L'Amitié Est l'Amour Sans Ailes...

Our final assignment in my teaching for a pluralistic society class is to find something we, for lack of a better word, 'suck' at and describe why and how we suck. I believe the object is to identify and explore the depths of our weaknesses and how they have come to be such, as opposed to our strengths. Here's a sparknotes version of my essay:

PerplxinTexan on why I suck at love: I just wrote,"Warm up very slowly in courting and relationships. The hottest love can have the coldest end. There are lots of important -ships in life. Big ships, small ships, ships happen. But, the most important ship of all is friendship. You can't love without being friends. Many a marriage has ended because people stopped being friends, people we love, laugh, and trust with.

Maybe it's lust, hate, like, or jealousy. But, it will never be love. It will never be love without being friends first. My problem is I've got one too many friends, or at least people who consider me a friend. The boundaries in my life are skewed, ill-defined and fading. We know a classroom is a classroom because we call it that. But, just because he calls me a friend doesn't mean I am. I should love slow because, love is not tricky. Friendship is tricky."

I'd Go Around A Time or Two Just To Waste My Time With You...

August 02. 2009

This is the story of a blog(her) who looked like the sun and breathed like the clouds, spreading light when she smiled and darkness when she faded. Too bad, she didn't know her own worth. She kept her days busied with being alive but, never with living. No, no, she wasn't ungrateful of the life nor the blessings which shower her, rather she was just drowning in all the opportunities she had. So she journaled often, scribbling down thoughts, noting that attitudes are contagious, wondering if hers was worthy of catching, but never passing it on. But that's the problem with worthy people and good advice, it's always needed, rarely expressed, and often scribbled. So she scribbles often, here or maybe there but, never in the air. If you reveal your secrets to the wind she says, you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees. And so to herself the untapped ability remains.

But, tonight it all changed...

Tonight I wrote down what I truly want out of life, a package of 38 pastel sharpies, fresh sidewalk chalk, bubble mint gum (for 2 people) , the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of water running through. I want air that smells of grass with dew nestled atop it, and children eating Popsicles while running through sprinklers. I want a mother to scold her son for running through the house with shoes on and a couple on the street to whisper about it all. I want that couple to be me and whomever he maybe. But, how pretell am I to tell my parents that in the final semester of schooling I want to leave. I want to sip mango peach chai atop a stoop in Espana (Spain). I want to chase geese in the streets and ride a bicycle to work. I want to work for minimum wage at a small school where the kids can't pronounce my name and I like it. I want my job descriptions to include opening up juice boxes and pouring Lego's onto the floor. I want to grow my hair long and maybe a few tomatoes. Then deep, deep into the night,I'd gaze out into the night sky and write love letters to the moon. And almost in complete jealousy you'd play a lullaby to the sun.

We confess to little faults only to persuade ourselves that we have no great ones. But, of course we do. And if her only fault was that she missed out on love, it's no fault worth taking. She'd wrong a 1000 times over to miss the taste of love just once. And so, I confess my weaknesses to the wind and pray not that God make my load any lighter but, rather he make my shoulders stronger. And should He in that guide my love letter to the moon and the stars fall down onto you, then I will be happy.

Because in the end love has no desire but to fulfill itself.

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.

I Know It's Past Visiting Hours But, Can I Please Give Him These Flowers?

"Is he just another page?"

Relationships are like words. They are never actually defined. And with him**, I like that. I like that we are never the same pair of people on any given day. You'll never find a picture of us in a dictionary. Thesaurus's aren't worthy either. We're both synonyms, and antonyms. Nouns are jealous and verbs take pointers. Relationships are like words.

I tried explaining that Valentines day was a complete sham. It's a reminder to all the single loners that they aren't worthy of a relationship and a confirmation for everyone else that their relationships suck. I tried explaining to him that the kid's in my class made the ugliest cards for each other and that they adored them. I tried explaining that it was much too hard for me to admit I'm a closet romantic. I tried explaining how much I valued him in our non-existent-relationship-word-like definition.But, before I got to that part he said, "To you we aren't in the dictionary. Because to you, the words us and me have no meaning."Then, he hung up.

I'm the Grinch of Valentines day. First I made all the kids in my class make valentines for people they didn't want to. They made cards for classmates they haven't spoken 5 words towards the entire semester. Some of them even cried. But I, I just smiled, thinking today I was starting a movement. I thought I was teaching them what love really is. I thought that they knew love couldn't be defined. But, he's right it's not them, it's me that can't define it.

I can't define love because, I destroyed the meaning.

I'm coming to find that I'm not very good at relationships. And by relationships I mean any--friendships, courtships, leaderships (refer to my teaching abilities). Basically my -ships are shits. And for as much work as I put into the people in my life the outcome is failing.

I'm a teacher who's failing.
I'm a relationship therapist who's single.
It's raining and I still have braces.

He was my best friend and truth be told I'm sorry I didn't fight for us. It sucks that we never talk.Until he called today to see if I was alright**(2) I thought he forgot who I was. I figured I wasn't worthy enough for his memory. It was a long departure ending our decade of friendship, that still isn't complete. I just want to know how long of a journey this is and where the next rest stop is, because waiting to see if he'll text back is like holding your pee. I've been holding now for 7 hrs. Wonder how much longer I can hold?

Relationships are like words.But, what is the word that defines him, you, and I?



**1=Him ,**2= anniversary to the death of a mutual friend

All My Loving is Sent To You...

Everyone knows him, he's the kid who has everything. He stares effortlessly into everyone's soul. His smile resonates throughout a room, into the darkest of caves and the blackest of hearts. he's every girls dream. He is loved by all and hated by none except, her. Boy meets girl. "I hate you", she scowls out. Suddenly he's breathless. He's taken aback by her beauty and grace. Now he realizes all the barriers within himself that allow him to be perfection. It is denial and conformity that have allowed him to be this way. More than any other soul he was trapped. "Thank you", he whispers back. All of his barriers come crashing down within him, he is finally released.Now he is miserable. He's in love. And, it's all her fault.

I want to write a book. I want this to be the introduction. I want it to be about the greatest love that almost was. Unfortunately, most of it is based on a true story. Fortunately, I can re-write their fate. I can finally edit my worth. I've documented most of my journeys over the past 5 years in lace, lined, and trimmed paper. About 2 years ago I decided I would keep every journal I ever tainted and one day do the unimaginable.

On my daughters 16th birthday I hope to grant her two things: peace, and opportunity. Granted all of this would take place years from now, AFTER I actually HAVE a daughter. But, I hope to give her my old journals and a blank one of her own. It would give her peace of mind and the opportunity of a lifetime.It'll be an abstract symbol for the past, present, and her blank future. I hope to inspire and guide her through my jottings and mistakes but, more than that I hope she can acknowledge and recognize the growth. It's not only the physical curves and loops of my inked writing but, my spiritual and mental capability. I hope she sees where it all started and she dreams about where it ends. I've not decided at what age I will discontinue the journalings to my unborn daughter. All I know is that as blessed as I am with a more than capable mother I wish she would communicate her strength in other forms. Sometimes trying isn't enough and actions can't do justice to words. Sometimes it's by examining others' flaws we come to realize our strengths. It's the paradox of love and hate, strength and weakness. I more than want but, need to give her a piece of me.

"Do it and risk your soul", that's what he says. Your looking at your journals through sacred eyes but, don't be so sure it won't backfire. My friends want to protect me from my own unborn daughter but, I know better. Or at least I hope I do. And if she gains nothing else from my shouted cursive and moody tales I hope she finishes. I hope she finds the strength I've never had and finishes my unpublished tale of the greatest love that almost was.

2 months later she sits alone on a sidewalk. Schools over rated and sometimes she doesn't have the energy to prove everybody wrong. She takes out a pen and scribbles on the sidewalk 'lies make the world go 'round'. He sees her from a distant afraid to approach. But, with all of his walls broken down and no reservations he veers in closer, all to eager to feel her heart beat. She's fragile. She's vulnerable. He loves it. She looks up at him and caresses his face."Lie to me", she says. "I love you" he whispers.

Yours Is The First Face I've Ever Seen. I Must've Been Blind Before Thee....

Eid Mubarak!

Gag me with a shoe....Why dot Muslim women seem to think they know whats better for you than you do for yourself? Apparently Ramadan ending+ Me in heels= Halal hookup at Eid salaht. I mean we only just exited a month of purifying intentions and checking motives.What offended me most was not my khalto's* offer to 'introduce' me to her nephew. What offended me most is that she said I was 'good enough for him'. Thank you? Uh, sorry but since when did love come with a package of terms and conditions? More importantly when did I waiver away my rights? Maybe when I was way younger I didn't read the fine print my parents forever warned against and now must suffer my eternal fate.

Maybe.

Height,weight, color/race,religion, account balance, location, age, siblings, lifestyle. So many factors, so little time. I'm no Bella Swan, I need a commitment. One thing I AM sure of about my future husband (if any at all) is that he will be mine, and I will love him like the world is ending. I refuse to allow her simple factors and preferences to dominate my life. So as she moves to smile and peck a kiss on each of my perfectly blushed cheeks I say 'Thanks for your offer to rule my life but, I think I'll pass....besides, I want inter-racial babies.'

This Girl Has Got Stronger, And If I Knew Then What I Know Now I Would've Told Myself Don't Worry Any Longer...

And so the snow falls, piece by piece. Each flake blends into the stagnant, delicious, air. She sits alone on a stoop, head in hands. Her precious cheeks are flushed illuminating a brilliant hue of crimson. Each tear that falls seemingly freezes. 2 am on a November eve she cries. So, many nights she prayed he would lay silenced, not able to yell at her. And, now he does.
The stroke took all abilities of such a movement away. And, why the tears fall now is but a mystery; why a year after his death, at a graduation party she remembers her step-father nobody knows. She's bruised but, not broken. And yet still she sits in the A&F hoodie alone.
Or so she thought.

Three years. It was three years ago today when he entered my life. He, the fateful 'best-friend'. My world was abruptly thrown into chaos. I was forced to release control. And while everyone else thought I was just having a 'moment' he chose to share it with me. I won't lie, I never noticed him before that 'moment' but, now I wish we could share it again.

My hijab is drenched with salt infused tear drops. He sat next to me and spoke only two words "It's ok" and the world fell silent. But, how? How could it be "ok"? How could he know? There I sat, the concrete angel unable to control her tears, thoughts, or heart and all he could do was watch me. We sat without words between us for almost 2hrs then I slowed the pace of my breathing and my tragedy. As the last of my tears fell he suddenly spoke again, "Just, promise me you won't cry any more." My bashful eyes wince up as if to ask "Why not?". He too drops his head yet, raises his voice and says, "Because you're gorgeous when you cry..."

Gorgeous.

I consider myself a strong person. I thought I was an intelligent, driven, and highly capable human-being and yet, I cried. Since the age of 5 when my parents divorced I decided tears were a weakness. And, maybe that's why for so long I was determined that he was truly the 'best-friend'. He was the ultimate, never again would I trust anyone as much as him. And why? Because he saw me in my weakest. He saw me alone, with tears.

And, that meant everything.

Three years. It took me three years to realize there is a beauty in the breaking. I am an intelligent, driven, and highly capable human-being. I am. And, that is not for him to take away. Tears are not the definition of strength or weakness nor do they define me. Of everything I have to offer the world and, all that I am I allowed one person to be my best because, of my worst. He is the best I once thought.But, in a lifetime where are all things are temporary I should've known better.

Gorgeous.

That word is now the equivalence of regret. I don't regret what we had but, I regret the path I took in it. I heard we should blame it on me for friendships sake. Because, I saw him on Thursday and all I could think is how gorgeous he looked. How regretfully shameful his eyes were and with such a vengeance he glared at me. It hurt much more however, to know that beyond the hate he was in pain. He was me. He was me that fateful November night; bruised but, not broken. He was me, sitting alone at the park. I am gorgeous; for I now I know that he is me and yet I am not him.

He did for me that night what none other attempted. And yet, I, when seeing him in nearly exact circumstances did not do the same. I wasn't his anchor. I didn't tell him "it's ok." And, maybe that makes me a horrible person. Maybe I never deserved his friendship. Maybe it never was "ok". But, maybe I was never gorgeous to begin with. Alot has changed in those three years. I'm happy. I wouldn't be what I am today without him. But, at the same time anybody can sympathize with the sufferings of a friend, but it requires a very fine nature to sympathize with a friend's success. I've changed. I am an intelligent, driven, and highly capable human-being.

Three Years. I accept that we are no longer 'best-friends'. I do not accept that we are no longer friends. I see what others do not. I see him. The best mirror is an old friend; so in order to deal with him, I realize I must first deal with myself. MLK Jr. once spoke "In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends." And what more is a 'best-friend' than a single soul in two bodies? Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light. And so with that I will stay by him. Maybe, I'm not ready to say yet, "it's ok". Maybe, I'm not ready to cry. But maybe now that we are both bruised we can find a way to heal, together. And perhaps he will find his best and I will recover my friend.

"Be slow in choosing a friend, slower in changing."

-Benjamin Franklin

I Think I Have A Problem, I Think I Think Too Much...

Stop me before I do something I'll regret. I often wonder why people use such phrases. It seems so simple if it's bad, haram, evil then avoid it. Easier said than done though. When I look back at my life and how my Islam and understandings in life have developed I can't help but frown [followed by a quick smile] upon the events that lead into who I am today. I think 'oh how foolish I was then'. Sometimes when I watch my siblings I even think to myself the famed "well, back in my day..." Hard to believe we even have a 'day'. A day when Doug and Spice Girls owned. Pluto was a planet and math was still done using pen and paper. Back then when I liked boys I bit them. Fun was considered outdoors, not in. Cell phones were 'mobiles', but only the elderly needed such. Life was good. Simple and complete was the world.

Today is a new dawning however. Pluto is gone and so are the bare necessities. Lion King is no longer a simple film about lions.It's considered inappropriate and laced with racial and sexual innuendos. You can't trust pen and paper. You can't trust the elderly either.I don't bite anymore but it seems they do. And cell phones=drama.

Boys. **sigh**

Long story short I loathe females who carry on with males in ways that could become easily misinterpreted. "It's haram I know but, we have good intentions." Apparently I'm the resident Gender Relations expert. I'm all for helping but, can someone, anyone, explain to me how you have a haram relationship for 'the sake of Allah (swt)'. Tell me how it's haram in a halal way. Tell me how you are 'just friends'. Tell me you know it's wrong and you are STILL going to do it. At least than you'd save the sin of lying. And, I can't completely say that I am not guilty. Sometimes though I want someone to yell some common sense at me. Because lately common sense isn't so common.

“Between men and women there is no friendship possible.There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship.”

One of my now three best friends is male. was....male. He hasn't spoken to me for almost a month today. Suddenly no text, phone calls, IMs, visits on campus not even the occasional nuisance of a forwarded email. I can't help but think it's my own doing. Maybe the Facebook prank was a bit much. But now, there's nothing at all.To me he's dead or maybe it's the other way around. I miss him honestly. And part of me thinks it's good he's 'gone' maybe a sign. But, all of me knows better. He's trying to prove something. I wish I knew what though.

I wish his 15yr old brother wouldn't text me Lil' Wayne lyrics during ju'm3ah. I wish he didn't text calling me a slut. I wish his 'crew' didn't look at me so disappointed.More than that though I wish he would use his words instead of others assumptions. I wish I'd stop counting the days, and make the necessary change to have my buddy back. I wish that the people around me would stop saying it's because to him I'm more than a buddy. I wish I'd stop wishing.

I know what to do but, after reading this I think it'd be alot easier to 'accidentally' text him. I could 'accidentally,text everything I believe. 'Accidentally' I could express everything I know. Or I could accidentally give him a reason to block me from his existence.

This isn't the first time he's done the ignore-me game. He waits until I can't stand it and want to have a meltdown. Our battles should stop being repetitious forms of poetry. But, maybe that's the attraction. I'll just write this down with hopes that he'll understand. I can no longer be disciplined by the frustrations of an insecure man. Real friends will be there regardless.

Or at least I hope so.