I had arrived at point non plus.

It was discomposing. To have to put a halt to my usual sprint in life, and look around me. Take stock of who I am, what my values are, what my dreams are, what path I’m on and what I should never negotiate on. My dreams, I discovered, are non-negotiable. To get to the gardens, with all it entails, and whom it entails. And to be the best version I could be in whatever I lay my hands on here. But I had sacrificed my dreams. Over and over again. To people whom I thought would do the same for me. But they hadn’t, you see. They wouldn’t have my back, and they would never put their necks out for me. They wouldn’t put half as much effort in whatever I did for us –  in our dreams, in mutual support, in encouragement. And they would abuse me, I have learnt, to reflect their own insecurities.

And I had to review this conduct, make painful inquiries, and reflect on their place in my life. Would I ever be comfortable to see my friends suffer? If they needed my help, would I be comfortable to sit down, and berate them for approaching it the wrong way? Would I tell them to do it themselves if they thought they were superwoman, and direct them to learn those lessons well? Of course not. It would pain me greatly, to see my friends suffer, to withhold assistance – within my sphere of knowledge or influence – to deliberately hurt my friends. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.

So why was I comfortable with these kinds of relationships? One-sided, draining, bloodsucking, toxic. Why was I comfortable with being the designated forgiving bigger person? Why was I accepting of less than what I gave out? Why was it okay for me to accept someone who’s not willing to put in as much effort as I do? To go out of their way to fix things for me? To help me out with my dreams, unprompted? Why, when I’m more than happy to do the same? Why wouldn’t I want to have another of me? What made me think that I was undeserving of that? And that I always had to be the strong one, the adult, to take care of everything myself? This, we must unravel.

I would say that I’ve lived a very sheltered lifestyle. A conservative experience most common to Cushitic girls everywhere. That is not to say that I haven’t managed to escape life, and all its eccentricities. But these have by and large been confined to areas that constitute a sheltered lifestyle – inescapable eventualities, I call them. Fate, it’s referred to in other circles. But no matter how sheltered, there are lessons which one learns quite early on in this journey. Integrity, courage, commitment, clemency, loyalty, these are some of them.

I don’t have to really think about it, it’s inherent I’ve discovered. Loyalty that is. An ex-husband of one of my good friends contacted me recently. Of course I didn’t pick up, and you know my next call was my girl asking her what her ratchet ex was up to. Mark you, I knew her husband way before I knew her, but once we connected, that was it!  She alone would dictate to me the nature of contact I would have, which I would faithfully adhere to. And whatever her apathy, you know I had chapter and verse ready for her, if she ever needed it.  It’s an unspoken rule, I thought.  Boundaries that every female friend knows and learns to keep. And these may differ in your circle of friends. Learn them all I say. But some frontiers are too clear, I thought. Those that are intrinsic within us. Loyalty is one. If someone does not respect you enough to be loyal towards you on matters of no great import, what makes you think they’d respect your margins on matters salient?

These are my rules of sisterhood. Women who always choose capable women over unavailing, inadequate men. How could you drop your friends for a man, someone who was never there in your making? Don’t you know that there is a role for everyone in your life, that no one could replace your family and no man could take the place of your friends? How could you do this, and then expect me to put this behind me? Of course I’ll forgive you, because that’s the only way I can put you behind me and move on. But I’m flawed, I don’t have whatever it is other people have that allows them to forget. I’m not your mum, sis, I don’t do unconditional love.

And what of women who’re asked to help other women? How dare you say no, when it’s within your capacity to reach out and lighten the load of another? What are you here for? What gives you the right to say no? Your mother who’s gone through pain after pain to bear and raise you? Your sisters who guided you and were always there for you? Your friends who were there to comfort you and support you when faced with life’s trials? But who am I to dictate to you how to live? It is life’s ultimate lesson to give you back tenfold the same energy that you give out. I would wish that you wouldn’t learn this lesson the hard way because I assure you, it is painful.

So go forth, arrogant soul. Go forth and conquer your mountains, and if you come across these valleys, don’t worry, we won’t be there to tell you we told you so. Lonely plains await you, with no one around to celebrate or genuinely condole with you. We’ll let you find out that there is a cardinal rule that we simply do not break as women. When a woman comes to you for help, you give everything that’s within your capacity to give. You jump over every hoop, barring death, and even death, to help her. Because another woman did that for you. You must give back.

Have you come across women who never stand up for other women, and have the audacity to tell you stories of their failings? Cowards, I call them. What is the point of telling me stories after the fact, how can you live with yourself? But I have come to learn that these are not my people. Those who do not share the same philosophies in life. You can never force someone to have the same values as you do. Not everyone was raised by your mother. People who feel not a pinch when lying to your face. People who have nothing better to do but lecture you on your weirdness, and how you should never talk or act, or be.  People who mock and trivialize your pain. People who have no qualms about trampling on borders that you’ve set for them. People who feel nothing about divulging a private conversation about a third party to that third party. Who are so quick to dish out criticism and insult you, but can’t take it. People who humiliate you before mutual friends and third parties. Who have no problems going out with someone else’s partner. How do you flirt with another woman’s man without their permission? How, sis? How do you plan to take another woman’s man without their blessing? How do you expect to build your happiness over another woman’s unhappiness? There’s a cost to every friendship, many sacrifices that we must voluntarily give, but you’ve got to know when that sacrifice is you. Your values, your essence, your path. When the sacrifice is you, darling, you bail out.

Not everyone deserves a seat at your table. It’s sacred. Just like you, don’t you know? They need to be similar minded, similar valued and similar visioned. What is the value of inviting conflict into your life? You can’t always be the one that sacrifices in your relationships, it’s unhealthy. You weren’t born to be everyone’s caretaker, to care more about others’ dreams than they do. You are not here to live lives for other people, at the expense of your own. You are not here to set dreams for other people at the expense of your own. Live your life and go forth in your journey. A seat at your table is earned, not through lies, deceit, betrayal or a shaky character. But loyalty, honour, reliability, constance, consistency, devotion and mutual hard work and effort. To spiritually uplift each other, and remind each other why it is we’re still here. Because if you do not increase me, you will eventually decrease me. We can’t have that. I don’t need everybody to like me. As long as I like me, I’m cool.  And that table may have only me, but as long as I have peace of mind, I’m okay.

It’s been a year of uncomfortable growth. Where every meaningful change and advancement has come through chaos. But there’s an accompanying sweet weariness I find, when you look back at a full year. And marvel at how far you’ve come. And how much farther you need to go. So here I am, my loves, looking forward with so much hope at the rest of my journey. Wiser, stronger, more open-minded, more conflict-averse and yes, more pragmatic. With irreducible minimums that I’ll never let anyone abuse again. And lessons learnt well, for optimal living.

You must, first and foremost, commit to yourself. To loving yourself unconditionally, to taking care of yourself, to accounting to yourself, to persevering in following your dreams, no matter the deviations that come your way. You must then commit to your soul’s creed, to your choices, your mistakes, your lessons. Alongside it all, you must pledge your allegiance to your one true love, your Provider, the bane of your existence, the tranquility of your life. Your one and only constant. Unceasing, perennial, everlasting succour. You must make the decision to keep friends who want to keep you. And are equally committed to set forth on this journey of life together. How can you be accepting of apologies that never came? How can you be accepting of unaccountable people in your life? People who take your love and commitment, and capacity to forgive, for granted. People who do not challenge you to raise your standards, to be the best version of yourself. People who take and take and are never willing to give. Sis, respect yourself, those you must bid adieu to.

There are many many wonderful memories and lessons that you’ve learnt from them, do not soil those, be grateful for them. But you’ve got to admit to yourself and take responsibility when you’re on different journeys – your lives must reflect that. There comes a time in life when you’ve got to put your business face on and tell them to pull up their socks or pull out. No hard feelings. Peace.

Pistols at dawn with social media

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I hate you

Courtesy: Artbitz, teepublic.co.uk (2018)

I’ve always known that I’m old school – I preferred forum boards and instant messaging forums to popular social media. But I had to get with the times. My first foray into this pool was months after I had cleared high school and was taking a foreign language course as I waited to join university. It seemed as if everyone in my class had joined the Facebook bandwagon, everyone of course, except me. I was coming off of 4 years in a girls boarding school, where the closest thing I had to internet was the computer lab – I hated it, I couldn’t understand it all – why it is I had to learn how to type, and to use Microsoft word – and come my 3rd year, was all too happy to drop it for chemistry and physics, my loves. I vividly recall my first post – I was fine, because I had variations of the same line in my subsequent posts, I was just fine, and I was still fine, in case anyone was wondering. Turns out they did – my regulars, the most random of friends, and friends of friends, who’d added me as soon as I came on. I was bewildered. I had never been popular, and I couldn’t understand why strangers wanted to befriend me. I had tons of likes I recall and many encouraging comments – yes we know you’re fine, haha, give us something else, but awesome that you’re trying babe. It wasn’t lost upon me that there was a different kind of update expected of me as a consumer – my timeline was full of scrolls of glossy photos, of people, and places they’d visited.

And once I joined university, twitter was the it thing. And I was it, I thought. I had manic confidence in those days. You couldn’t tell me anything then – my role model was Orie Rogo Manduli, an outspoken feminist and outrageous fashionista I’d met in a popular conference centre. She didn’t give a fig if the world stared at her, she would live her life as she wanted to and that was that. From then on, I would walk about town and use her as a reference if anyone had a problem with me.

And then Instagram came along, and snap chat. I opened accounts to see what the hullabaloo was about but quickly realized it was more of the same thing, and promptly moved on with my life. Until I went through some tough times and social media became my escape. It was a constant barrage I felt. With people living incredible lives that I would never be a part of, I thought. And advancing to positions that I could only ever dream of. I was never going to live like them, and if I did, no one would ever find out. And off went Facebook, and Instagram and snap chat, and twitter for a while. But I missed the wit and the news, and would go back to it, time and again.  And LinkedIn for my career. I had an official photo and had the most random people follow me whom I had to block. I was disappointed in myself, that I had conformed to fit in to what was expected of me. And I couldn’t stand the thought that someone had chosen to add or follow me because of the way that I looked. That that is all I had to offer. My photos had to go.

There is a thin line, in my books, between authentication, marketing and objectification when you’re a woman running a business with a predominantly male clientele. It needs fine tuning, with steel. I know for sure that I never want to compete with anyone, the thrust of constant photos on social media a testament to the fact that there was some kind of unspoken competition going on. Who would have the most money, the flashiest of cars, the coolest of clothes, the sultriest of eyes. I am me, and it’s taken me a long time to accept myself. But I have come to terms with it – this is how I was created. And this is my destiny. I may not be your cup of tea but I’m uniquely, distinctly beautiful because this is what my Lord intended me to be – to only have one of me.

Twitter was a never ending field of updates –  it seemed to be my drug. I had a core group of people and accounts that I admired, and quickly dropped anyone whose posts I felt had nothing to do with my life. But as life invariably is, it still wasn’t perfect. I would follow up and update. Constantly refresh, I always felt that there was something that I’d missed. Something crucial may have passed me. That even in this insipid business, I needed to do my very best. I had to be the most updated person in the world. But you can’t be, you know? You can’t compete on never-ending depressing news, on shallowness, on vanity. What would be the award? The most depressed person, the most apprised, the most vapid? What is earth changing about that? How would I have advanced society?

Twitter had to go. But I would go back and forth between deleting and re-activating it. Arghh, I detest wishy washy behavior. I’ve taken a break and it’s been some of the most peaceful and inspiring times I’ve had. The discontent that engulfed me then is simply not worth the witty gems that I’d see here and there. Still, I miss the news.

Quora and Reddit became my go to sites. Oracular questions would be asked, cultured answers given, intellectual debates had. I have learnt so much, and encountered kindness upon kindness, interacting with my anonymous babies. There wouldn’t be all these hashtags, filters, stories and accompanying parochial and narcissistic garbage that I couldn’t stand anymore, especially not from myself. Until I came across some fruitcakes, who had nothing better to do but spew hatred. And would down vote every conflicting opinion they encountered. The fact that I had to be anonymous left a bad taste in my mouth. There is an element of dishonesty, I thought, in hiding who I am to post my views and interact with strangers, however familiar, on the internet. The irony!

And so LinkedIn was the last to hold fort. I had made friends who were in my career circle, people I had admired. I couldn’t go wrong here, I thought. I’d come across some amazing opportunities, and I’d managed to keep up with what my old classmates and lecturers were up to. And I’m better for it. But there is a fine line between informing, educating, and boasting, the latter which invariably started with “I’m proud of what I…” These days, it’s called affirming yourself. But why can’t one do it privately? I wondered. Isn’t that the best kind? And who doesn’t know that they’re not ever entirely responsible for their favour in fortune? A lot, I found.

And isn’t its premise the same as all the others? Bragging about who I am, what I am, and what I do? I truly would be proud of my friends’ achievements, and publicly expressed my excitement to see these milestones. So why weren’t I proud of my own? Why wouldn’t I want to advertise my business? Don’t I have to show what I’m up to, to do so? Where is the line? These are extremely difficult questions to ask of myself. But I must. Because I’m answerable to The Most High and would never want to face His wrath by seeking the favour of others, when the ultimate favour, honour and prestige lies with Him, and Him only.

There is no line. For me, social media is a facade that I can no longer keep up with, an expensive distraction. It is enough for me to know that I have ticked a goal, my satisfaction lies inwards. And I would venture to say that posting any update is a dangerous game for me, and anyone really who derives satisfaction in improving whatever is before them. There is always a feeling that it could be better. It’s debilitating.

No doubt, there is a certain thrill that we all get from posting a photo, or an insightful message. Having like after like, people commenting on how much they’ve missed you, affirming that you’re admired. I have discovered though that this is all too fleeting, a cesspool of shallowness and fickle support. A waning one, until you follow it up with another, and another, and another. It could easily become an addiction. Easily. Only you can affirm yourself. Only you know deep down how you feel about yourself, and if you got a thousand likes, or a thousand people who said they admired you, you’d still not fill the hole of inadequacy that you have, if you can’t stand yourself.

If I could scrub myself off of the internet, I would. To have to conform to what is required of me, to sell myself to the unsatisfied audience this world constitutes is depressing beyond belief. Why do I have to tell people what my ideas are, with a poster that reminds them of just what I look like? Why should that be the norm?

Of course there’s a lot that I have, and will miss, from social media –  the witty messages that would come my way, the spiritually uplifting ones, the socially just and aware that reminded me I’m not the only one on this journey who thinks as I do. But it’s a constant battle for me. It’s a sacrifice, I feel, in whatever path I choose to take – one that takes a chunk from my soul, and another from my career and business. But come, let’s make peace. It can’t be that complicated?!

I get it. The why of it all. I do. That doesn’t mean that I have to love it. How do I put this? You know the way some people like raspberries more than they do strawberries? And some like oranges, and bananas are simply not their thing? That is social media for me. It simply isn’t my thing, I’ve come to realize, and you know what? I’m okay with that.

Dagestan, here we come

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Khabib Nurmagomedov, Courtesy: Redbubble/Pinterest (2018)

Dear Khabib,

Let me start off by congratulating you on your emphatic win against an unworthy, dishonourable opponent whom every sane person knew was unfit to share the cage with you. I’m sure I speak for many when I tell you how proud I am of you for showing the world what it means to be a warrior, and to put money where your mouth is. But it’s not the fact that you simply beat an arrogant bully. For me at least, it’s the symbolism behind it. That you gave us a world class victory against white supremacy,  racism, institutionalized hate and all that we know of Islamophobia in current times. And you did so in a world that no longer expects nor condones such triumphs against these ideas. And all along, you displayed patience and class well beyond any man’s limits really when faced with the most intense of provocations. I mean someone put whisky before you to mock and laugh at you and you politely declined? (How did you not go berserk at this?!) And repeatedly praised Allah’s name before a crowd that wanted to hear anything but. And life moved on, as if nothing happened, as you chilled out to watch the fight later in your thobe. I don’t know what it is, I guess it’s the perceived normalcy of your actions to someone who surely must have been tempted to fall by now that gets me. Your grace, humility, integrity and fairness in a sport that is hardly synonymous with this has been inspiring to watch. Let me follow it up by reiterating that I, and the people around me, are definitely no tap machines. Ahem, just to set the record straight.

We have a few things in common, Islam of course, another is our resilience in tough childhoods. We haven’t got mountains here, but the plains man, the sun, and the life underneath it’s glaring gaze –  it’s unforgivable. We’re daughters of sheep and goat herders, it’s as humble as humble gets – reminds you just who you are when you start feeling important, eh? I’m sure you can relate to that. We don’t have bears to fight here, we have our own unique devils but you know what’s sad about it, we’re just spectators at the farce that currently constitutes our lives. It’s heart-breaking. And I guess that is one of the reasons why I admire you. That you took the bit between your teeth and instead of spectating and participating like a trained pony, you taught them a lesson that everyone surely needs to learn sometime in their lives. It was exhilarating to watch such manifest bravery. And it inspires the same within me. Aren’t you a human who eats and sleeps just like me? So what stops me from doing the same?

If we ever met, we’d have a lot to chat about. I was crazy about taekwondo in high school, I hear MMA is slightly similar?…okay it’s extremely different but the principle remains the same, we smash other people and pay respect to them after we’re done. Errr, scratch the respect. It depends on the opponent, and you know what? I totally get you. I would probably do the same thing if placed in the same position. Your opponent and his ilk represent the scum of society- amoral, conscienceless and all that is base about our world now.  And you, you’re way better than that you know. Or had you forgotten? In the thickness of electrified adrenaline and revenge-fueled violence? But who are we to judge, if we had the lens of the world upon us, what would we do? I’ll be the first to accept your apology. There is no perfect success story.

And I like the fact that you want to change the game and get rid of the trash talk, your so called respect spot. I’m totally about changing the world, in whatever capacity we can, so kudos. I know a lot of us were living vicariously through you – paid entertainment it may be, I do genuinely believe that the violence was more about restoration of pride and your legacy than it was about the money. It’s the fact that you can quite literally shut up someone who talks smack about you. Can I unleash you onto my enemies? Or at least take lessons from you? The martial arts wrestling bit only mind. And purely for self -defense. Because my beloved has warned me to respect the sanctity of the face. I’m curious, what do you think of a sport whose premise is to deliberately harm another human being for entertainment? But then, who am I to judge you? You should see the demons I fight at work, I should be the very last person to judge you.

All that can never take away from the fact that you’re a fighter, a true champion. And you beat the odds that bet against you. How can I condemn you when you simply want a better life for yourself and your people? I’m sure I speak on behalf of many when I say that you’re admired here, not just regarding the mastery of your craft but also your unapologetic promotion of Islam and depth of character this post could surely not exhaust. And we wish you the very best in life as you sail forth- may it always be of pleasure to our Lord.

We have a few questions for you if you’re ever in the area… a lot really –  promotion of your art, and Islam of course, and salafi versions of you possibly in existence in Dagestan? Hmmm? Could we discuss that? Give us a ping when you have some time, yeah?

Oh, and no rematch, please?

Respectfully,

LD.

It feels like yesterday

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Grief

Courtesy: Gerard Van Den Berg(shutterstock), theconversation.com (2017)

It’s been 2 years, and I honestly cannot believe that we’re here. In one piece, mostly. There’s not a day that passes of course without thinking of him, and I have consciously made it a point to not ever forget. Everything, including my black scarf drenched in his musk – of course I didn’t have it washed for days! Errr weeks? Okay, it was months – I take my weird seriously. And even then, if I close my eyes and breathe deeply, the smell of it engulfs me.  And my regret is that they didn’t allow me enough time, and space, to give him enough kisses. But there will never be enough kisses for my father.

One of the most interesting things about losing a loved one is that in its immediate aftermath, everything that you once thought was important quickly loses meaning. And the impermanence of everything around you, including you, comes into sharp focus. And you gain a deeper understanding and appreciation of Allah’s immense power and mercy. That He could take, in an instant, someone you’ve lived your whole life seeing around you. And even after this most brutal of reminders, He still allows us to run around like heedless children, creating mischief, hurting people and amassing wealth, without consequence. That He gives us the opportunity, time and time again, to come back. And I honestly cannot fathom the breadth of benevolence required for that. That He created me, and I belong to him, but He still allows me this much latitude to make mistakes only to run back to Him. Again. And again. And again. I’m stupefied.

It’s not simply the fact that the life of this world is transient, it’s that trouble and grief seems to be its by line. It’s always one day I’m laughing, and the next I’m in deep despair. And it takes immense faith, which I lack, to understand that this is how my Lord has decreed it, a place of trials and tests to sift through the best amongst us, a bridge to the Hereafter. That even the best of creations, the Prophets, tasted grief. And calamities upon calamities. What makes me think that I’d be spared?

Sabr, iman and taqwa, I need this in spades. To think good of my creator, the Lord of the Worlds, to trust in His decree, to delegate all my affairs to him and to always turn to Him when faced with trials. To rely on Him with utmost conviction. To hold Him above all others in my heart. And to detach myself from this world which is a mirage.

But I have been extremely fortunate. My Lord has provided me comfort upon comfort. “So do not lose heart, and do not fall into despair; for you must gain mastery if you are true in faith” (Quran 3:139). We will surely test you with a measure of fear and hunger and a loss of wealth, lives, and fruits;  but give glad tidings to As‑Saabiroon (the patient ones). Who, when afflicted with calamity, say: ‘Truly, to Allah we belong and truly, to Him we shall return.’ They are those on whom are the Salawaat (i.e. who are blessed and will be forgiven) from their Lord, and (they are those who) receive His Mercy, and it is they who are the guided ones.” (Quran 2: 155-157) “How wonderful is the case of a believer; there is good for him in everything and this applies only to a believer. If prosperity attends him, he expresses gratitude to Allah and that is good for him; and if adversity befalls him, he endures it patiently and that is better for him.” (The Prophet, pbuh-Muslim)

I would be lying if I said that I never allowed despair to come into my heart. Of course it did, but I know that it has a prescribed duration. And it is in how we spin it that it then becomes bearable. Someone once told me that they grieved by trying to emulate their loved one’s spirit. And I thought this was genius. To be up before the break of dawn, to pray isha upon its adhan. To read Quran every day. Hajj or umrah every year, as long as I can afford it. Paying my bills on time. Staying away from debt, speaking your truth no matter whom, where, what. Informing people, kindly, once they’ve messed up. Forgiving wrongs done upon me. Taking care of my relatives. Staying away from that which does not benefit me.  Keeping good companions. Being on wudhu. And sadaqa, sadaqa, sadaqa.

It all sounds doable until you attempt it, and you recognize the purity of discipline  needed to sustain such a lifestyle. But I want to, desperately crave to do this, against my selfish baser nature. My Lord, please make it easy for me. Every minute, every day, year upon year.

As for my dearest, my Lord, I beg of you, please provide him with the most lavish of comforts. In the most peaceful of spaces. Indelible in my mind is our last conversation, his beautiful face, his eternal repose and a prayer for a reunion in the highest levels of al firdaus al’ala. How can it be 2 years then, when it still feels just like yesterday?

Deliverance

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Gettyimages 2018

Courtesy: iStock by Gettyimages (2018)

It’s an indescribable feeling. It’s to see the edges of the ocean, unhindered. To not have to peep behind a tall world, something I’ve had to get used to in life. But it’s more than that. It’s to remove the shackles of restraint off my mind. To see myself for whom I really am. What I have allowed in, what I have done, and what I’m capable of. The good, the great, the absolutely beautiful, and the unpleasant that I can no longer disassociate from. There were more than a few black spots, a few curves. For the most part though, we’ve been on that wire. Balancing as best as we knew how, never knowing that we were handicapped with a visor. And it’s as if someone has removed it now and I can look ahead with crisp clarity at everything around me, and see blinding light, hope, and happiness.

As a Cushitic woman, as a Black woman, as a Muslim woman, I cannot tally the number of times someone has told me to be less than. To lower my voice, to slow down my walk. To be more feminine. To be more accommodating. To smile more. To chill. The number of times I have been told that whatever I do, my place is behind a more capable man. But I can count the number of times they have been. Capable, that is, and reliable. And they get away with it, every time. That will never be you, you have no margin for error, don’t you know? And so I would smile at this advice delivered oh so politely, with evident concern. And laugh in the privacy of my own company. But then it becomes pervasive, and it starts getting to you. It gets to your psyche, and your spirit. And you find yourself doing things that subconsciously affirms this lunacy of thinking.

Your mind, just like your body, needs regular watering. With positive vibes, with attainable goals, with affirmation, and positive people. It needs your care. And regular attention. My darlings, please take care of your minds. The value of a healthy mind is priceless. Release those fetters my loves, you wouldn’t imagine the life that awaits you once you do. But you must make that one step forward towards deliverance, no one can do it for you. Towards freedom. You wouldn’t imagine the endless sphere of that horizon. It’s a beautiful struggle, a struggle coated with hope and oiled by love. A love of self, inferred through honest self reflection. And for me, a craving of opportunity. A firm belief that all my dreams are achievable, and that they do come true after all. With grit.

My darlings, the next time someone tells you to dim your light so that a man can shine in your presence, tell them to shut up and work on themselves. You are all that, and more. I dare you to let your mind believe it. Your soul is but a slave to it. So do not be enslaved to believe that you are less than anyone. And that you need to temper your demands to allow others to fit in with you. You are the universe wrapped in splendour. It’s not you, you are everything.

And I hope you can promise me this – that you will never take your mind, and all it entails, for granted. It is your compass in this turbulent world. And your tool to forge forward, either positively or repressively. And there’s a world of difference in those two journeys, no matter the outcome. So commit to place those manacles under a microscope, and remove them one painful click at a time. It is slow, it is distressing beyond belief. But I promise you it’s worth it. This calm, the peace of mind, it’s all worth it. To visualize my unhindered progress hereon? How could I put a price to this?

It’s okay to look back at that version of you, to laugh and cry at her foibles. At her slips, and her imperfections. But she belongs in the past. Laugh with her, cry with her, but tell her to put her chin up. It gets better. The jagged edges of those rocks still abound, but we’re not as naive, we’ve built stamina by this point.  It was okay my love, she made us who we are now. She owes us no apologies, we’re steel tempered now.

It’s okay to be a man, whatever that means. And the next time anyone tells you this, I give you permission to tell them to put a sock in it. No one, no one, has the right to tell you to change who you are. To dilute your essence to make them comfortable. You do not owe anyone comfort, at the expense of you. Why should you? You are beautiful beyond belief. But most importantly, you are you, there’s no one else like you, there can only be one of you. So be you, it is enough.

Birthday reflections

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birthday photo 2

Courtesy: gettyimages.com (2015)

August fourth has always been an uncertain day for me. On the one hand, I’m excited to welcome a new year and get to some of my favourite things – planning, replanning and adding more items to my goals list, as if whatever I had was not enough. On the other, it’s shaky because I have to self-reflect and take myself to account for whatever mistakes I have made the past year. It has never been about the highs with me, it’s the stumbles that keep me awake at night.

This year, I decided to do something different. I’m determined to hype myself up, against my better nature. I’m always muttering meh, this has been done before. How unoriginal? Great, but it could be better? There’s always been an unsatisfied aspect to me, I’m a relenting mistress to work for. And no one knows it better than my soul. We love her and hate her in equal measures. But we’ve learnt to live with each other, the censurer and the appeaser, we’ve learnt to tolerate each other.

There are so many positives that I could take since we last saw this date. Last year, at a time like this, I was so stressed. I loved my job but hated my boss. And now? I love my boss, yours truly, but if I’m honest, I’m not crazy about my job. I don’t get why people would love to run around clients, dishonourable ones at that, for money, or always have to be on guard against anyone who wishes to screw you over. I don’t get excited about trying to bury someone else in a deal. Or disparaging someone’s rights or claims because they don’t happen to be my client. I genuinely don’t get the hoopla around entrepreneurship, besides the independence – that I rejoice in. It’s the rest that I can’t wrap my head around. And I must admit, I feel extremely ungrateful saying this because I could never compare to where I was last year. I was robotic, and I’m now a human robot, I jest, I’m human. And I can relax, and get a chance to write this rambling post that seems to be going nowhere. I’m bored people!

I did have one of those days, boring beyond belief, chilled out to the nines, no work, spent some time reading – the fictional kind mind, sipping fennel tea, did I mention no work, and no guilt? I jest of course, the guilt is ever present – my very own Damocles sword, hanging out with friends, watching animation movies. Angry birds. Christoper Robin. And nostalgic memories of one of my most favourite of storybooks and characters – Winnie the Pooh, and Piglet, Eeyore, Roo, Tigger, Kanga, Owl, Rabbit. Aaah, for the longest time, Winnie the Pooh was my password for everything.

Just the right kind of corny picture I needed today. And ordinarily I wouldn’t be moved by these foggy scenes, I would in fact be making sarcastic comments after every slide, but not when it comes to Pooh. And not today. Ordinarily, I would count today as a wasted day. That I did nothing, and without any productive work, I had failed as a human being. But I’m determined to change things up this year, relax more, do more of nothing, well my version of nothing at least, life is too short.

So that’s how I choose to start this year, with this peace and calm. And gratefulness. And to escape my mind, just for a day. Did I mention that I switched off my phone at some point? The buzz, the retreat, the cheek when you’ve got a business – I highly recommend it.

So today is all about the nonjudgmental friend, that indulgent monster in me. And tomorrow inshaallah? I’ll do a bit of both. Relax, hang some more with friends, do a bit of work, and take myself to account. Tomorrow, I will lament and reflect on the mental stimulation that I crave, and feel I lack in my current job. I will ponder on whether I need to go back to employment to get a stab at this. I don’t know if I can work for someone else though, I’m intractable when it comes to orders, and I lack the constitution that everyone seems to have when it comes to according respect to authority, I suffer at this, especially when I find it undeserving. You see, it may seem to be a mutual hate this, myself and all my employers, whom I have always left.

Today though, I will remind myself, just like Pooh, that it’s my favourite day, today. And yesterday and tomorrow are too much day for me. And how about another year of this, eh? Can you believe it? Neither can I. But I have so much faith and hope in this season. I have a good feeling about this one. To another year inshaallah!

But sometimes your light attracts moths, and your warmth attracts parasites

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Misophonia

Courtesy: IndeedIAm, megpoulindeed.com (2014) Title courtesy: Warsan Shire

People are generally annoying. They’re annoying in the morning when they pipe up and distract you from your plans to save the world, they’re annoying when they munch their food loudly –Urgghh , I usually want to crawl into a hole when I hear this sound! – they’re annoying when they breathe.

Make me understand why someone’s sole agenda in this world would appear to be the intentional distraction and encroachment into other people’s lives?! Have you ever met such people? Needy, nosy, helplessly manipulative, who unfailingly and consistently violate your time and privacy with their suffocating demeanor? People who do not understand the concept of personal boundaries, who demand and unflinchingly abuse the borrowed personal effects of others, and once called to account for such dishonourable behaviour, prevaricate by attempting to shame the owners for valuing items over people? People who have no understanding of the concept of amana, and casually endeavour to get out of remedying the breach of such trusts by, again, tediously attempting to chasten their owners for supposedly pursuing materialism in a temporary world? Would you believe such people exist in this day and age, when a majority have been exposed to education and civilization, which you would then think, justifiably engineered an emancipation to their conduct?

Well, my dearest readers, I can reliably inform you that they’re alive. And their behaviour, most assuredly, never ceases to surprise me everyday. Why would someone need to smack their lips when eating, why do they have to breathe loudly? Why is it so hard to eat silently? Why? Would you choke to death if you failed to slurp your soup? And if you walked into a hush room where its inhabitants obviously desire tranquility to better concentrate, without clicking your heels? Do people not understand the concept of silence and solitude?

I deserve a trophy for the number of times I have prevented myself from flying into a rage at these needless distractions. So needless because they’re not simply just distractions, oh how I wish it were that simple, but they’re symptomatic of society’s degradation of all we know of proper deportment currently, symptomatic of a general disrespect of personal boundaries, symptomatic of a clear devaluation of some of our most cherished traits in humanity and all that we understand of progressive civilization, symptomatic of a seemingly contagious disease of lunacy, chaos and noise prevalent in current times!

My dearest readers, their audacity knows no restrictions. Would you believe that they would still further request for use of your items after they have misplaced or damaged property that you once gave them? And their disbelief at your gall to deny them access to this property is astounding. I mean, words cannot describe their apparent incredulity that you would say nay – it is a thing of beauty really. Have you ever met people who know your drawers and phone better than you do? Whom, when shown a message see nothing wrong with scrolling up to previous messages, to decipher the “jist of the conversation”. Who seemingly lack understanding of the concept of privacy and consent? And who decline to order for food, and once yours arrives see nothing wrong in diving in, and sipping your drinks before you, when they had most clearly stated they did not wish to eat? And who call you, and attempt to speak, when they are evidently in the midst of doing a private chore such as, say, the world saving undertaking of brushing their teeth? I mean, are you foaming at the mouth at such impudence? Because I absolutely, elaborately, am!

Why is it so hard for people to respect personal property placed in their care, when they so humbly petitioned for it? If you cannot, I beg you, please don’t solicit for it, I assure you, you can survive perfectly without it, it is an item after all. And please refrain from constantly initiating conversation and interrupting my solitude and peace, when I’m trying so hard to concentrate on one of my endeavours? If you have to, and I’m in the zone, please text me such a warning?  Please order your own food, and if you can’t, please inform me so I may order it for you. I don’t mind, honestly. Please respect people’s personal boundaries. And for God’s sake, please never call someone, I urge you never to call when you are partaking of your meal. We wouldn’t want to compete with the absolute glory, beauty and sensory delight associated with such an endeavour. Please try not to lose other people’s items, don’t misuse other people’s items. Please don’t break other people’s items, certainly not those that are evidently sentimental to them. If this happens, it is totally allright as we’re very much cognizant and understanding of your general clumsiness, ineptitude and irresponsibility. Just fess up, and you know what you could do to make it up to us? Replace them with something of similar functionality, you wouldn’t replace our attachment to the said lost items but I assure you, we would appreciate the gesture. And you would be in our good books. There’s benefits to this, trust me.

And I beg you, please don’t read my messages when I haven’t given you permission to do so, not even the one right next to the one I showed you that you simply couldn’t avoid reading. I promise you, if there was anything interesting there you’d be the first to know. And please don’t attempt to psycho-analyse me for your amusement, which I consider an attack really, for behaviours you deem “weird“. Weird is subjective, and if I needed a shrink, you’re currently unqualified for it. Please give me notice before you spring strangers upon me and expect me to entertain them – I need time to psyche myself up for such experiences. And can we not discuss my personal life in public? In front of acquaintances? Kindly? Or bring up other people’s business unless they directly affect mine? I assure you, I can temper my curiosity if you can. Please don’t bring up your problems for the idiotic purpose of venting or “airing them out.” They’re perfectly fine without the air. And guess what, they’re still problems without solutions. And please don’t attempt to reprimand me for bringing this up to your attention, certainly not in public, I promise you, unless I’m having an absolutely fantastic day *kicks body bag over the hill* , ahem, which so rarely happens, I will not let this slide, and my comebacks are almost guaranteed to cause irrevocable permanent personal damage.

Thankfully, I’m usually very tolerant and forgiving of people’s shortcomings, and I force myself to take in such shenanigans from time to time to build my mind stamina.  Not all the time, mind. And these annoyances don’t generally last long however forbidding my expression, and I will not hold a grudge against you unless you screwed up BIG TIME, consistently and dissolutely, in which case I will erase you from my life, but oh no! you will not be let off that easy as I will formally add you to my black book wherein you will take your place amongst my list of enemies whom I deliberately annoy in regular intervals, for my amusement- welcome to eternal condemnation.

Yes of course, people are more valuable than items. Sometimes. Certainly not when their lives are hardly in danger, which is 99% of the time. And yes, personal boundaries have to be balanced with the need to closely socialize and live with each other. This does not have to be 99% of the time – I have heard of nobody that perished of solitude and silence. Practice it sometimes, it may surprise you. And honey, the next time you think that something is an uphill battle, I beg you, please don’t go to war. What can I say, it happens to be my thing.

With all due respect,

LD.