Sunday Snippets #5-- Sometimes Goodbye Is The Only Way To Say Hello

"We call an unforgettable love like that memories."

Way back when I wore side pony tails and a pair of shiny black shoes to elementary school I remember a time when my then best friend and I found a rabbit. Oh how I loved rabbit, I named him Rabbit too. Rabbit was so tiny and perfectly cream in color. And one day Rabbit did what rabbits do; rabbit hopped. Rabbit hopped, and hopped, and hopped. Me and Chereen chased, and chased, and chased. But, we never caught rabbit again.

I didn’t cry like Chereen did because, my mother said that Rabbit hopped to freedom and that as long as I loved Rabbit I would have Rabbit. She said, “We call an unforgettable love like that, memories.” Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose. Isn’t that crazy to think that we have a way of forever holding onto a piece of person, a place, an event, or an object just because we want to, just because we care? So now when memories of anyone or anything creep up on me I do not pout, I smile, because I have a piece of it, I have Rabbit.

Sunday Snippets #4--So Be Wise, This Girl Satisfies

"Never underestimate the power of dreams or their potential.
Go ahead; turn me on."

“Undiscovered” by: James Morrison
“You think that I wanna run and hide
I'll keep it all locked up inside
I just want you to find me
I'm not lost, I'm not lost, Just undiscovered”

Could you imagine if life really was one big game of hide and seek? All those people who think they are lost are merely just undiscovered. It makes me smile thinking about how much we need each other in order to release our true potential. No man is enough for himself. I like to think that we are all such a waste of our potential, like three-way lamps using one-way bulbs.

Sunday Snippets #2: Hate must make a man productive. Otherwise one might as well love.

Theme of the week: The value of words versus their actual meanings and impressions.

"If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself.
What isn't part of ourselves doesn't disturb us."

Since childhood we’re taught that actions speak louder than words, but, that’s not always true. People hurt me everyday with their words, not their fists. And sometimes, like the random man who said to me this weekend “You’re nice and Jesus would love you too, if you were Christian.” I kinda wish he had punched me instead. It woulda hurt less.

Lesson learned: No one means all he says, and yet very few say all they mean, for words are slippery and thought is viscous.

Some Things Have To Be Believed To Be Seen- The Not So Ramadan, Ramadan Post

Confession of The Month:

Few really believe. The most only believe that they believe or even make believe. And I was among those who believed in belief as opposed to just believing. So here I was coming off of a summer vacation turned burden, ending with more issues than I began, and a steadily declining faith in everything, even myself.

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For those of you waiting in anticipation for my less than desirable reasoning as to the long gaps in posting here it is: life. I know, shocker but life happens. Between dealing with new personal commitments, anxiety/stress disorders, and a developing eating disorder, sometimes blogging is the last thing I have the energy to worry about. But, none of that is what this post is about. This post is about updating and optimism despite the personal struggles within.

Way back when I still believed that hearts are magnets and people cared about other people I also believed in me. But, lately belief, like my self-confidence, is ever fleeting and far too determinant upon others for survival. And there lies the problem. In my final bow to summer I accepted a position as a counselor at a camp designed for Muslim youth. So many times before I had been the camper, the dependent, the follower. I was secure in that role, having little responsibility with much freedom. But, this time was different. I was surrounded with girls ranging in age from 10-12, all looking towards me for guidance. But, how could I be their guide, their leader, their role model? How could I be everything they wanted, when there wasn't enough of me for what I needed? They'd call me pretty, or hot, smart and funny. But, all of it made me want to cry, at best. And then it was time to swim. The boys were sent off to archery, as the remaining camp of girls donned their swim attire. Some were dressed more freely than others but, all of them were gorgeous. All of them but, one.

I was that one. But, not because I didn't have the potential the others did...rather because I didn't allow that potential to escape. I created excuses at meal times, and acted as though I didn't hear compliments, I would sleep with my journal, terrified of writing what I truly felt. A friend of mine would text occasionally trying to convince me that he would love me, if I let him. And it was then that I realized I could love me too, if I let me.

Often I would make the girls go to bed early because I didn't want to face me while I was awake. When it came time for prayers I would wait till they slept and pray separately, afraid of the power of prayers, knowing I might have to face myself. Finally, I was discovered. One of the younger girls woke up and sat there so still watching me in the night, terrified of praying, terrified of eating, terrified of being. And so she climbed down off the top bunk and sat near me. For minutes, time stood still. Then she spoke, "it didn't promise to be easy..." Shocked at the words I asked, "what, what didn't promise to be easy?" "Life," she says. Life never promised to be easy. I sat thinking, wondering, how she knew that I stopped believing in the life I was creating. She admitted to reading parts of my journal, I had forgotten I jokingly said she could. She also admitted that she liked it, she liked feeling like she was "important." Important, I asked her, what gave her that notion that when I felt like I was failing at everything I was becoming, that of all things I was important. "Because, because at least your something."

Her words hit like daggers, piercing my heart, forcing me to consider that even at my very worst I was someones very best. There's far more to the story. It involves writing love notes in the rain, dancing when no one's watching, and crying while praying. But, Brianna's words are more important that any of those.I have to believe in my own ability to trust in God's ability to help me overcome the personal tribulations which threaten my very existence.

And then came Ramadan.Ramadan is the month of fasting, which is observed by Muslims worldwide, in the 9th month of the Islamic calender. It's among one of the holiest and most spiritually profound within the Islamic culture, as Muslims believe it is the time in which the prophet received revelation of the Quran from God. Ramadan is an opportunity never to be wasted. Sometimes we stare so long at a door that is closing that we see too late the one that is open.

"Verily, Allah does not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves."

[Ar-Ra`d, 11]

So my Ramadan resolution is simple: Create a month worthy of repetition. I can not change everything that I am in one month but, He can. And so,I ask God/Allah not for a lighter burden, but for broader shoulders.

When A Heart Breaks, It Don't Break Even

Boom went the thunder and lighting and ring went then phone. I lay still on the twin size bed as his sister clinched my hand tighter, afraid the tornado would take her away. Boom went the thunder and clinch went her fist, grasping at my skin, barely asleep, yet, wide awake. Crash went the wind slamming against the window pane and ring went the phone. The house, the weather, the family finally lay still, ring went the phone, "Yes, I love you" went him.

Love is in the air, the very air that I breathe. It's the very air that hung so heavy last night, sinking in deeper, knowing that after I heard love, I found hate. Many would assume that love is a positive thing but, love like change, requires both now and then. The then to this story is me. It's less the physical representation of me and more the mental. I am Muslim. He is Muslim. But, she isn't. So he loves what isn't me. He loves her, she who isn't Muslim, she who shouldn't be.

For centuries, culture has played a tug of war with those of ambition. Those souls who dare to think, or rather, love outside of the box. Think of the Boleyean girls daring to marry up for power, wealth, and status. Think of Princess Diana and her Egyptian boyfriend, or perhaps more recently with Kobe Bryant and his Caucasian girl wonder. Think of those who joined in union because of love but, divided communities, families, and lives because of the hate the union brought on. Think of Pochantos and John Smith, the tale of a man who wasn't afraid to show his parents what he loves, who he loves. Now think of yourself and what role you play into all of this.

A great friend of mine, Ms. Latifa, a Muslim slam-poet, from Atlanta, Georgia receives high acclaim for her poem 'My 9/11 story.' My favorite poem however is entitled, 'Plan B', in it she writes, "honestly, I didn't think you would marry me. Maybe Aliyah, or Zakiah, but at the community picnic the other day you introduced me to your new wife, Tamika." The poem continues, telling the story of a girl enraged by the pattern of Muslim men dating outside of their religion. And while in Islam such a merger is allowable, I, too, am enraged.

You see unlike marrying outside of color, or culture, in a community where religion is life, it's hard explaining why your best friends' brother lay awake at 2am, in damn near tears, over a Catholic girl from Indiana. My beef isn't with her as a person, she's nice, polite, quaint but, in many ways she's everything I'm not. At the end of the day she isn't Muslim. She doesn't hold the same beliefs, values, customs, as we do. And while it may seem that I'm jealous, I'm more disappointed than anything. Because within the Islamic community there are plenty of nice,polite, quaint, girls but, he chose her.

As Ms.Latifa so boldly states, "And this is not about her, its about the fact that you could of had any muslimah, any Zakiya, any Alliyah, but instead of you trying to keep our community intact, you want to start from scratch." I'm sick of these non-muslim chicks who don't know the struggle but, are getting all the perks, when we have been putting in all the work. How can we build our ummah if your wife is going to church? Some might say but, 'there are so many other Muslim men to choose from, why do you need him' but, in all honesty there isn't. And now we're one less.

Ms.Latifah continues, making the point that perhaps the Muslim men seek such women, because us, Muslim women, serve as a reminder, and they just don't want to be reminded. She doesn't know that verse in the Quran when you are wrong, but you know that I will find it. So, as one of those reminders, just let me remind you how much it hurts. It's not like marrying outside of color, or culture, it's religion. And it's more than acceptable as the Prophet Muhammd (saws) married a Christan women, as well as a Jewish one. And for him I can see why, he was an example that it is allowable for Muslim men to marry any woman of the monotheistic religions, conditionally speaking. If he hadn't done such, and it wasn't allowable it would provide grounds for further segregation and divisions, which is not Islam. But what about all the other Muslim men, the non-examples, the ones who insist on "starting from scratch?" What about those just like my friends brother who had every oppurtunity to create a Muslim family but, decided to leave yet another Muslim sister without a husband instead? And, I don't mean for us to sound like charity cases, or dependat upon the Muslim brothers that don't deserve us, I mean the men, not the boys. To the men let me be the one to ask why?

Boom went the rain and down fell my hopes of him not being with her.

Thank God She's More Sexy Than She Is Patient....

I've been awarded the Sexy award. Say it with me, 'sex-ah' -- make sure you breathe deep and slur the s. My father once told me he was going to legally change his name to "Day Um Sssex Eh, the third" Yes, he proceeded to sound it out phonetically as well. Apparently my family's ridiculous behavior has melded me into a sexy blogger! What exactly is a sexy blogger? Let's Google it:"What is a Sexy Blogger + Perplxintexan?"

Haha, it's me. I can't believe that like 6 of you just clicked that link. Anyways upon receipt of the award you must name 5 things which make YOU sexy.


1.I Could Pass As Jail Bait & Can Finger Paint with the Best of 'em

I'm sure all you pessimist out there are thinking who cares if you could pass for 16 but, trust me it has it's perks. Actually it only has about 3 perks one of which includes getting an extra toy in my Happy Meals and another including these God-forsaken braces! The other plus is that since I work in an elementary school and under the age of 25 I hear playground gossip suggest I'm 'hot teacher'. That's right in a pair of Adidas kicks and without bust exploding from a strategically placed shirt I was called the hot teacher.


2. I'm literate, without pictures.
Again, I bet you're all like I can read too! But, can you? I bet, you can in which case you too are sexy. Where I live however having the ability to read is not only a plus but, sought after. The parents I nanny for praised my ability to actually interpret and not just read. They didn't know it but, it changed me. Sure, I knew I could read books but, now I can read smiles, tears, marriages, and everything in between. I don't just pages, I read lives.

3. I'm Latin and Legal

For whatever reason once people meet my younger brother and realize I'm not lieing and actually am Hispanic I'm way cooler. I'm just saying if I could be mixed with any other nationality why would I pick Mexican? (No offense of course) My spanish is pretty rusty but, I def. inherited the Hispanic flava....not just the rear end the dance moves too. Yeah, I'm a pretty premium dancer. (aA, don't want evil eye)


4. I Haven't Slept With Your Husband/Dad/Brother.....or mom
Perhaps this is only a turn-on to me. But, when we receive clients in the office that think marriages are about absolute honesty, I die inside. Marriages are about the present NOT the past that lead you to the present. Your husband doesn't actually want to see that list of 150+ kids you've slept with, especially since his twin brother is probably on it too. Even the best fall down sometimes and I recognize that. But, I try to make a first impression worthy of repeating and avoid advertising those sins I have created. To some I might be considered 'less experienced' but to have me as the experience is worth it. And during every first we share together he'll know only he has me; how is that not sexy?

5.I'm from Texas Ya'll
So this may come as no surprise to many but, growing up in the gated neighborhoods and cultured streets of Dallas made me the southern belle I am today. I love football and being the perfect southern hostess. I'm all about the Martha Stewart effect and pleasing others delights my soul. When I get really excited my southern twang really exposes itself and my accent gets lots of gasp and blushed cheeks from the boys around here. Being from Texas grants a certain confidence I wouldn't elsewise have. And whats' sexier than being confident in the person you are now?! I'm not only glad but, blessed to not be a size 2. I have an actual figure and so the way I figure if he wants a pile of bones he can head to the local cemetery. I'm actually alive, no Bella Swan, and proudly from Texas.



So doing that just made me feel extra sexy. Good thing I'm not in the teachers lounge ;)
I award the following Sexy Bloggers:

1. Lisa
2. I'm Not Benny
3. The Passionate Bookworm
4. Love Crackhead

Pissed Off Post #23...."Stop Celebrating Your Ignorance

"Usually when people are sad, they don't do anything. They just cry over their condition. But when they get angry, they bring about a change." -Malcom X

Last night was one of the worst nights I've ever had. In fact, I cried. I cried and I cried and I cried. And when I stopped crying I couldn't breathe,I flushed red, and I cried. The worst part is I didn't even have a reason to cry. Or at least that's what he said.

But, I wonder do you ever need a reason to feel? Is it like I have to get a permit, pass go and collect NO 200$?Screw that! & that's when I stopped crying and started getting real. Tears do nothing but smudge mascara and give delicious salt filled pellets to my smooth lips. Tears have never saved any one and they won't save me. So this morning when I woke up , I crossed out everything I scribbled in my journal and instead wrote 'Fuck yes, I blame her,them, they and every other person that pissed me off yesterday and I allowed to do so.'

But, more than anyone I blame him, the nameless Writing Tutorial Services dude. He doesn't even get a name. All I needed was a thesis statement. I had an entire list of ideas, plot lines, and characters I wanted to include. In fact, I had a working thesis it just wasn't the thesis I needed. And you know what he said "Oh well I didn't read the book." But, I didn't freak out then no I held my composure. He didn't need to read the book to help me, the person who DID read the book but, NO! After 23 mins, this happened:

Jerk off writer dude: Well, I think you've got a good idea.
Me: Oh I understand that. I just am not verbalizing it correctly
JOWD: Well, then you need to verbalize
Me: *smiles*
JOWD: I mean, I'm not going to write your paper for you.
Me: Well, of course because it's MY paper not to mention you haven't read the novel.
JOWD: Duh, I'm not required to read every book for every student that needs help.
Me: Well I know that but...

[unnecessary stare down]
yes it really happened

Me: Fine, I guess I can just do it on my own then
JOWD: Duh, it's your paper. And since you already know everything then do it yourself, you don't need to be here.
Me: Apparently I don't. I suppose I'll just have to work through it. *smiles*
JOWD: Yeah, I'm done with you, you just seem to be celebrating your ignorant excuse of a paper.
Me: *stares back wordless*

Then I got up and left. On my way out I stopped by the front desk to ask for his supervisors contact information. Then I asked for his name. I assured him it wasn't my intent to get him fired to which his rude ass replied "Oh that wouldn't happen anyways, and I'm not allowed to give out my name". Bullballs! You're not allowed to give out your name!? But, I didn't cause a scene despite his escalating tone. I explained that it is a knee jerk reaction of mine to smile when I get tense. It started in my pre-teens around 9/11. Yeah, that's when I learned that as a Muslim you want to cause as little trouble as possible when in public. So I politely apologized as did he and I left. I walked to the parking lot alone as three tears escaped my eyes.

Then I awoke this morning to realize that my religion shouldn't not be an invitation to be disrespected. I'm Muslim and will verbalize my opinion. I cried for him last night. It won't happen again.


[In case you can't see the actual picture, click to enlarge, you'll see his notes..which include none]

You Got Me Begging You For Mercy, Why Don't You Release Me ?

Incident#1

I woke up this morning popped in my Flintstones Kid's vitamin and suddenly discovering how thirsty I was downed some Coke Zero. Then BAM! Bop.Fizz! just like that 1996 Mentos in the coke trick my mouth was an active volcano choking me with it's lava of caffeine.

Moral of the story: No matter how thirsty you get don't drink carbonated beverages with children's vitamins. Don't judge me Flintstones it totally legit.

Incident #2

I headed down the elevator of my condos building and kicked the handicapped door open. Yes, I kicked the handicapped button. Anyways the door swung open and as I hopped outside I slipped and ran into the handicapped door.

Moral of the story: Apparently the handicapped door is reserved for those individuals who are handicapped.

Incident # 3

I headed out the doors to class, crossing the street when some lame, yet shockingly cute red SUV pulled up next me and goes I know you're deaf but, I didn't know you were blind.

Moral of the story: Apparently in the Midwest wearing Hijab or anything that covers your ears obviously makes you deaf.


Now I'm sure by this time you're all thinking "great your life sucks in a hilariously entertaining way..and?" And, my life doesn't usually suck, well not this bad. After class I went to work and was consequently in the worst of moods. A little boy stopped by the equipment desk and said "Umm Ms.brown eyed lady, can I play Wii?" I may be the Grinch in alot of ways but, this hazel-hair boy was too cute to resist. I let him check out the Wii controllers and two games. I know, I know, members under the age of 12 have to be chaperoned by an adult and aren't allowed to check out two games but, he had me at 'brown-eyed'.

The little boy skipped off and returned about 5 mins later and tip-toed to throw some Kisses up on the checkout counter. "For being so nice, ya know. BYE!"That did it, that cleared up my entire day, and possibly my week. Nobody said life was easy but, I believe mentalities are a reflection of actuality. If you think life sucks, it will. I also realized that I was having such an awful morning because I obviously had a stained Karma. So to cleanse my Karma I smiled at the lad and did the same to about 25 other complete strangers. Amazing, what a smile can do. He probably has no idea the impact of his kisses but, I'd rather it be this way.

To add to the whole 'awww, amazing!' impact of this lovable tale on my way to clockout and leave I noticed a tall and strikingly attractive guy. It was none other than the red SUV frat guy. Apparently he works out. Shocker. (obvious sarcasm) With my new karma in tact I just smiled at him. He leaned over to whisper "I'm glad you're doing better sunshine". I tried to resist rolling my eyes when I sarcastically said "Oh blessed stars I can hear!" I was going to make it into this whole over-the-top performance where I acted like I was cured of my deafness. I resisted. Then he smiled back and said "Of course you can, I thought you were having a bad day.You almost walked into my SUV that's why I made the blind comment."

I nearly walked into his SUV, he honked, and swerved. Ah, so he made the blind and deaf comment. With the handicapped door, I later realized that a person who was actually handicapped and in a wheel chair had hit the button earlier that morning. It was slick from sweat from where they used their palms against their wheelchair tires. Duh.

Moral of the story: The world is not actually conspiring against me. Common sense would suggest that maybe I shouldn't have drank Coke with vitamins.Little hazel-haired boy saved my Karma from the obvious. And as usual it all started with a kiss.

Be Soft, Be Sweet, But, Darling Be Discret.

Confession of The Month:

It's 3 am on Sunday when he looks up, smiling, and strumming the chords to 'A Whole New World' when I realize for the past two weeks I've been flirting with a married man. What's worse is that after he finishes, he stares contently into my Auburn-Grey rimmed eyes to say 'sometimes, I'm amazed by you,'

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A long and semi-unnecessary story precedes why and how I ended up at 'guy's night'. I assure you it's ridiculous and will probably never happen again. From the very beginning I failed to understand why Maria wanted us girls at guy's night. But, I told myself we wouldn't stay too long and considering the fact that the only guy I was remotely interested was not only visiting but, engaged, there would be no pressure. The first night we went over I only stayed until 1:30 am, I say only because the following nights were just unacceptable. I didn't bake, dance, or try any other cheap shots at getting his or anyone's attention. I was there in support of my friends.But, then he opened up his case and pulled out his guitar.



He's not too attractive but, when he sings he let's my heart on fire. Then just like that god-forsaken Taylor Swift song I thought, "Romeo take me somewhere we could be alone;" my spine straightened and cheeks flushed a hue of crimson. Thankfully, this didn't happen but, for the next 36 hours we spent an indescribable and far too temptingly intimate distance to one another. My personal shaytan whispered how the ring on his finger wasn't a marriage it was an engagement. About 5 hours later she whispered again, besides rings don't make marriages.

His dimples are far too enticing.

By this time half of you are probably think, "yeah...but did anything happen!?" And, the short answer is, no. We didn't touch, make babies, or anything super scandalous like that. But, we did feel each other. I don't know how to explain it but, like I've said before you don't have to touch in order to feel. As a young Muslim girl I shouldn't have even been in such an environment especially, given the circumstance. A woman's intuition never fails. My intuition is telling me that his weak week long engagement will last, with a troublesome, if not impending failure of a marriage. But, that's none of my business. What kind of marriage counselor intentionally ruins marriages, just because she can!?

In fact, what kind of person sends signals of seduction luring her prey just to watch him crumble? I'm not even into him, and yet I invested hours into making him feel comfortable enough to trust my temptation over his fiances love. Luckily he's gone home now and back to his loving fiance who doesn't know the otherwise. It happened too fast. We were all but, too close, too close for comfort.Part of me feels immensely guilty but, an even bigger part of me is proud of the fact that I could accomplish such a task in a matter of 2 and 1/2 days with 12 hours of sleep, Rockband, Wild Blueberry Muffins, a futon, and a guitar.


Geez, why's it always gotta start with a guitar?

Goodbye My Almost Lover, Goodbye My Hopeless Dream

...Sometimes people date people that aren't dating them back. It gets terribly complicated around the time that restraining orders and Thanksgiving dinner roll around. I'm slowly discovering that my appearance is probably the biggest misconception about me. People think I'm the next Orange County Housewife or Real World cast member with dazzling teeth and height to boot, and then I open my mouth.

I'm finding that opening my mouth wouldn't be so bad either, if one thing didn't follow. But, that one thing does follow. It's a thought. You see I'm more than just a face or a name; I am an ambiance. And somewhere between the ex-best friend texting me back a blank text and the participant at work who said "Ya know, you were so much cuter with your mouth closed," I decided that I'm worth more than a blank text or a closed mouth. I'm not exactly sure what it is that I'm worth, but, I'm sure that I'm worth more than I am worthless. Catch that?

I'm ridiculous and witty, loud and abrasive. Yes, I do beg to differ and proud that I talk before I speak. I called to tell my mother of my new found talents to which she responded, "wth is wrong with you?! You mean to tell me your only good for your mouth?" Yes, she actually said wth, not what the hell, but wth. And yes, an annoying and highly unnecessary conversation about safe sex and abstinence soon ensued. Geez ma get your mind out of the gutter!

Moral of the story is I'm too far proud of the person I am now because, of the people I was then. Time has made me a stronger, confident, and more secure person. I play Guitar Hero and wear heels. I teach 4th graders by day and train in sex and massage therapy by night, sue me. I'm my yin to my own yang and damn proud of it! To my ex-bestie I will always love you as a person. You are amazing in ways words can not define. You were a dazzling baby boy but, I'm done loosing myself in search of you as a man.

But In Your Dreams, Whatever They Be, Dream a Little Dream of Me

"Umm Ms. A if I were a resolution I wouldn't want to be had or done. I would want to be held."

-Morgan S, 4th Grader

So this is 2009. 16 yr old Miley Cyrus is writing an autobiography, the porn industry has requested a some-billion dollar bailout, Twitter is the new "good morning, how are you?", Asians have conquered the art of YouTube, The first African American has become president of the United States of America and phrases such as pwnd, weaksauce, n00b and lol are part of the English language and acceptable dinner conversation. Thanks to urbandictionary words that never were, are, and instant messaging has replaced actual human interaction. Humans touch technology more than they feel each other. And whats worse is that it doesn't bother most of us. 2009 is 2008 but, more bitter.

Morgan clearly didn't do her vocab homework and accordingly has no clue what a resolution actually is. Despite Morgans depleted understanding of what a resolution is, she has the ability to understand one. She's identified that in today's world of faster, shorter, stronger, better, and closer we are all to eager to touch and go. And yet we as humans are neglecting to feel for one another. I'll admit I've already placed mine.... and... I've already broken or failed at most. I've began to dream old dreams and wish upon false hope. I've cried, laughed, and been broken down. I wouldn't have it any other way because at least I am feeling what I know exist.

My kids have touched my life in ways intangible. They brought me to my highest highs and drug me through my deepest lows. They've challenged me on everything I know to be true. they've allowed me to live vicariously thorough the wilds of their imaginations. They aren't angels but, whether or not they are miracles is debatable. In 2008 they were easily the best thing to happen to me (besides the other best things which I will not name).It is their lives, thoughts, and words that have changed mine. It was not always what they said but how, why, when, and what they did not say that impact me. So to my ridiculous 4th graders my resolutions are many yet simple, I hope I can make it 'till 2010 and live to love another day.

But, Morgan if I could have anything in 2009 it would:to have more conversations.

When a man tells you that he got rich through hard work, ask him: 'Whose?'

Thanksgiving Day Part I

It's 4:45 am. It's amazing how perfect strangers impact the person you are both today and tomorrow.I stand in line at Khol's watching the man in khakis lay on the ground. Then there's an 8 month pregnant chick being smashed into the sliding glass doors. Over and Over and Over again. Then there's that 35ish yr. old man who suffered a severe head trauma after being trampled by angry 'bargain shoppers'. I wonder if he could buy back his life if they had killed him. Or maybe a bit of self-conscious dignity would be buy-one-get-one 50% off. Funny how the mob has several heads yet no brain. I was angered for a had no new shoes, then I met a man who had new legs. And appreciation is something that only comes with loss.

The 3 of us arrived at Saxs that morning in Jessie's 2006 Land Rover. We are dressed in Uggs and designer jeans. It's not about the labels though. It's about the meaning they carry. For me, Uggs are like walking on clouds. They are a comfort. Jessie values the fact that her parents can afford them. They are a symbol of status. And for Zahra her Uggs mean accomplishment. She earned the right to wear them. They are only a reflection of her inward sense of accomplishment.
We giggled our way past the cascading doors and by the man in the red suit. He was a tall man but of medium build and rings a bell for a living. His job is simple; raise funds. Proceeds benefit the Salvation Army & Riley's Hospital for Children. It really is a good cause, but I didn't give a dime.

He bothers me and won't stop watching my expressions. He sees something in me that I don't see in myself. I wish I knew what it is. I grow nauseous glaring at his sign which reads "Need has NO season. Now is the time." Here I was about to drop an easy 300$ within an hour but, I couldn't stop for 1 second to donate 1$, to a dieing child. I was sliding my card for a new iTouch when a tear escaped my eye. Temptation was killing me. But, ignorance would be the death of me. I knew better. Zahra squeezed my hand tightly, almost breaking my circulation and silently walks me out of the store. "I couldn't stand it either" she whispered. I put a 50$ bill in the mans red bucket and a 10$ bill in his pocket.

The world went still. He was proud. He looks at me, "you know sunshine, If you really want to know what god thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to." The sudden need to vomit disappeared. The temptation to overindulge subsided. We left the mall in the same shoes, same clothes that we arrived. We just sported different labels.

Thanksgiving Day Part II

Way back when me and "Mr.Hopeful" still had a possibility of being together and getting married he said something that really bothered me. He said, "even if you leave and are happy I'll still have a part of you." He meant it in a semi-enduring manner, a - oh yeah well if you leave i'll still love you- type tone. The only problem is now it's become the truth. I haven't spoken to him in about 9 months, I mean we speak but, we don't talk. You see when people say "Hey how are you?" They don't really want to know how you are. It's a common courtesy to check- ya know just in case. The thing is somewhere along the lines of me maturing, challenging my own ideals and discovering self, he lost his. He's fallen into habits like you wouldn't believe.

Before we left his place his mother asked him to go into the kitchen and fitch something. Because he couldn't find it he got in her face and called her a "dumb fu*k", and no unfortunately he didn't stop there. And she, well, she just took it. We left his family's headed for mine and the brilliant Thanksgiving spread which awaited us. We dropped him off at a friends house. He stole an unwanted hug and waved g'bye. She glared at me like she knew me. But, after the whole ordeal on Black Friday I was in NO mood to be labeled. Sarah's the latest fling on his list of things 'to do'. She's a small brunette too tall for her weight and more conniving than most give her credit for. [See post here] She's found a way to capture his attention for now and I'm ok with that. In fact, I'm thinking, I'm the only one "Ok" with it. I do not believe anyone wants them to be happy, not even themselves.

Anyways-Me, his mom, and sisters sat in the black Camry heat on high, windows rolled low. My bangs escaped my scarf and fluttered into my blushed face. The music was blaring the mood was soft, exact. Then his mom swiftly glances back and says "you know this is all your fault" She wasn't angry she just seemed so certain, matter of fact. 'This whole thing, with her-Sarah. It's your fault.' My fault?


Even now the words haunt me.

If The Sky That We Look Upon Should Tumble And Fall...

Happy turkey day :)
may peace and blessing be fall each of you.
T-minus 15hrs till the 'big day' and I've gone to clean house and bake pie all day tomorrow so enjoy.

This week in 4th grade the word of the week is: Unappreciated.

Today's post is dedicated to Tristan. He's the sandy blond with Grey streaks and vibrant, daring blue eyes. Tristan isn't like the other kids in the class. Tristan thinks beyond the box and past the stars. As a teacher you aren't supposed to have favorites. But, in my class it's hard not to. The simple words they use are both innocent and honest. Every time they speak, their words are heard and confined to the ears of the blind. They are one of a kind in a full house. Something within them makes me want to be a better person. It's days like today that let me know we can all make a difference. Everything matters.

Today's activity was "Thankful for being thankful". I always aim to establish an equality based classroom. My curriculum focuses not on books but, stories. Should religion enter the picture I do not hush the matter, I discuss it. Children are natural learners, sponges. Who am I to stunt their growth? Every child was sent home with a "Are we thankful?" worksheet? It's designed to help the students decide with their parents whats appropriate for their families particular values. They could draw, color, or bring in a copy of their 'thankful thing'.

Some of the kids brought their parents, some brought pictures, some drew locations or activities. Some where more abstract-- bringing in pumpkin pie to represent family dinners or jacks like Samantha, to represent her heritage. Her mother was an Olympian. I realized something was urinating on the floor and quickly eyeballed Sarah who hid her thankful thinking thing in her backpack-- it was a bunny. Jasper brought in the picture below. She wanted us to know she was thankful for living. "Everything matters" she added with confidence as she sat.


We made mini-turkeys, completely vegetarian![Top]We discussed how the "Indians" and "Pilgrims" each felt. Somewhere in the chocolate frosting, giggles, and quiet snowflakes I realized a single tear gliding down his face. I walked over to him, "Tristan, what's wrong?"I often don't ask the kids this for fear of exactly what happened, he told the truth. "Nothing." I pulled him over to our "Happy place" within the classroom. He looked dead back into my eyes and abrasively said "Nothing!" this time almost hostile. That's when I realized he didn't share his 'thankful thing' with the class. I asked the basics "did you forget yours?", "were you confused", "is everything ok at home?" He replied with a simple smile in conformation. Now I was agitated. He genuinely had me worried. "Why didn't you share your thankful thing?! Where is it? What is wrong with you". He glared down at his shoes unintentionally almost looking ashamed. I tried to soften my glare.


"I did share my thankful thing" he whispered. I looked back at him confused until I finally began to put the pieces together. "Tristan--" I half asked. "Are you your thankful thing?" "yes" he replied. "I am my thankful thing, and nothings wrong with me, and that's why I'm so thankful". It was only then that I understood Tristan's parents probably discussed what they were thankful for and not what he was [individually] thankful for. "Then why are you crying? Aren't you alright, you said everything was ok." He piercingly looked back into my auburn rimmed eyes. "You told us during math that 'ok' wasn't good enough, we had to want the best. And well I'm ok. I'm not super or amazing but, I'm ok. Ok, is alright with me."...

"OK, is alright with me," I muttered outloud. I gave him a huge hug and told him "OK is alright with me too. Somethings are just meant to be." I wiped the last of his drying tears, ashamed of my words.I quickly finished explaining what I meant by 'ok is never enough'. He smiled and pranced back to his mini-turkey. No, he didn't bring his 'thankful thing' and thankfully not. Because he brought the one thing that is everything, love.Tristan, you are the best definition of good intentions. You are super, you are amazing. And if the only prayer you ever use in life is "thank you" well then I'll be ok.

My rhythmatic regimen navigates melodic notes for your soul and your mental. That's why I'm instrumental

"I'm asking you to believe. I'm asking you not to believe in my ability to bring about change. I'm asking you to believe in your ability to bring about change."

- Barak Obama

I am Jo the plumber.
And regardless of my race, bankroll, sexuality or intelligence level I have a right.

That being said, I'm kinda envious of 'Jo the plumber'. In fact yesterday I stood behind 1,235 people for 3.5 hrs, watched a woman go into labor, and 2 girl scout troops do the soulja boy, to vote. After all this I felt it necessary to cause a scene. Why? Well, in part I did this to entertain myself and the others around me while we zombie-ishly stood to cast our vote. And the 2nd reason I did it is for the same reason I choose to vote, because I can. So basically I announced I was voting Obama| Palin which immediately threw the elderly people behind me into an uproar deeming that I was 'too young' , 'impressionable', and 'didn't deserve a vote'. "You have no clue what yo people fought for lil' girl" Ah, this is exactly what I wanted. So I swallowed my fear and began to grow louder in volume "but, alas it is my vote and my right. So should I chose to frugally write in Justice or even Santa, I can." Hell, I can vote for myself if I feel like it.

This lasted for about 30 mins. and I was sure the TV station would be arriving soon so I could protest my constitutional abilities nationwide. When suddenly something more profound happened. I looked around to realize my creation, dialogue. People were talking, they were interested, ready and willing. Granted, I didn't get on television, I still had to wait my turn but, here I stand in the middle of history. That is undeniable. My ignorance created a 'buzz'. And to think I almost turned around and went home because I was only 1 vote.

About an hr later a young man about 26 yrs old was denied his right to vote with his mother. He was mentally disabled and had trouble reading the options, but he understood his rights. He knew who and what he wanted and was sure of how to make it happen. Yet, he was denied. And here I stood kinda upset that I wasn't 'ignorant' enough for CNN.


Moral of the story:

I have the constitutional right to vote. So wherever , however, and for whatever reason I ask you to vote. Use your right as an American to do what is best for us all. It's your voice, your choice, do as you must..... just vote. Because with or without you, history will be made.

You Don't Need Math To Know That You Are Part of the Problem ...or The Solution

[original picture/upload]

12....11...10...9.....8.....
11....10...9...8.....
10.....9.....8....
9...8...



8.

Eight days and 56 seconds until the day. Eight days from my birthday. Eight until my death.

"Ms.A are you sick?"Bradley the subtle, sandy-colored hair, and freckled face 4th grader inquires. "No brad, please finish the problem", I replied short and not amused. "But, Ms. A if I don't have a problem then how can I solve it?" Suddenly I jerk my head up consumed by his apparently obvious question. If there isn't a problem then how can there be a solution? I was easily distracted for the next 12 minutes.

Here I sat in a dumpy old elementary school 8 days before my birthday. 8 days before my life should be changing forever. I only have 8 days to accomplish everything I should have accomplished before I grew too bored with what I already accomplished.I found myself suddenly consumed with anger and frustration. I thought I was over the whole elementary tid-bit. I am mature. But, here I was at least a decade later right back where I started. Granted, I was the teacher this time, not the student. Still though I wondered, 'how much had I really learned'.

"Let me see that Brad", I instructed. I grasped quickly for his pencil and all too eager for his notepad. Equation after equation and number after number I vigorously scribbled down problem after problem. Some of them were word problems, some of them were numerical , and some weren't even visible. All of them belonged to me. I stared blankly at the page once I finished mentally purging. Brad quietly looked up, afraid to ask if I was done..or what I had created. "My life," I informed him. "This, this is my life and these are all of my problems, and sometimes adults need help sorting through the math of it all." I mumbled barely louder than a whisper. "I'm just lost. I don't know who to ask for help, or where to start and some problems just don't have answers." I bravely continued blurting out more than I had intended to.

"Do you like us?"spoke up a voice nearby, it was only a few foot steps away. It is Sarah the hazel eyed 'tom boy' of the class. "like, don't ya wanna teach us?", another child chimed in. Suddenly I was surrounded by a group of about 6 students all too eager to question my intentions in this misty lil box of a classroom. "It's not that easy" I interjected. I want to teach, I love teaching. I tried to scream at them but, failed. "These are all my problems, if you solve them I will stay", I spoke. I was content with those words. They were a challenge, a loop hole.

"Ok," three of them grabbed at the pencil at once. They'll never solve this. "Well why can't we just add them all and subtract 'frusraioun' (frustration)?!" demanded Scott. "...and then we can borrow from 'strangth' and multiply ummm hope" "Haha, really?!" I asked suspicious of where they were headed. Suddenly Brad grabs my hand. He leans closer and whispers in my ear-afraid I can't hear through my hijab (scarf)"Ms. A I know the answer."

Brad once asked if i would marry him and I prayed this wasn't his 'answer' to all my problems. Marriage was already on my list of issues. "Kayla stop and give brad the paper he has an answer." Kayla was a little more than eager to hand Brad the sheet back. Brad looks up at me with darting eyes, pleading for permission. I nod in approval. Brad takes the sheet, gently lifting the corners and flips it over.He stares down, ill content with his choice. So he flips his hand over to where his pad of paper lay and rips out a new sheet. "Here Ms. A", he instructs me. "Let's start over." He gently smiles up at me.

My checks flush a brilliant hue of bronze and a twinkle is in my eye. I don't think he knows what he's done for me. I'm onto him. I tell the others to listen for Brads 'explanation'. "Ms. A if you're too busy worrying, you'll worry about worrying and fail at everything cause you're worried." He squints his eyes contemplating his next move. He pulls off his eraser and instead rips half of my 'problems' page in half. "& if you're too scared to do new things because of all your old baggage then you won't ever do anything."

"PUT IT IN THE CLOSET", yelps out Shelbie. She looks ashamed. "..well when my aunt visits and she has too much baggage we put it in the closet." Scott grabs the paper and rips off about another fourth. Brad smiles, "Then all your left with is this", he seemed confused about what to do next. I grabbed the remaining sheet and lay it on his 'fresh' sheet of paper. "YES!", he suddenly beams. "we can borrow from all the stuff you already know, and are already doing right and add onto it."

"But I still have to live my life and fulfill all of my dreams" I remind him. I'm content in knowing there's no way they can solve this equation. "But I know you will." He glances up from his creation to inform me, "You wanted to teach us, and then you did." Kayla speaks, "Ms. A you can't wait your whole life to live it."

I can't wait. I glance at my watch well aware that math is now over. So, I dismiss the kids to recess, finally prepared to be alone. I count the smiles on each of the accomplished faces of my math 'squad'. 2...4....6...8.

8. I looked down at the warm piece of hope in my hands.

There it is, a blue-lined wrinkled little piece of paper. It's a 1/4 of my past and 1/4 of my present. I pick up Brads pencil he left on the table and quickly draw a line down 1/2 of the page. I scribble in Scott, Kayla, Brad, Shelbie, Jace, Jessie, Samantha, and Brett. 8. I left room to add more, I left room to 'borrow' from their strength and 'carry' it into my present. But for now I was content as they had solved my problem.. They solved it, for presently they are my future. They are my beautiful 1/2 of a page.

You are the best definition of good intention.
So again, the teacher became the student.

The Girl Is Miserable At Best...

"Sometimes it takes but, a glance."

Slowly we drove down the winding dirt road into yet another field. For the past 12 miles we have witnessed all of 5 houses and 3 farms. The last sign of civilization and society past the 21st century was the local Wal-Mart about 8 miles back. The stomach pain shoot deep into my back. I'm fasting, I'm sleepy, I'm not ready for this. I walk into the small elementary school taking in one slow deep breathe at a time. I know they've never seen one of me before.

Let's not pretend like in this Midwest Podunk town that any of these people are expecting me. I am their student teacher; this is my first day.

There are plants growing in the classroom. No, not plants in a pot. Plants growing from the floor. Second grade is taught in a trailer about 20 ft from the front of the school. The school is a one story building of resentment. Today must be everything I prayed against. What can they teach me?

Suddenly a bright eyed girl with a black hoodie on gleamed up at me "You're beautiful", she exclaimed. "I'm sorry, what?" I asked her. I was in no mood for whatever games these children intended on pulling. Sarcasm isn't appreciated especially not while I'm fasting. It's Ramadan so I lower my gaze and practice some much needed patience. "You're so beautiful and I like that", she insisted. Then, I notice she's glaring at my hijab and pointing at my face.It took me about 2 1/2 hrs with 2 subject changes to calm down. I started to accept the beauty in this run down location. They are content in it all. In a way it was inspiring.

For the remainder of my time at the school I tried avoiding the students who asked unintentionally hurtful comments and the girl in the black hoodie. The last hour before I left the teacher of the class pulled me aside to let me know that her class was ‘special.’ Many of the students were struggling if not internally then externally, if not emotionally then physically, if not academically then medically. Then she mentioned the girl in the black hoodie. The teacher noticed I had been avoiding her and said I ‘need’nt be afraid.” I asked myself why she would think I feared this odd child and her fascination with my scarf. Then it occurred to me that people only fear what they do not understand.

I decided to put my ‘fears’ aside and speak with the girl. "It’s just you are beautiful. Your thingy makes you pretty. I wish I had one too, then I could pretty." All the puzzle pieces began to come together. The girl wasn’t mocking my religion but, trying to identify with it. And, while I was so sure that she was afraid of me I came to realize the roles were reversed. My 'thingy' makes me prettier? I blush. Half of it is due to embarrassment. For the first time since I stepped into this school I now looked into her deep blue eyes to see oceans of sincerity. Half of it is due to my obvious sense of shame. I glared at these kids blaming them for the schools obvious lack of financial support. I tested their intentions, ignoring genuine comments because I 'knew' they would discriminate. I built a wall before they had a chance to offer help.

My 'thingy' does make me beautiful. It makes me different. It makes others judge me based on my insides as opposed to assuming things based on my outside. It provides me with an opportunity. It is the very opportunity I took from each of the 27 unsuspecting students.

What can they teach me?
It was only my first day and yet I think I learned more in 7 hrs than in 7 yrs.

The Miseducation of Myself...

The Only Problem With Burning Bridges Behind You Is That The Earth is Round

Epiphany # 241 [The 'bum']

I love him.

The feeling his warm and tender face gives me is beyond inviting. Living is about more than being alive. Every person we encounter we must allow ourselves to experience. Every soul is a bridge and has a story, so what's his?

As I glanced upon the dampened cobble stone on my way to work I stumbled upon an embittered creature. His soul is as gentle as an angel, I can feel it. But, I know that the harsh realities of life have captured him. His gaze is steady upon my every motion. He counts each time I inhale. My chest heaves in and out but, not because of my breathing. I can't. I can't catch my breath. A group of school children walk by glaring and pointing. "There he is", the eldest of the brats yelp towards him. He shutters away into a darkened corner near an ally. I still stand frozen. Every person is bridge. The hardest thing in life is to know which bridge to cross and which to burn. So was he my bridge or was I his? I feel tears well up in my eyes unable to control my thoughts. I take two steps forward when I do more than watch him. I look into his auburn eyes and feel him. He's more terrified of me than I could ever be of him.

Finally, I grab the strength to turn and walk. Suddenly he speaks. "I'm afraid too", he says almost in a gentle whisper. "I have kids, a wife, a life...I just don't know what happened to them", he told me a bit stronger in tone. "Oh" is all I could manage to say. I realize now not what he is but, what I've forced him to become. Society shuns him, gawking at his every attempt of being human. They each walk right past him like a another stone in the pavement, like another leaf on a tree. But, he's more than that. And, I had allowed myself to become one of them.

"Ya know, girlie...life is like trying to lick honey from a throned rose. You just gotta bite through the pain to experience the sweetness." I can tell he hasn't always been this way. I shoot him a smile and hold my head up high. Time dragged on much slower though. He went out his way to make mine easier. Still, he is a bum. I did not dare give him a dollar though, I gave him something more. I gave him a chance.

He is my bridge. I sat with him for about an hour each minute growing more comfortable.He is on some hard times but, he's grateful for every moment.He tells me stories, shares his wisdom and, I've grown to cherish that greasy smile.

There is something within him that makes me want to be a better person....

He's dirty but pure, evil and gentle. He sees the world through a different light; a light that has to be witnessed from inside out. He's accomplished all that's expected of him as a husband, father, and patriot. Still he is hated by most and feared by all. "And when the falling of your tears make a candle disappear, find a way to shine." He is more than a physical.

He is my bridge.
I love him. And, I want to be just like him when I grow up.