I'm Really Hurt

I will have to take an unfortunate pause from my giddy self to discuss something that has been hurting me since yesterday.

There was a wedding I had to attend yesterday, and for once, instead of being early and punctual, we were actually running late. Ammi becomes very frustrated when we run late and Abu was stubborn about getting his coffee before we headed to the hall.

We're driving along I-90 and we see the usual yellow Chicago taxi. It's night and a little dark, but I can make out the advertisement on top of the taxi. It's the nature of taxi drivers to speed so I can only see a blur of "Honor Killing Victim" in bold white letters, with "Is Your Family Threatening You" written underneath.

Humza made out the letters that I didn't see.

www.leaveislamsafely.com

We all became very quiet. The sound of vehicles driving by and the soft hum of our own car. It is times like these that I feel a twist in my stomach, my eyes feel hot as if they are slowly burning, and my fingers instinctively clench.

Chicago is such a wonderful city. There is so much diversity. And there are so many Muslims along with a high level of tolerance. I don't want Chicagoans (and any other place where they have these horrendous ads) to be influenced into thinking that innocent Muslims are being killed by their family because Islam says so.

I understand the humane cry for justice. I myself am against genocide, murder, etc. The Muslims that are murdering their family members, because they have committed something indecent or have fallen in love, do not have the right to punish so severely. That right is only reserved to Allah.

Whatever the situation may be, you cannot associate a crime with a religion.

Leave Islam Safely.

Islam isn't a crime. And neither is any other form of religion. And what hurts the most is that what if Muslim taxi drivers are carrying the very words above them that are a lie and against the core of their beliefs?

I don't want to sound overtly defensive, but here, I am venting my frustration and anger. I hope you understand.

God Willing, I hope people understand Islam better and do not resort to ignorant propaganda to learn about something.

Peace,
American Muslim Girl

Girls' Night Out

It's Farah's birthday today and she's turning 17 today. I told her not to get too excited because 17 punches are coming her way.

Farah is a sweet girl and I admire her for her piety. But I have to admit she has some weird tastes. For instance, how can you eat a PB & J sandwich with coke? Or wear a hot pink colored hijab with a beige patterned abayya? (I forced her to change right away because I couldn't take it anymore.) And she was swooning over the waiter (and the waiter is so short and skinny and ugh!) at her birthday dinner tonight.

I picked out an Italian restaurant for her but all our other friends insisted on Giordano's. Hey, I didn't mind. Five months without deep dish pizza seemed like a century. But would Farah be okay with that? She's so self-conscious about her weight. And so is every single friend of mine (and female relative), but it's quite ironic then that they would want to indulge in so much cheese.

I, on the other hand, do not avoid food based on fat. I like to eat everything that I like, lipids and fatty acids included. But, there does have to be a limit. I would puke if I had Giordano's every day because it's quite heavy of a dish.

Anyway, Farah decided she liked it, not so much the pizza but the waiter. Now, I don't like to judge people, but the waiter was not pretty, or close to handsome, or even decent looking. I had to kick Farah under the table so she would lower her eye gaze.

"Ow! Why'd you have to do that? You already punched me a million times!" she whined.

"Yea, Iman. You hit really hard, but you don't realize it," Laila pitched in.

Woah. Why is everyone turning against me? Wait, I think they are just jealous (hehe).

"Farah, don't commit a sin on a guy like Mr. Waiter. He's not even worth looking at," I said.

"Farah can do what she likes. It's her birthday today," Anum disagreed.

Now, Anum is an interesting gal. She's the most rebellious of us all, but without her, there wouldn't be much excitement or spice in our lives.

"Time for cake and presents now!" Laila clapped her hands excitedly. She can pass for a little girl if she was only six inches shorter. She giggles at everything and is a child in disguise.

When it came to my turn, I handed the gift over casually but made sure I got a tight hug from Farah.

"Oh my God! It's Twilight! What is it? Ooh what is it? A book? Diary?" Laila shrieked before Farah had a chance to breathe. I should have grabbed one for her too while I was at Border's.

"It's beautiful! It's a journal and a matching bookmark," Farah said softly.

"And Robert Pattinson is right on the front cover!" Laila observed excitedly. She's obsessed with a fictional character. And she's seen eclipse already for the third time, when I haven't even seen it once. Dear Allah, save my friend.

I've read all the Twilight books, but I will always love Harry Potter best. I'm really trying to convince my mother to let me go to the Harry Potter Amusement Park that just opened last month. But I know it's unlikely since we just returned from New York. Not to mention we have a million family events to attend. Why couldn't there have been a wedding in Florida instead?

I shouldn't be sulking now. But, Humza has a grudge against me for not bringing him some pizza. I better make it up somehow before he really makes me feel guilty. Ammi had made veggies today (okra and tomato curry, to be specific), so it makes me feel worse. Humza and I are both carnivores ;) We inherited that from our dear father.

I'm planning on going shopping tomorrow. Again. I know. But this time, I have to cut down on the spending. We aren't going for me (it's sad, I know), but we're taking my Aunt who needs to do extra shopping for her trip to India.

She's going to go overboard with the luggage, as all of us do whenever we go abroad. Us Indians would take our entire house and cars included if we could in the airplane.

Abu is knocking on my door, which means "Go to sleep now!"

"This isn't a school night," I want to say.

But, he's right. I still have to pray Isha Salaat and get started on that new novel I got.

Sweet dreams then,
American Muslim Girl

Shaadi at the Big Apple

Surprise! I now return from my trip to New York, which was thoroughly enjoyable.

Fortunately, I did not have to go through any gruesome experiences at the airport. Chicago O'hare Airport is large and beautiful, but I could do without the sneaky what-are-you-and-what-are-you-up-to looks. This was the first time I saw the full body X-ray machine, but no one asked me to go through it. I was patted down instead. It felt sort of ticklish when the lady swept her hands over my hijab and shoulders. I had to keep myself from laughing while Humza made funny faces at me.

"I didn't have to be patted down," he snickered afterward.

"That's because you're not even strong or imaginative enough to do anything illegal," I replied.

The airport security took a little longer with Dad, but we were good on time when we reached the gate. Humza busied himself with his PSP and I with my iPod while Mom and Dad conversed about gifts to give to the bride's family.

A little girl, maybe seven years old (I'm terrible at telling age), was sitting across from me with her Dad. I tried to shut away the envy I felt when I saw her holding an iPhone with a sparkly pink cover. That obviously could not belong to her Dad.

She looked at me curiously while I slid my earphones underneath my hijab. I smiled at her, but then she just kept staring at me. Man, I couldn't focus on the music. And then I remembered my friend Farah who never listens to music. Then I thought of my cousin, a med student, warning me that I'm knocking over the cilia in my ear when I listen to really loud music. Why do people make me feel so guilty?

I got up to buy a water bottle just out of boredom and because I knew I would feel dehydrated in the airplane. Humza says I stick to my water bottle like a baby does to his milk bottle.

In the airplane, Dad and I sit together while Mom and Humza sit across the aisle from us.

"Abu, what are you gonna get me when we get to New York?" I asked.

"Beta, you already have a I-Love-NY T-shirt. What more do you want?" he teased.

"Reyhana told me they have no tax on clothes in New Jersey. I need to go shopping."

"No tax, huh? Well, we'll save money then," Dad mused. And he was right. Did you know Chicago's tax is 10.25%? That's quite a lot.

We stayed over at a motel, even though the bride's family insisted that we stay over their house. But it gets crazy in a house where there are so many visitors and preparations going on. They were very polite to ask, but I'm sure they were dying to hear a no.

Dad has a couple of friends in New York, so we didn't waste a single second the next day in sightseeing. We've been to New York before, but it's been a while.

For lunch, Dad's friend and his wife treated us over at their house. They have a beautiful house and adorable non-bratty kids! In the evening, we had the mehndi to go to which was super exciting! I picked out a forest green Anarkali suit and luckily, my dupatta cooperated with me so that I was able to form a hijab with it. The bride, Safiya, was very pretty and her friends performed graceful Bollywood dances for her. How can these girls have so much energy? They performed about 5 dances and then danced even more. Dad and Humza had already left before the dancing broke out; Dad doesn't think it's appropriate for them. He found Wall Street more interesting.

I must say the bride was looking much better during the mehndi than during the wedding. She was caked with makeup and rose garlands. I was hoping she wouldn't suffocate. But the Nikkah was breathtaking.

I ate too much at the wedding, and I couldn't help it. There was so much variety. Biryani, Tandoori Chicken, naan, kabob, curry, tons of fruit, cake, kheer (which thankfully didn't taste like sugar syrup) and all the candies from the favors. I had to brush my teeth really well at night!

I made a couple of new friends at the wedding also and we exchanged names so we can keep touch through Facebook ;)

All in all, it was a pleasant trip. I shopped like crazy even when my feet hurt!

The only downside was that I missed ISNA :( And it was in Chicago too! There were so many people missing at the wedding because they were at ISNA instead. Insha'Allah, God Willing, next time!

Now I have to go make some sandwiches for lunch!

So long,
American Muslim Girl

Unexpected Guests

So, Humza, my brother, and I finally decide to play out our challenge on each other and win the Mario game. I don't like it that he is already 20 points ahead of me, but I also know how to make a great comeback at the very end. Which I would have if we were not interrupted.

"Iman! Humza! Afreen Khala and her family are coming over in an hour! Hurry up and help me clean the house!"

These are not the words I like to hear when I'm focused on blasting my car over the road on the TV screen. In fact, I barely register my mother's words. It isn't until she comes in and switches off the TV that I realize it's time to be serious.

"Aw Mom. C'mon," Humza whines in his gooey voice. But it is not going to win over Ammi's heart this time.

"Who's coming over?" I ask, staring at the black TV screen. Now that the animation has stopped, I can focus on what she is saying.

"Afreen Khala from Toronto. She just called me. They're over at your Chacha's house right now. But they'll be coming here in a bit. We have so much to do!"

"And why are they coming over suddenly?" I ask, not thinking it is rude at all.

"Iman, I don't have time to answer your questions. Now get up and help me in the kitchen. Humza! Tidy up the living room. Now."

I get up, because I know if I don't, my mother will be minutes away from getting a heart attack. Humza does too, but he feels compelled to irritate me, as always.

"I told you I would win."

I sneak a scornful look at him. "We didn't finish the game so it doesn't count."

In the kitchen, I busy myself in frying samosas while my mom prepares for the pakora. Honestly, I can't help but admit that Indian food is the worst for your health. No food is Indian without being drenched in oil. (Well, maybe that's a bit exaggerated, but you know what I mean) And all the curries? Well, they're full of oil and spices too.

Luckily for us, my mom is a health freak. So she adjusts accordingly, but not for guests. Which is a little ironic.

"Are you sure we shouldn't bake these samosas instead?" I ask her. I know better than to ask her. She hates it more than anything when someone tries to talk to her while she's busy cooking, especially under pressure. Surprisingly, she answers.

"No, it doesn't look good. I'll bake some pastries instead."

I purse my lips. Who was coming again? Had I seen them before? Having such a large family does that you sometimes. You forget who's who. Afreen rings a bell, but then again it is a pretty common name.

The bell rings just as we are wrapping up.

"Iman, get me my dupatta. Hurry!"

Why is my mother so anxious? This isn't the first time we have guests over. Maybe it's because Dad isn't home.

I give her the matching dupatta and in fifteen seconds, my mom fixes herself so no one can tell she's been cooking in the kitchen. Now that takes skill.

Afreen Khala isn't really my Khala, or I obviously would know her. But she's my actual Khala's (meaning Aunt) sister-in-law's high school friend from India. Pretty complex relationship.

Afreen Khala is actually not that bad. She's quite jolly and sweet. But it does annoy me like crazy that she feeds her six year old granddaughter instead of letting her eat by herself. She's not an infant for God's sake!

Uncle is coming a little later because he's busy cruising on Devon Avenue. I just keep observing the six year old while smiling politely at her own mother. God, that girl is spoiled and naughty. She won't let her mother rest for a single minute. I look at Humza enviously, who is getting along perfectly with the young grandson. He's showing off his video game collection again.

I urge Afreen Khala to eat some sweets. And she moves to grab a piece from the plate, the little girl shrieks.

What in the world? Now I'm really scared.

"She gets tense when she sees new people," her mother explains, but of course I don't buy it. Toddlers have stranger anxiety, not six year olds.

Anyway, after two hours of trying to please our guests while controlling my resentment towards the little girl, I am free at last.

"Ammi, that girl was an annoying brat," I tell my mom afterward.

"That's what happens when you spoil children," she simply says.

I'm glad my mom didn't spoil me. People would hate me then. You don't hate me do you? You hardly know me.

Well, it is awfully hot now because the AC broke down on us. I'm going to grab some cold milk and see if Ammi lets us replay our Mario game.

Until then,
American Muslim Girl

This is swell, isn't it?

I decide to write a blog and neglect it after the first entry.

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.

Until then,
American Muslim Girl