"I hate the people who invented this ridiculous Halloween!" my mom said angrily while scrubbing the dishes. The bell rang for the hundredth time that night, despite nearing eleven o'clock. The screeching sound of the bell only added to the eeriness of the night.
Frankly, I wasn't paying attention to anything except the large pool of candy in front of me. I sorted the chocolate from the lollipops, the expensive from the cheap.
I had returned three hours earlier from trick-or-treating with Humza, my two young cousins, and the Chinese girl who lived across from us. Basically, I was the baby sitter for all the kids who wanted to go out and get candy and whose parents refused to or were unwilling to tag along.
I didn't mind at all. I loved being with the children in their little costumes and the freaky decorations creeping up people's driveways and bushes. We stuck to the neighborhood, so we knew most of the people anyway.
Eight year old Ayesha was dressed as an Indian princess, which was sadly, my costume for the two years I had a Halloween party at school when I was in elementary school. It involved taking out a fancy Shalwar Kameez worn from a previous Eid or wedding and wearing it with some bangles and anklets. The only comfort was from the other girls who adored my inexpensive "costume" but the envy was always hidden beneath. But, even now, I stuck with my simple lavender Shalwar Kameez. I was only interested in the candy.
Amir, two years older than his princess sister, was a pirate and an extremely adorable and hardly dangerous one too. I wouldn't have minded if he captured me and took me away on his nonexistent ship.
Lisa was dressed as the good witch from the Wizard of Oz, and was a very animated one too. "Immi, I shall grant you your wish," she giggled delightedly.
"Okay, take me all around the world, and no homework for the rest of my life and--"
"Why so serious? Wanna know how I got these scars?" Humza interrupted. He's such a terrible actor.
He wasn't really into dressing up much but he caked his face with make up to look like the joker from Batman.He didn't understand that saying these lines over and over again just made him less impressive. He was also annoying me because Abu and Ammi ordered that he had to come along with us instead of his friends. I probably would too, considering he came home past eleven last Halloween.
Anyways, it was very embarrassing because Ammi insisted she wasn't going to keep a bowl of candy out for the kids who came to our house. Instead, she put crackers, nuts, and a combination of other obviously non-chocolate-too-healthy-for-Halloween "treats." Now which kid wants that? Abu and I sneaked some chocolate in the bowl to save our reputation in the neighborhood.
I really had planned to last all the good candy for at least a week, but two days later, I've exhausted my entire supply. Instead of lamenting me with me or comforting me, my friends decided to engage in a debate of whether Halloween should be celebrated or not.
"I don't think there's anything wrong with it," Laila said.
"No, really, isn't not such a good thing. This is a holiday that originated from pagan and idol worshipers," Farah argued while munching on a cookie.
"Oh, c'mon, people don't go out and worship the lord of death. They go out to have fun," Anum disagreed.
"And having fun by dressing up as Cleopatra or a slutty cop costume and going to stranger's houses is okay?" Farah asked.
I wanted to say something, but every time I opened my mouth to speak, someone else would just get started. My eyes moved towards Kathy who occasionally joined us for lunch sometimes. She too listened to the conversation in between bites of her chicken burger.
"I know my grandma is really against Halloween because she's really Orthodox and she doesn't believe in witchcraft," Kathy said, "but what's wrong with little kids having fun?"
"Exactly. Kids dress up to be their favorite hero and it's so cute and fun for them," Laila said.
"That's the problem. Their hero shouldn't be someone like Iron Man or Cinderella. And besides, if they celebrate Halloween as a kid, they're gonna want to when they are older anyway." Farah was hanging to her argument stubbornly. She had a point, but I didn't think she realized that superheros and princesses are really what little boys and girls care about.
"Uh, I'd kinda feel left out if I was the only kid in class to not dress up in a costume for a Halloween party. No kid likes to follow a million rules at such a young age, or they'll just end up hating the source of those rules, which would be their parents or Islam," I pointed out.
The bell ended just after I finished talking, signaling the end of our little debate. But, it left me thinking about the issue later that week.
"What do you think, Abu? Is it bad to go out to trick-or-treat and celebrate Halloween?"
Abu flipped through pages of some sort relating to his work. He had his reading glasses on and I wouldn't have bothered him but he didn't seem to be focused much.
"Like any other American holiday, Iman, it's all about making money."
Of course Abu would talk about money. It was only natural for him to do that, but he also had a very good point.
"But I mean is it a bad thing for Muslims?" I knew Ammi's answer already; she would have said yes just because Halloween always ended with a stomach full of candy.
Abu hummed for a bit. I tried to recognize the tune. I think it was a classical Bollywood tune, probably from before I was even born. He took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and leaned forward.
"All these people have such a negative view of Muslims, beta. They think Islam is such a backwards religion and we're not allowed to do anything. Hassan told the teacher he didn't want his son to be part of the Valentine's party in his class. What kind of impression does the teacher have about Islam? That they don't let their kids have fun."
Hassan is one of Abu's many friends and perhaps a little more conservative. I wonder what his son felt like.
What do you think? Is it okay to celebrate Halloween?
Kindly pondering these thoughts,
American Muslim Girl
11/5/10
10/25/10
Distracted
It's been really hard to focus on school lately. I'm not even a senior yet and I feel like I've been inflicted with senioritis.
Actually, I've been hooked to YouTube and Facebook. I swear, technology is such a distraction. The administration at my high school doesn't realize that there are still ways to access these ever popular websites despite attempts to block them. We have some pretty clever geeks at our school, if I may say so. And really, are teachers that gullible that they don't know we're not using our phones in class to update our Facebook status or lament on how boring angular momentum is?
Truthfully, I don't even have Internet on my phone, which I guess is better that way. Or else I would become robotic like Anum and respond the second after I recieved an email or message alert. But, I can't deny I'm jealous about her iPhone. Dear Lord, my friends are so spoiled and rich. They don't even pity me sometimes.
I was very close to recieving detention in class today because Laila texted me while I was taking a quiz and being the forgetful person that I am, I had not switched my cell to silent.
Mariyam was telling me that I need to be strategic about these kinds of things. I have to punish myself, or distract myself so I don't become engrossed in them. It's difficult, but I know I have to do something about it. How can I wake up for Fajr after only falling asleep the hour before?
If I do use technology, which I must in this day and age, it should only be for a limited amount of time. I am such a hypocrite--I become agonized when I find people at social gatherings glued to their phone instead of actually talking to the people around them. And now with the iPad. Apple really needs to stop it with their amazing inventions.
Oh where can I roam in this Earth so that I may be able to live without the forces of technology? Where I can tell the time by the intensity of the sun rays, where can I breathe the desert air and splash nature's pure water on my skin? Where can I put my forehead on the floor of the Earth and sing praises to my Lord?
Okay, I don't usually go to the whole poetic route. But, this is pretty ironic because I am blogging, not using a stick to scratch letters on a rock or in the depths of sand.
By the way, in the midst of my YouTube obsession, I did find an entertaining movie that really is cute. Here's the description:
Katie and Ramsha are two strangers, two quite different young women, both attending the same University. Katie catches Ramsha in the most awkward of moments, but soon their relationship is defined more acutely by friendship. In this film, we witness inter
...and then it gets cut off, but basically awkward moments. Foot in the sink, praying by the stairs anyone? This is exactly what this is about. Check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J3Dlh5-OR70&feature=player_embedded#!
So, before I fail an exam and my parents freak out about, and because I really do need to shut off the computer before I spend another five hours on the computer, I really must take your leave now.
Sincerely hoping that you too recieve a dose curing technologitis :)
American Muslim Girl
Actually, I've been hooked to YouTube and Facebook. I swear, technology is such a distraction. The administration at my high school doesn't realize that there are still ways to access these ever popular websites despite attempts to block them. We have some pretty clever geeks at our school, if I may say so. And really, are teachers that gullible that they don't know we're not using our phones in class to update our Facebook status or lament on how boring angular momentum is?
Truthfully, I don't even have Internet on my phone, which I guess is better that way. Or else I would become robotic like Anum and respond the second after I recieved an email or message alert. But, I can't deny I'm jealous about her iPhone. Dear Lord, my friends are so spoiled and rich. They don't even pity me sometimes.
I was very close to recieving detention in class today because Laila texted me while I was taking a quiz and being the forgetful person that I am, I had not switched my cell to silent.
Mariyam was telling me that I need to be strategic about these kinds of things. I have to punish myself, or distract myself so I don't become engrossed in them. It's difficult, but I know I have to do something about it. How can I wake up for Fajr after only falling asleep the hour before?
If I do use technology, which I must in this day and age, it should only be for a limited amount of time. I am such a hypocrite--I become agonized when I find people at social gatherings glued to their phone instead of actually talking to the people around them. And now with the iPad. Apple really needs to stop it with their amazing inventions.
Oh where can I roam in this Earth so that I may be able to live without the forces of technology? Where I can tell the time by the intensity of the sun rays, where can I breathe the desert air and splash nature's pure water on my skin? Where can I put my forehead on the floor of the Earth and sing praises to my Lord?
Okay, I don't usually go to the whole poetic route. But, this is pretty ironic because I am blogging, not using a stick to scratch letters on a rock or in the depths of sand.
By the way, in the midst of my YouTube obsession, I did find an entertaining movie that really is cute. Here's the description:
Katie and Ramsha are two strangers, two quite different young women, both attending the same University. Katie catches Ramsha in the most awkward of moments, but soon their relationship is defined more acutely by friendship. In this film, we witness inter
...and then it gets cut off, but basically awkward moments. Foot in the sink, praying by the stairs anyone? This is exactly what this is about. Check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J3Dlh5-OR70&feature=player_embedded#!
So, before I fail an exam and my parents freak out about, and because I really do need to shut off the computer before I spend another five hours on the computer, I really must take your leave now.
Sincerely hoping that you too recieve a dose curing technologitis :)
American Muslim Girl
10/8/10
Sick of It!
Ah, the joy of finally being able to do things again. I've been quite sick, hence the long time period since my last post.
The weather is making me extremely angry. One day, I find myself walking in beautiful sunshine and the very next in bursting cold wind. These rapid changes are what I was assuming to be the cause of my sickness. But, actually, it really was Humza who made all of us ill.
I think he passed along some germs from one of his nerdy classmates who decided to come to school instead of staying home. And once one person in the family gets sick, you know what happens, right? Well, lemme tell you anyway.
Ammi had made us pear juice (freakishly healthy, right?) and had left the jug in the refrigerator. One day, I came home from school and poured myself a drink because it was 70 degrees outside.
Before I can even take a sip, someone rang the doorbell. I hurried to answer because the sound of our door bell is extremely annoying. It's almost like the sound of the fire alarm, screeching and whiny. Either Abu purchased some really strange bell because it was cheap or he installed it completely wrong. Both are equally likely.
It ends up being Nabeelah to give us a box of sweets.
"Ooh, what's the special occasion?" I teased.
Nabeelah rolled her eyes. "It's not what you're thinking. My sister had a baby boy."
"Oh yea!" I squealed in delight, remembering Ammi telling me earlier in the week. Nabeelah was in a hurry because she had madrasa exams so I had to bid her farewell.
When I returned to the kitchen, I was in a dilemma of choosing the sweets or the pear juice. On the one hand, no one was around so I could have my share of the sweets before Abu and Humza devoured it, or before Ammi snatched it from us because it was unhealthy.
I decided to go with the pear juice because I was more thirsty than hungry. And I always felt guilty about having dessert before a meal.
It probably would have been a better choice to go with the sweets though. The next day, when I woke up with a sore throat, I was adamant in finding the cause of it. I had a busy day ahead of me and I was angry at my immune system for failing me.
Humza decided to tell me that night that he had a sip of my pear juice while I had gone to answer the door bell. I thought he wasn't even in the house, because it was such a gorgeous day out and there was no noise to indicate he was present. But, I forgot that he was sick with a cold and unlike his normal self, he had had quietly slunk away in his bed.
Anyway, when I found out, I was furious. I pushed Humza with my right shoulder while he was returning to his room after dinner.
"Stop it," he yelled, shoving me back. I almost lost my balance, suddenly realizing that he was getting stronger.
"What happened?" Ammi called out from the kitchen. I glared at Humza, who had already turned away from me to open his bedroom door. I grabbed the top of his T-shirt, pulling him from behind.
"Owww," he whined, trying to release himself. Ammi came rushing, which wasn't a surprise. I swear Humza is such a spoiled brat.
"What are you two doing?" she scolded us, clearly exasperated. "I'm sick of you two fighting. And I'm not feeling good either, and I'd like some peace in this--"
"Well, it's his fault that we're all getting sick," I interrupted, folding my arms across my chest.
"Iman, don't interrupt me and this isn't the first time you've had a cold so quit it."
I rolled my eyes. Of course, she would favor Humza. I stomped out of the hallway and returned to my bedroom.
The bed was covered with my favorite shade of soft green, a floral pattern mixed in with light blue. It called to me and I wanted to sleep.
But I had a trigonometry test the next day to study for and I needed to at least look over the material. I'm not usually the kind to stress, but suddenly the equations I was practicing became too complicated and jumbled.
Ammi came in about an hour later with a glass of boiling water mixed in with honey and lemon.
"Drink this," she ordered.
I shook my head in protest, but she didn't budge. "It's going to burn my mouth!" I insisted, fearfully eying the drink. She set the glass on my dresser and I knew I had to drink it. NyQuil was out of the question.
I ended up taking the next day off. My head throbbed and my sore throat had disappeared in exchange for a runny nose and a slight cough. I was alone in the house, and yet I couldn't relax because of the noise caused by the remodeling of the house across the street.
were r u?? still sick? Laila texted me around midafternoon. I had given up studying for the math test and was waiting for the chicken soup to warm up in the microwave.
yea. im going to kill humza! dont finish ur painting w/o me! I really wished that I could have spent this day off from school another way--say, shopping? Or, even sleeping in and watching movies. But I felt restless and couldn't sleep.
Right before Humza was to return from school, I finally fell asleep and didn't wake up until dinner. Fortunately, I was feeling much better. Ammi's home remedy had worked.
But now it was Ammi's face that looked pale and tired. This was a never-ending cycle and I was so relieved to step out of the house the next day. I felt unhealthy just staying inside and away from the fresh air.
"How did you trig test go?" Farah asked me during lunch. She was wearing a lavender hijab with a beautiful black abayya trimmed with sparse gems on the sleeves.
I shrugged. "Okay, I guess." I certainly didn't care at this point because it was already over. I was just happy I got a make-up during study period and not during lunch.
"You should see my painting so far!" Laila said, "Mr. Hesser complimented on it!"
I rolled my eyes at her. She found our art teacher to be attractive, and though I could see that, his age definitely ruled out any fantasy of him for me.
"I thought you were infatuated with Asad," I reminded her. I was puzzled at how some girls like Laila had multiple crushes. It was hard sometimes to just focus on one.
She fluttered her long eyelashes at me. "Habibti, who said I wasn't?"
I opened my mouth. Farah met my glance and smiled. "I hope you're not flirting like that with him," she warned, "because you look pretty hot when you do that."
Laila giggled. "I sit diagonally from him in French. It's such a perfect view."
"Why, does he look good from the side too?" I asked.
"Actually, his noise does look kind of big from the side," Laila said, who tilted her head to take a good look at Asad who sat several lunch tables away. I was too tired to move my head and follow her gaze.
I couldn't rest when I got home. Ammi had to go to the doctor because it seemed like she had a virus.
"No, I'm feeling fine," she insisted, but Abu wouldn't buy it.
"That's what you said last time when you got a strep throat. I'm not listening to you this time." Abu had a pretty persuasive argument.
"I'll go grab some pizza," I volunteered, knowing the traffic at this time of the day would be too much to both visit the doctor and get dinner.
There was a pizza diner just several blocks away from our house. It was pretty small but it was cozy and warm. I realized there were not many sunny days left and I should take advantage of the few that remained. I took out my bicycle, which was getting kind of small for me, while Abu and Ammi headed out for the clinic.
"Abu, I think it's your turn now to get sick. Better watch out," I warned later that evening. I sat at the dining table with my homework, Humza next to me and Abu across from me eating pizza. Ammi had gone to sleep early, which was unusual for her but the medicine was making her drowsy.
"Hey, I'm strong," he said, his mouth full.
"Is this correct?" Humza asked, shifting his notebook towards me. He didn't explicitly want to say, "Can you help me?"
"You should ask Dad you know. He's the math expert." It was true. What do you expect from an accountant?
Abu looked at me. "Expert, huh? That's a nice way of putting it. Usually, it's the boring accountant guy."
"You can be a little boring sometimes." I had to agree, but then again I was a girl and most girls find some things boring that guys find interesting.
"And you and your mom? Crazy about shopping. Never think about saving."
"Abu, you are very stingy."
"Yea, we didn't get much Eidie this year," Humza pointed out. He was correct, for once.
"Well, this year isn't over yet. And Eid is coming up next month Dad. Hint hint."
"Ahh. You kids are too much. You don't think $100 is good enough for Eidie?"
"Uh...no," Humza and I said together. We look at each other and laugh and then quiet down because we don't want Ammi to wake up.
Abu shook his head and then left us to do our homework. My homework wasn't usually finished until I checked Humza's. His scrawny writing made the task much harder.
Anyway, there was so much more that happened, but the important thing is that we're alive and well now. I hope winter doesn't bring this repetitive cycle of sickness again, because frankly, I'm sick of it!
Before I bid farewell, let's have Dreamer give you an update :)
Hey everyone! I wanted to apologize foremost for not being able to write a post in three weeks. Believe me, it has been killing me inside. Neglecting writing is one thing, but neglecting a blog which people actually read is another thing. My schedule of classes has left me insane! I am not used to such big gaps between my classes and I get hardly any work done at school. And as you might have anticipated from the theme in this post, I was sick too--for over a week, but alhamdulillah I am feeling much better now. That being said, I will try and post at least every two weeks now. Thank you for being patient!
Well, folks, I guess it's time to call it a day then!
American Muslim Girl
The weather is making me extremely angry. One day, I find myself walking in beautiful sunshine and the very next in bursting cold wind. These rapid changes are what I was assuming to be the cause of my sickness. But, actually, it really was Humza who made all of us ill.
I think he passed along some germs from one of his nerdy classmates who decided to come to school instead of staying home. And once one person in the family gets sick, you know what happens, right? Well, lemme tell you anyway.
Ammi had made us pear juice (freakishly healthy, right?) and had left the jug in the refrigerator. One day, I came home from school and poured myself a drink because it was 70 degrees outside.
Before I can even take a sip, someone rang the doorbell. I hurried to answer because the sound of our door bell is extremely annoying. It's almost like the sound of the fire alarm, screeching and whiny. Either Abu purchased some really strange bell because it was cheap or he installed it completely wrong. Both are equally likely.
It ends up being Nabeelah to give us a box of sweets.
"Ooh, what's the special occasion?" I teased.
Nabeelah rolled her eyes. "It's not what you're thinking. My sister had a baby boy."
"Oh yea!" I squealed in delight, remembering Ammi telling me earlier in the week. Nabeelah was in a hurry because she had madrasa exams so I had to bid her farewell.
When I returned to the kitchen, I was in a dilemma of choosing the sweets or the pear juice. On the one hand, no one was around so I could have my share of the sweets before Abu and Humza devoured it, or before Ammi snatched it from us because it was unhealthy.
I decided to go with the pear juice because I was more thirsty than hungry. And I always felt guilty about having dessert before a meal.
It probably would have been a better choice to go with the sweets though. The next day, when I woke up with a sore throat, I was adamant in finding the cause of it. I had a busy day ahead of me and I was angry at my immune system for failing me.
Humza decided to tell me that night that he had a sip of my pear juice while I had gone to answer the door bell. I thought he wasn't even in the house, because it was such a gorgeous day out and there was no noise to indicate he was present. But, I forgot that he was sick with a cold and unlike his normal self, he had had quietly slunk away in his bed.
Anyway, when I found out, I was furious. I pushed Humza with my right shoulder while he was returning to his room after dinner.
"Stop it," he yelled, shoving me back. I almost lost my balance, suddenly realizing that he was getting stronger.
"What happened?" Ammi called out from the kitchen. I glared at Humza, who had already turned away from me to open his bedroom door. I grabbed the top of his T-shirt, pulling him from behind.
"Owww," he whined, trying to release himself. Ammi came rushing, which wasn't a surprise. I swear Humza is such a spoiled brat.
"What are you two doing?" she scolded us, clearly exasperated. "I'm sick of you two fighting. And I'm not feeling good either, and I'd like some peace in this--"
"Well, it's his fault that we're all getting sick," I interrupted, folding my arms across my chest.
"Iman, don't interrupt me and this isn't the first time you've had a cold so quit it."
I rolled my eyes. Of course, she would favor Humza. I stomped out of the hallway and returned to my bedroom.
The bed was covered with my favorite shade of soft green, a floral pattern mixed in with light blue. It called to me and I wanted to sleep.
But I had a trigonometry test the next day to study for and I needed to at least look over the material. I'm not usually the kind to stress, but suddenly the equations I was practicing became too complicated and jumbled.
Ammi came in about an hour later with a glass of boiling water mixed in with honey and lemon.
"Drink this," she ordered.
I shook my head in protest, but she didn't budge. "It's going to burn my mouth!" I insisted, fearfully eying the drink. She set the glass on my dresser and I knew I had to drink it. NyQuil was out of the question.
I ended up taking the next day off. My head throbbed and my sore throat had disappeared in exchange for a runny nose and a slight cough. I was alone in the house, and yet I couldn't relax because of the noise caused by the remodeling of the house across the street.
were r u?? still sick? Laila texted me around midafternoon. I had given up studying for the math test and was waiting for the chicken soup to warm up in the microwave.
yea. im going to kill humza! dont finish ur painting w/o me! I really wished that I could have spent this day off from school another way--say, shopping? Or, even sleeping in and watching movies. But I felt restless and couldn't sleep.
Right before Humza was to return from school, I finally fell asleep and didn't wake up until dinner. Fortunately, I was feeling much better. Ammi's home remedy had worked.
But now it was Ammi's face that looked pale and tired. This was a never-ending cycle and I was so relieved to step out of the house the next day. I felt unhealthy just staying inside and away from the fresh air.
"How did you trig test go?" Farah asked me during lunch. She was wearing a lavender hijab with a beautiful black abayya trimmed with sparse gems on the sleeves.
I shrugged. "Okay, I guess." I certainly didn't care at this point because it was already over. I was just happy I got a make-up during study period and not during lunch.
"You should see my painting so far!" Laila said, "Mr. Hesser complimented on it!"
I rolled my eyes at her. She found our art teacher to be attractive, and though I could see that, his age definitely ruled out any fantasy of him for me.
"I thought you were infatuated with Asad," I reminded her. I was puzzled at how some girls like Laila had multiple crushes. It was hard sometimes to just focus on one.
She fluttered her long eyelashes at me. "Habibti, who said I wasn't?"
I opened my mouth. Farah met my glance and smiled. "I hope you're not flirting like that with him," she warned, "because you look pretty hot when you do that."
Laila giggled. "I sit diagonally from him in French. It's such a perfect view."
"Why, does he look good from the side too?" I asked.
"Actually, his noise does look kind of big from the side," Laila said, who tilted her head to take a good look at Asad who sat several lunch tables away. I was too tired to move my head and follow her gaze.
I couldn't rest when I got home. Ammi had to go to the doctor because it seemed like she had a virus.
"No, I'm feeling fine," she insisted, but Abu wouldn't buy it.
"That's what you said last time when you got a strep throat. I'm not listening to you this time." Abu had a pretty persuasive argument.
"I'll go grab some pizza," I volunteered, knowing the traffic at this time of the day would be too much to both visit the doctor and get dinner.
There was a pizza diner just several blocks away from our house. It was pretty small but it was cozy and warm. I realized there were not many sunny days left and I should take advantage of the few that remained. I took out my bicycle, which was getting kind of small for me, while Abu and Ammi headed out for the clinic.
"Abu, I think it's your turn now to get sick. Better watch out," I warned later that evening. I sat at the dining table with my homework, Humza next to me and Abu across from me eating pizza. Ammi had gone to sleep early, which was unusual for her but the medicine was making her drowsy.
"Hey, I'm strong," he said, his mouth full.
"Is this correct?" Humza asked, shifting his notebook towards me. He didn't explicitly want to say, "Can you help me?"
"You should ask Dad you know. He's the math expert." It was true. What do you expect from an accountant?
Abu looked at me. "Expert, huh? That's a nice way of putting it. Usually, it's the boring accountant guy."
"You can be a little boring sometimes." I had to agree, but then again I was a girl and most girls find some things boring that guys find interesting.
"And you and your mom? Crazy about shopping. Never think about saving."
"Abu, you are very stingy."
"Yea, we didn't get much Eidie this year," Humza pointed out. He was correct, for once.
"Well, this year isn't over yet. And Eid is coming up next month Dad. Hint hint."
"Ahh. You kids are too much. You don't think $100 is good enough for Eidie?"
"Uh...no," Humza and I said together. We look at each other and laugh and then quiet down because we don't want Ammi to wake up.
Abu shook his head and then left us to do our homework. My homework wasn't usually finished until I checked Humza's. His scrawny writing made the task much harder.
Anyway, there was so much more that happened, but the important thing is that we're alive and well now. I hope winter doesn't bring this repetitive cycle of sickness again, because frankly, I'm sick of it!
Before I bid farewell, let's have Dreamer give you an update :)
Hey everyone! I wanted to apologize foremost for not being able to write a post in three weeks. Believe me, it has been killing me inside. Neglecting writing is one thing, but neglecting a blog which people actually read is another thing. My schedule of classes has left me insane! I am not used to such big gaps between my classes and I get hardly any work done at school. And as you might have anticipated from the theme in this post, I was sick too--for over a week, but alhamdulillah I am feeling much better now. That being said, I will try and post at least every two weeks now. Thank you for being patient!
Well, folks, I guess it's time to call it a day then!
American Muslim Girl
9/14/10
Eid Festivities
I was so thrilled to skip school on Friday. It's nice to have to go for only three days of the five on the first week of school. But, I know that's not going to last long.
I tried to enjoy the moment as much as I could.
"Don't eat the cookies!" I yelled at Humza, who was leaning over to grab the special moon-shaped cookies I had baked for Eid.
"Then why'd you make them? So you could take pictures of it?" he asked, annoyed. He was dressed in light blue Shalwar Kameez with a white cotton topi. A pretty rare sight.
"You can eat only one after I'm done taking the picture," I replied, maneuvering my new Canon over the plate of cookies. I had the best uncle in the world, who gave me a special gift every Eid-ul-Fitr.
Satisfied with a couple of shots, which were soon to be uploaded on Facebook under my album "Delightful Cooking," I allowed Humza to take a cookie.
It was midday, and people were bound to be over. We had already prayed Eid Salaat at Holiday Inn earlier in the morning and I had said Eid Mubarak a thousand times to everyone I knew and didn't knew.
Abu came into the kitchen just as Humza savored his last crumbs, dressed in a similar hue of Shalwar Kameez. Humza wasn't at all appreciative of my idea for him and Abu to dress the same, but I thought it would be cute, and Abu liked the idea too.
"Where is your mother? Mahmoud's wife and children are over and you are all stuck here!" he exclaimed. My dad loved to entertain guests, and he got upset when we didn't live up to his expectations.
"Mom..." I started, realizing I didn't know where she was. Anyway, being the good daughter that I was, I took control and went to the living room to greet the guests.
Mahmoud's wife was petite and very friendly, and her daughter seemed to appear right out of a magazine. With her large blue eyes and light brown curls, she looked inevitably Caucasian, not Arab...and definitely not Muslim. But there I go with the categorization again.
"Eid Kareem!" I enthusiastically greeted them, giving both a warm embrace. During Eid, I can get very loving. I can hug complete strangers out of pure happiness, but that's also dangerous and I'm aware of my limits.
Ammi popped out of nowhere minutes later, rushing ahead of me to offer the guests plates of sweets and snacks. She motioned me later to retrieve the Eid candy bags we had made the night before to hand to the kids.
Towards evening, we all got in Mom's silver Toyota Camry and headed to my favorite uncle's house. House might be an understatement...no, I think I meant to say underword...wait that's not a word at all. Never mind. You get the picture.
He lives in Kenilworth, one of the richest suburbs in Chicago. And it makes sense, considering he's a neurologist and really one of the best. I hope his intelligence has passed down to me through Ammi.
It's the usual tradition for our family to gather at his house for Eid. For one thing, his mansion can actually accommodate our extremely large and expanding family. And he's rich so he can also provide food for us, which half the time is what we're really looking for.
Abu is relaxed, as usual, driving in between chatting with family and friends abroad on the phone.
"Look out! There'a a cop," I warned him. He slips the phone on his lap for a second before raising it to his ear again. I guess he really doesn't care if he gets a ticket, or thinks he'll get lucky and not get caught.
Speaking of luck, we really weren't feeling it while inching our way to get on the highway. There was not one complete road in Chicago that was left untouched and not closed to traffic. Almost every block, it seemed, was broken and under repair, or sectioned off to accommodate construction workers and trucks.
"We're going to be late again. I told you we should leave earlier," Ammi complained, drawing her dark green dupatta tighter around her face.
"How could we leave with guests over?" Abu asked innocently.
"We had over an hour in between the time Mahmoud left and the time we left." You couldn't fool Ammi, that's for sure.
But her frustration subsided quickly once we reached the house.
"Eid Mubarak!" I called out. The house was already crowded and more people streaming in. I wanted to place my heels in a safe spot before I went drastic at night to find them in the messy pile of hundreds of shoes. There is a shoe stealer in our family, I'm telling you. One of my favorite sandals went disappearing at one such gathering and Mumaani (my neurologist uncle's wife) was kind enough to let me go home with her own five inch bronze heels.
Honestly, I didn't want anything more than to dig right into the food. Mamu (my neurologist uncle...okay maybe I need to stop calling him that) has an exquisite taste for a variety of cuisines and I was a little eager to try it out. But, I couldn't jump right to the food because I had to greet everyone--give hugs, say Salaam, ask how they were doing, and so forth. Which of course I wouldn't mind if I hadn't already done that countless times earlier that day.
I can never be too tired of meeting Mamu though.
"Iman beta! Come here. Get some food!" he ordered sweetly.
Well, thank you. Just what I wanted.
"You like the gift?" he asked, tilting his hand. He was very tall and somewhat intimidating when I was younger. It only took a couple of treats and him calling me like his own daughter to realize he really wasn't intimidating at all. I mean, what do you expect a seven year old child to think of a person who cuts up people's brain? Scary, obviously.
"Mamu, it was a complete surprise! I tried calling you earlier to let you know I received it in the mail, but your phone was busy!"
He laughed, then pointed to the food. "Now after a month of fasting, I want you to eat all of this. As much as you can. And how is school coming along?"
"Alhamdulillah," I replied, before we were separated by a stream of chasing kids.
"You can't get me!" a little girl shrieked out of excitement. She ended up tripping over Jamal, who swiftly put her steady on her feet again before getting hurt.
"Iman," he said, giving a small nod of his head. I knew he acknowledged me only because we had already formed eye contact or else he really wouldn't.
"Jamal, how's your Eid?" I asked, knowing my attempt to make conversation would be futile. Jamal is one of those people who have everything but some good manners and a kind heart. I wish he'd learn something from his father or even his two other brothers who were much more sociable and sweet.
He shrugged, and I ended it there.
I could go on and list all the people I talked to, all the delicious food items I indulged in, and so forth but I really need to get going to my class now.
Lunch break is almost over and instead of occupying myself with some reading, I have been won over by the computer.
We shall meet again!
American Muslim Girl
I tried to enjoy the moment as much as I could.
"Don't eat the cookies!" I yelled at Humza, who was leaning over to grab the special moon-shaped cookies I had baked for Eid.
"Then why'd you make them? So you could take pictures of it?" he asked, annoyed. He was dressed in light blue Shalwar Kameez with a white cotton topi. A pretty rare sight.
"You can eat only one after I'm done taking the picture," I replied, maneuvering my new Canon over the plate of cookies. I had the best uncle in the world, who gave me a special gift every Eid-ul-Fitr.
Satisfied with a couple of shots, which were soon to be uploaded on Facebook under my album "Delightful Cooking," I allowed Humza to take a cookie.
It was midday, and people were bound to be over. We had already prayed Eid Salaat at Holiday Inn earlier in the morning and I had said Eid Mubarak a thousand times to everyone I knew and didn't knew.
Abu came into the kitchen just as Humza savored his last crumbs, dressed in a similar hue of Shalwar Kameez. Humza wasn't at all appreciative of my idea for him and Abu to dress the same, but I thought it would be cute, and Abu liked the idea too.
"Where is your mother? Mahmoud's wife and children are over and you are all stuck here!" he exclaimed. My dad loved to entertain guests, and he got upset when we didn't live up to his expectations.
"Mom..." I started, realizing I didn't know where she was. Anyway, being the good daughter that I was, I took control and went to the living room to greet the guests.
Mahmoud's wife was petite and very friendly, and her daughter seemed to appear right out of a magazine. With her large blue eyes and light brown curls, she looked inevitably Caucasian, not Arab...and definitely not Muslim. But there I go with the categorization again.
"Eid Kareem!" I enthusiastically greeted them, giving both a warm embrace. During Eid, I can get very loving. I can hug complete strangers out of pure happiness, but that's also dangerous and I'm aware of my limits.
Ammi popped out of nowhere minutes later, rushing ahead of me to offer the guests plates of sweets and snacks. She motioned me later to retrieve the Eid candy bags we had made the night before to hand to the kids.
Towards evening, we all got in Mom's silver Toyota Camry and headed to my favorite uncle's house. House might be an understatement...no, I think I meant to say underword...wait that's not a word at all. Never mind. You get the picture.
He lives in Kenilworth, one of the richest suburbs in Chicago. And it makes sense, considering he's a neurologist and really one of the best. I hope his intelligence has passed down to me through Ammi.
It's the usual tradition for our family to gather at his house for Eid. For one thing, his mansion can actually accommodate our extremely large and expanding family. And he's rich so he can also provide food for us, which half the time is what we're really looking for.
Abu is relaxed, as usual, driving in between chatting with family and friends abroad on the phone.
"Look out! There'a a cop," I warned him. He slips the phone on his lap for a second before raising it to his ear again. I guess he really doesn't care if he gets a ticket, or thinks he'll get lucky and not get caught.
Speaking of luck, we really weren't feeling it while inching our way to get on the highway. There was not one complete road in Chicago that was left untouched and not closed to traffic. Almost every block, it seemed, was broken and under repair, or sectioned off to accommodate construction workers and trucks.
"We're going to be late again. I told you we should leave earlier," Ammi complained, drawing her dark green dupatta tighter around her face.
"How could we leave with guests over?" Abu asked innocently.
"We had over an hour in between the time Mahmoud left and the time we left." You couldn't fool Ammi, that's for sure.
But her frustration subsided quickly once we reached the house.
"Eid Mubarak!" I called out. The house was already crowded and more people streaming in. I wanted to place my heels in a safe spot before I went drastic at night to find them in the messy pile of hundreds of shoes. There is a shoe stealer in our family, I'm telling you. One of my favorite sandals went disappearing at one such gathering and Mumaani (my neurologist uncle's wife) was kind enough to let me go home with her own five inch bronze heels.
Honestly, I didn't want anything more than to dig right into the food. Mamu (my neurologist uncle...okay maybe I need to stop calling him that) has an exquisite taste for a variety of cuisines and I was a little eager to try it out. But, I couldn't jump right to the food because I had to greet everyone--give hugs, say Salaam, ask how they were doing, and so forth. Which of course I wouldn't mind if I hadn't already done that countless times earlier that day.
I can never be too tired of meeting Mamu though.
"Iman beta! Come here. Get some food!" he ordered sweetly.
Well, thank you. Just what I wanted.
"You like the gift?" he asked, tilting his hand. He was very tall and somewhat intimidating when I was younger. It only took a couple of treats and him calling me like his own daughter to realize he really wasn't intimidating at all. I mean, what do you expect a seven year old child to think of a person who cuts up people's brain? Scary, obviously.
"Mamu, it was a complete surprise! I tried calling you earlier to let you know I received it in the mail, but your phone was busy!"
He laughed, then pointed to the food. "Now after a month of fasting, I want you to eat all of this. As much as you can. And how is school coming along?"
"Alhamdulillah," I replied, before we were separated by a stream of chasing kids.
"You can't get me!" a little girl shrieked out of excitement. She ended up tripping over Jamal, who swiftly put her steady on her feet again before getting hurt.
"Iman," he said, giving a small nod of his head. I knew he acknowledged me only because we had already formed eye contact or else he really wouldn't.
"Jamal, how's your Eid?" I asked, knowing my attempt to make conversation would be futile. Jamal is one of those people who have everything but some good manners and a kind heart. I wish he'd learn something from his father or even his two other brothers who were much more sociable and sweet.
He shrugged, and I ended it there.
I could go on and list all the people I talked to, all the delicious food items I indulged in, and so forth but I really need to get going to my class now.
Lunch break is almost over and instead of occupying myself with some reading, I have been won over by the computer.
We shall meet again!
American Muslim Girl
9/7/10
And the Drudgery Begins
The street where my high school stands is already crowded with vehicles streaming in to drop off students. Fortunately, I can avoid the deep traffic because I only live four blocks away, not to mention I can get in my morning walk.
I'm not nervous as I step in; I'm actually unsure of how I feel. I am cold, for one thing. The arrival of Fall is bringing bursts of cold wind, indicative of the long winter ahead.
I almost stop midstep, seeing that there is a line formed from where I stand and to the actual entrance of the school. A freshman, whom I can identify by his short stature and nervous glances, is ahead of me.
"Imaneeeeee!" I hear someone screech my name. I can't mistaken this voice. It has a clear ring to it, a beautiful tingle.
"Anum!" I turn my head to see one of my best friends walking towards me. She is looking fabulous, as always. Her hair is sitting in loose waves around her shoulders, and she is wearing a magenta floral dress with skinny jeans. The Prada designer frames gives her an intelligent, studious appearance.
"Love your new glasses!" I comment immediately. "And the outfit it gorg!"
She smiles, appreciative but modest. "You're looking quite fab yourself. But Iman, I cannot believe they're going to be checking every single one of us."
"Checking us?" I ask, confused. Apparently, I was waiting in line to be checked by the school security.
"Yes, and we only have a half hour before Homeroom," she pointed out, checking her watch.
"Why are they checking us? Don't we already have those metal detectors?" I ask.
The line is moving and we step ahead, closer to the doors. "Yes, but they want to check our bags too. It's all because of those school shootings."
"Right," I agree. Although, who would plan a school shooting on the first day of school? That seems unlikely. But, hey, if a grade school kid can kill his teacher, I guess any form of violence is possible.
It's finally our turn to get checked. I get the Hispanic security officer with the short hair while Anum gets the Caucasian officer. It's tedious, but we are done in a matter of minutes.
Before the stairwell, there is the same mural that greets me every time. I know that in a couple days, the smiling painted faces and yellow colored sunshine will not alleviate my tired mood in the least.
But now, at least, I am feeling happy. I am a junior, having moved up in the category of upperclassmen, which attributes to gaining respect--a little less than seniors obviously--and of course, the right to occasionally look down on the younger ones.
I sit with the same three other students in Homeroom as I have been for the past two years. We are a pretty diverse group:
Eric, the Vietnamese super-intelligent manga-loving boy.
Amy, the Irish girl with really long beautiful hair and an obsession with Seventeen magazine.
Natasha, the Nigerian sudoku-lover who occasionally sings to us.
Add in my crazy Homeroom teacher, who thinks of mathematics as his second child, and we have a pretty fun time. At least I can relax a little before heading off to classes.
I guess I'm quite content with my schedule. First period is Spanish III, which is better than having P.E. first thing in the morning like last year. You can't do much in fifty minutes of class if all the teacher is going to do is go over the syllabus and lecture us to not plagiarize and cheat. And, really, which teacher in his right mind would make us take a mini math ACT practice test on the first day of Trignometry class? Oh, right, my Homeroom teacher obviously, who decided I was having too much fun in Homeroom.
But, I can't complain. As nerdy as it sounds, I can't deny that I like learning and going to school. Sure, if you subtract everything besides the actual learning--namely, high school drama, cliques, peer pressure, gossip, and so on--then maybe high school wouldn't be such a drag.
That, of course is not the case.
I have to welcome everything, drama included.
"Iman, did you take a look at Asad? I think he grew another four inches and God, he looks even more hot!!"
I purse my lips as Laila meticulously describes Asad's physical features. Not that this is the first time we talked about him, and it most likely won't be the last either.
Welcome to high school, I silently tell a freshman who is bent over under the weight of a heavy backpack.
Let's hope things don't get too off hand,
American Muslim Girl
I'm not nervous as I step in; I'm actually unsure of how I feel. I am cold, for one thing. The arrival of Fall is bringing bursts of cold wind, indicative of the long winter ahead.
I almost stop midstep, seeing that there is a line formed from where I stand and to the actual entrance of the school. A freshman, whom I can identify by his short stature and nervous glances, is ahead of me.
"Imaneeeeee!" I hear someone screech my name. I can't mistaken this voice. It has a clear ring to it, a beautiful tingle.
"Anum!" I turn my head to see one of my best friends walking towards me. She is looking fabulous, as always. Her hair is sitting in loose waves around her shoulders, and she is wearing a magenta floral dress with skinny jeans. The Prada designer frames gives her an intelligent, studious appearance.
"Love your new glasses!" I comment immediately. "And the outfit it gorg!"
She smiles, appreciative but modest. "You're looking quite fab yourself. But Iman, I cannot believe they're going to be checking every single one of us."
"Checking us?" I ask, confused. Apparently, I was waiting in line to be checked by the school security.
"Yes, and we only have a half hour before Homeroom," she pointed out, checking her watch.
"Why are they checking us? Don't we already have those metal detectors?" I ask.
The line is moving and we step ahead, closer to the doors. "Yes, but they want to check our bags too. It's all because of those school shootings."
"Right," I agree. Although, who would plan a school shooting on the first day of school? That seems unlikely. But, hey, if a grade school kid can kill his teacher, I guess any form of violence is possible.
It's finally our turn to get checked. I get the Hispanic security officer with the short hair while Anum gets the Caucasian officer. It's tedious, but we are done in a matter of minutes.
Before the stairwell, there is the same mural that greets me every time. I know that in a couple days, the smiling painted faces and yellow colored sunshine will not alleviate my tired mood in the least.
But now, at least, I am feeling happy. I am a junior, having moved up in the category of upperclassmen, which attributes to gaining respect--a little less than seniors obviously--and of course, the right to occasionally look down on the younger ones.
I sit with the same three other students in Homeroom as I have been for the past two years. We are a pretty diverse group:
Eric, the Vietnamese super-intelligent manga-loving boy.
Amy, the Irish girl with really long beautiful hair and an obsession with Seventeen magazine.
Natasha, the Nigerian sudoku-lover who occasionally sings to us.
Add in my crazy Homeroom teacher, who thinks of mathematics as his second child, and we have a pretty fun time. At least I can relax a little before heading off to classes.
I guess I'm quite content with my schedule. First period is Spanish III, which is better than having P.E. first thing in the morning like last year. You can't do much in fifty minutes of class if all the teacher is going to do is go over the syllabus and lecture us to not plagiarize and cheat. And, really, which teacher in his right mind would make us take a mini math ACT practice test on the first day of Trignometry class? Oh, right, my Homeroom teacher obviously, who decided I was having too much fun in Homeroom.
But, I can't complain. As nerdy as it sounds, I can't deny that I like learning and going to school. Sure, if you subtract everything besides the actual learning--namely, high school drama, cliques, peer pressure, gossip, and so on--then maybe high school wouldn't be such a drag.
That, of course is not the case.
I have to welcome everything, drama included.
"Iman, did you take a look at Asad? I think he grew another four inches and God, he looks even more hot!!"
I purse my lips as Laila meticulously describes Asad's physical features. Not that this is the first time we talked about him, and it most likely won't be the last either.
Welcome to high school, I silently tell a freshman who is bent over under the weight of a heavy backpack.
Let's hope things don't get too off hand,
American Muslim Girl
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