I didn't even keep a diary when I was a young girl. Is that normal?
Anyhow, after my grand entry (my first post, obviously), I have decided to take this on less dramatically. Forgive me, I do get excited about things and lose myself in fantasies. I am a girl after all.
I didn't even realize that if I wanted to be secretive about my identity and let my reader guess, I should have had a less obvious title. Blog of a Mysterian. I like that word, even though it doesn't exist.
So, it is now June and terribly warm in Chicago (because I already wrote that in my profile description, it would be futile to keep it from you). Even though I have the advantage of not being swamped with homework (well, I do have several assignments to complete for A.P. English), I do have a number of other things to do. Summer in the life of a desi Muslim girl would be incomplete without at least two weddings, which compromises to at least six days of celebration.
But just these past two weeks, I attended four graduation parties and made pitiful excuses to not attend the other three. Now isn't that a good explanation as to why I did not find time to write an entry?
No. It is not. Especially because I want to commit myself to writing. At least every day. It is hard because I hate routine and consistency all the time. Not to mention writing was torture for me as a ten year old. But, I want to challenge my weakness. It was a direct challenge from my British Literature teacher this past May.
"Work on improving your writing, and not rambling on with inconsistent shifts. Participation in class is satisfactory but can be more articulate and focused."
Why did she use hot pink letters in her non-legible writing to emblazon my beautiful piece of writing on Brave New World? She considers herself an expert in literature and writing, but I think that with her dyed black hair and streak of gray, she would serve her time well in playing the witch in 101 Dalmatians--oh wait, what if she comes upon my blog mysteriously and remembers the exact words I quoted above? And worse, what I am saying of her? She can't penalize me because she is no longer my teacher, and I also believe she might be retiring. And it isn't rude, is it?
Dear Lord. Is there such a thing as privacy in this day and age? Well, let's hope I am protected by the First Amendment.
My little brother is challenging me to play the new Mario with him. He's upset I won last time and insists it won't happen again. Yea right. Keep dreaming, little pumpkin. If I win this time, he has to let me use his skateboard and teach me at least one of his bizarre tricks.
And if he wins? It'll probably be something like "Make me five sandwiches and a pizza along with chocolate muffins for me and my cool gang of friends, AND no you can't tag along with us while I use my skateboard."
And why would I tag along with a bunch of eleven-year olds who think it's cool to keep their hair long and flip their skateboards up in the air only to trip and fall on the concrete?
Only because I have much much better things to do. Like deciding from ten outfits, which one I will wear for the five weddings I have to attend. And trying out the guacamole recipe my friend gave me, prohibiting me from letting anyone else get a hold of it. Isn't my life so exciting? -Sigh-
I must go now, before my brother goes frantic in his desperation to see me lose.
American Muslim Girl