It's sitting in a black leather chair
In a room full of pictures of tattooed women
While a guy with gages you could shoot hoops through
Pokes ink into your arm while you try not to cry
And wish desperately that your mother was there.
It's sitting back in a blue polyester chair
With a paper dress on over your clothes
And trying not to swallow too many times
While a doctor who looks like your parents' boss
Asks you about your hobbies, all the while
Digging in your neck with a needle,
Looking for cancer.
It's riding along in the comfort of a baby-blue upholstered bench seat
Of a 1993 silver Crown Victoria, wearing the sunglasses which belonged
To the old man who drove this car before you, the man whose obituary
You keep in the glove compartment, and he keeps you company while you drive
Along, in that quiet way ghosts have, and the whole thing reminds you of your favorite
Country song.
It's fidgeting in the hard wooden pew at the front of the church, uncomfortable
In a dress and already messing up your makeup with endless tears that you can't seem
To stop, because your favorite big brother, your only brother, is getting married today,
And he gave you a bracelet that matches the bride's necklace, and you could barely get through
That bit you were supposed to read because the two of them are absolutely perfect together, and
You realize the groom is crying just as hard as you are.
It's kneeling in the dirt in the front of your house, pushing that little blue cardboard box into the dirt and covering it back up, that box which holds the last ashes of the first pet you really ever had, the one who was secretly always your favorite, and who is resting now beside the ashes of his best friend, the one you never really knew the age of or where he'd come from, or how he'd come to be a part of the family.
It's leaning back in the scratchy, buttery-smelling seats of the movie theatre, watching a movie you've already seen twice but it makes you cry again, and you lean in closer and closer until he finally puts his arm around you and you both feel awful from the worst fries you've ever eaten, but it's okay because the movie's a musical and he actually wanted to go, and he smells like leather and wood smoke and just a little bit too much cologne.
It's moments
In loss
In life
In hope
In fear
In joy
Forever in our memory.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Project Islam: Day 3: "Get the Hell Out of Our Country"
Okay, folks, so here it is. I want to say first off that I will be continuing this project, but I will be praying and following the rules of Islam while wearing the clothes I normally wear. I have also taken the rest of this day (Wednesday) off. Let me explain why.
Everything was going fine until lunch time. I was over at the salad bar, since that's pretty much all I'm allowed to eat here, with the food restrictions. I was reaching for a plate when three guys come up behind me, and push me against the sneeze guard or whatever it's called.
They start yelling at me, saying things like "Get the hell out of our country", and I couldn't move. I could have kicked them or fought back if I could think, but it happened so fast. They were just saying random things about "stupid Muslims" and getting out of America, and the next thing I knew, one of them overturned a big bowl of cottage cheese on my head. I mean a big bowl. The chunky white dairy product, which I usually love, went all over my hiijab and sweater and skirt and shoes.
That was it. No one around me did anything, and these guys just stood there. I don't know if I was in shock, but it was almost like I didn't realize what had happened. So I reached up and pushed some of the cottage cheese off my head, shook it off my shoes, and walked out. As soon as I got back to my dorm, I washed all my clothes and showered, trying to get rid of the milky smell.
I of course told my parents, and they called all over campus to a bunch of deans and I had to call campus security and report it. I meet with a dean of student conduct tomorrow to go over what happened. It's all been so surreal, and I've been the most calm out of anybody.
The worse part isn't even that it happened to me. It's the idea that such bigotry and hatred and ignorance can be present on a campus that supposedly prides itself on its acceptance and diversity. It's disgraceful and it makes me ashamed to be a student here. Just imagine: if that was the reaction to me, someone who has only spent three days as a Muslim, what would it be like for someone who actually was a devout Muslim? I hate to think what horrible things might happen to them. What they did was bad enough in theory, but the fact that they cornered me for being Muslim, for having the misfortune of being judged for the religion I practice (however temporarily) just because it's associated with the radical Muslims who committed the acts of terrorism on 9/11. Listen closely.
NOT ALL MUSLIMS ARE TERRORISTS. MOST MUSLIMS ARE NOT TERRORISTS.
The rituals I've practiced and the prayers I've prayed so far this week are all prayers of thanks and gratitude to Allah for providing for His people. The body is cleansed, the food is blessed before it can be eaten, and a body gives his or her all to Allah's power and will through the ritual prayer, facing Mecca. I put my forehead to the ground and acknowledge that there is a higher power, and that I am grateful for the graces I've been granted. I ask forgiveness for my past and future sins. I cover(ed) my body from head to toe to symbolize that my body is for Allah's use, and I eat only unpasteurized, unprocessed, kosher pareve foods in order to keep my body whole and unaltered. Now you tell me how any of this is a threat to the "traditional" American way of life. No one, no matter what age, race, ethnicity, social or economic status, or religion has any right to tell someone of another age/race/ethnicity/social-economic status how to live, or that the way they are living is wrong and shameful. If you don't understand it, learn about it if you're curious or leave it alone. Don't tear it down. Don't hate. Worship your god and let the other person worship their God/gods/deities in peace.
Everything was going fine until lunch time. I was over at the salad bar, since that's pretty much all I'm allowed to eat here, with the food restrictions. I was reaching for a plate when three guys come up behind me, and push me against the sneeze guard or whatever it's called.
They start yelling at me, saying things like "Get the hell out of our country", and I couldn't move. I could have kicked them or fought back if I could think, but it happened so fast. They were just saying random things about "stupid Muslims" and getting out of America, and the next thing I knew, one of them overturned a big bowl of cottage cheese on my head. I mean a big bowl. The chunky white dairy product, which I usually love, went all over my hiijab and sweater and skirt and shoes.
That was it. No one around me did anything, and these guys just stood there. I don't know if I was in shock, but it was almost like I didn't realize what had happened. So I reached up and pushed some of the cottage cheese off my head, shook it off my shoes, and walked out. As soon as I got back to my dorm, I washed all my clothes and showered, trying to get rid of the milky smell.
I of course told my parents, and they called all over campus to a bunch of deans and I had to call campus security and report it. I meet with a dean of student conduct tomorrow to go over what happened. It's all been so surreal, and I've been the most calm out of anybody.
The worse part isn't even that it happened to me. It's the idea that such bigotry and hatred and ignorance can be present on a campus that supposedly prides itself on its acceptance and diversity. It's disgraceful and it makes me ashamed to be a student here. Just imagine: if that was the reaction to me, someone who has only spent three days as a Muslim, what would it be like for someone who actually was a devout Muslim? I hate to think what horrible things might happen to them. What they did was bad enough in theory, but the fact that they cornered me for being Muslim, for having the misfortune of being judged for the religion I practice (however temporarily) just because it's associated with the radical Muslims who committed the acts of terrorism on 9/11. Listen closely.
NOT ALL MUSLIMS ARE TERRORISTS. MOST MUSLIMS ARE NOT TERRORISTS.
The rituals I've practiced and the prayers I've prayed so far this week are all prayers of thanks and gratitude to Allah for providing for His people. The body is cleansed, the food is blessed before it can be eaten, and a body gives his or her all to Allah's power and will through the ritual prayer, facing Mecca. I put my forehead to the ground and acknowledge that there is a higher power, and that I am grateful for the graces I've been granted. I ask forgiveness for my past and future sins. I cover(ed) my body from head to toe to symbolize that my body is for Allah's use, and I eat only unpasteurized, unprocessed, kosher pareve foods in order to keep my body whole and unaltered. Now you tell me how any of this is a threat to the "traditional" American way of life. No one, no matter what age, race, ethnicity, social or economic status, or religion has any right to tell someone of another age/race/ethnicity/social-economic status how to live, or that the way they are living is wrong and shameful. If you don't understand it, learn about it if you're curious or leave it alone. Don't tear it down. Don't hate. Worship your god and let the other person worship their God/gods/deities in peace.
في سبيل الله،
والرحمن الرحيم.
الحمد رب
الكون الذي خلقنا و
جعلنا في القبائل والأمم،
قد نعلم بعضها البعض، لا أن
ونحن قد يمقت كل منهما الآخر.
إذا كان المنحدر العدو نحو السلام، قم
انت الأعلون إن نحو السلام، و
الثقة الله، لأن الرب هو الذي
ويسمع يعلم كل شيء.
وعبيد الله،
الرحمن الذين يمشون على
الأرض في التواضع، وعندما كنا
التصدي لها، ونحن نقول "السلام".
والرحمن الرحيم.
الحمد رب
الكون الذي خلقنا و
جعلنا في القبائل والأمم،
قد نعلم بعضها البعض، لا أن
ونحن قد يمقت كل منهما الآخر.
إذا كان المنحدر العدو نحو السلام، قم
انت الأعلون إن نحو السلام، و
الثقة الله، لأن الرب هو الذي
ويسمع يعلم كل شيء.
وعبيد الله،
الرحمن الذين يمشون على
الأرض في التواضع، وعندما كنا
التصدي لها، ونحن نقول "السلام".
In the name of Allah,
the beneficent, the merciful.
Praise be to the Lord of the
Universe who has created us and
made us into tribes and nations,
That we may know each other, not that
we may despise each other.
If the enemy incline towards peace, do
thou also incline towards peace, and
trust God, for the Lord is the one that
heareth and knoweth all things.
And the servants of God,
Most Gracious are those who walk on
the Earth in humility, and when we
address them, we say "PEACE."
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Ghusl, Wudu', and Salah: The Practices of Islam
So it's after nine o'clock on the first night I was allowed to do prayers. And boy, was it way more complicated than I expected.
Like I said in the last post, a woman who is menstruating is not allowed to pray until she has ritually cleansed herself twelve hours after her last period. The process of this cleansing is called "ghusl", and it's basically a bath. Before you can perform ghusl however, you must hold "wudu", which means to cleanse oneself from any physical impurities. It's a pretty long process, and slightly different for men than women (women have to perform wudu in privacy, especially if it's right after menstruation). Here's a link to the steps for you to read.
http://islam1.org/how_to_pray/wudu.htm
After performing wudu, you can move on to the ghusl. This also varies according to different branches of Islam, but this is the one I followed:
http://www.islamicinformation.net/2008/07/how-to-perform-ghusl-bath-in-islam.html
In case you were wondering, najaasat is any unclean substance, such as blood, semen, urine, or feces, which might be present on the body. This has to be washed away before you perform ghusl.
I finished ghusl twelve hours after my period, but will have to do it again on Friday, after my evening prayers.
After ghusl is complete, I am free to perform Salah, or the 3 Rakahs (or steps) of the prayers I do five times a day. Luckily, I do not have to take all these steps every time I pray, though truly devout Muslims are encouraged to do so if able.
I really had no idea how involved this all was. It's been a challenge to get it all right, and to find time to do it properly, but I'm doing the best I can. Tomorrow I start praying five times a day.
May Allah bless and keep you,
Sarah
Like I said in the last post, a woman who is menstruating is not allowed to pray until she has ritually cleansed herself twelve hours after her last period. The process of this cleansing is called "ghusl", and it's basically a bath. Before you can perform ghusl however, you must hold "wudu", which means to cleanse oneself from any physical impurities. It's a pretty long process, and slightly different for men than women (women have to perform wudu in privacy, especially if it's right after menstruation). Here's a link to the steps for you to read.
http://islam1.org/how_to_pray/wudu.htm
After performing wudu, you can move on to the ghusl. This also varies according to different branches of Islam, but this is the one I followed:
http://www.islamicinformation.net/2008/07/how-to-perform-ghusl-bath-in-islam.html
In case you were wondering, najaasat is any unclean substance, such as blood, semen, urine, or feces, which might be present on the body. This has to be washed away before you perform ghusl.
I finished ghusl twelve hours after my period, but will have to do it again on Friday, after my evening prayers.
After ghusl is complete, I am free to perform Salah, or the 3 Rakahs (or steps) of the prayers I do five times a day. Luckily, I do not have to take all these steps every time I pray, though truly devout Muslims are encouraged to do so if able.
I really had no idea how involved this all was. It's been a challenge to get it all right, and to find time to do it properly, but I'm doing the best I can. Tomorrow I start praying five times a day.
May Allah bless and keep you,
Sarah
Project Islam: Day 2: "Terrorist"
I realized that in the rush to post day 1, I forgot to mention a few things. Also, don't be too alarmed about the title, I knew it was going to happen eventually, and it might happen again.
Anyway, I forgot to mention the abomination of idleness. According to Islam, it is a great sin to let oneself be idle; that is, to waste time. And see, I am a champion at being idle. I thrive on being idle. This includes watching movies, by the way, or television. It does not include reading, as long as the subject matter of what you're reading is good in Allah's eyes and does not promote sin. In order to watch movies or television, I have devised a plan: I must keep active while doing these things. So while at home, I exercise while my family watches Columbo. In my dorm, I sweep and clean while watching a movie on my laptop, or exercise. I work around this.
So anyway, day two. I will take my cleansing bath tonight and begin evening prayer at nine. I had dry white toast and fruit for breakfast again, and a salad with tomatoes, cucumber, carrot, and oil and vinegar for lunch. It's like a radical diet, but I'm doing better today with the no-caffeine, no-sugar thing. I suppose the four-hour nap helped tremendously with that. :) I'm assuming my father will bless the chicken we're having tonight, as he did last night. I will also have the mealtime prayers to add tomorrow, for both before and after each meal. That is a LOT of prayer. With three meals, I will pray 11 times in total each day, counting the five routine prayers throughout the day.
The first thing that happened today happened while I was walking to breakfast. There was a group of guys behind me, maybe 12 yards away or so, walking the same direction I was. I was almost to the dining hall when one of them yelled, "Hey look, a Muslim!" I can't describe the fear I felt. He was the first to acknowledge what I actually was, and he was within a group of six or seven other guys. I was automatically sure they were going to catch up to me and harass me, or worse. Maybe that's too paranoid, but you can't be sure. There's so much bias against Muslims here in America. My mother literally told me when I started this project never to walk alone. Nothing happened, but it got my radars up.
Then today at lunch, a woman who works at the dining hall and usually greets me with a smile and a "hello" sat a few chairs away from me, with a few other workers. I kid you not, when she sat down two chairs away, she positioned herself with her back to me. My mom says she barely recognizes me, so I understand this woman not knowing who I was, but still. It hurt. I'm growing surprisingly accustomed to keeping my voice down, and not meeting men's eyes, too. A guy from my English class just about ran into me when I was walking into one of the buildings, and I was the one who apologized. I also couldn't hold the door open for him, as I'm not permitted to do so for anyone. Strange. But whenever I do speak now, at least while dressed in the hiijab, I speak quietly and carefully.
The most eye-opening part of today, however, happened during my Ethnic Studies class. Ironically, this is the class through which I was assigned to conduct this project, and it was here I faced the biggest reaction to my appearance. First off, it was very hard to read the board to get the notes, without accidentally looking at my professor's face. It didn't help that he is very big on eye contact with each student. I managed to avoid his eyes, but did glance his face several times. But that wasn't the thing. We were discussing Native Americans, and the professor mentioned something about the way the indigenous people were pushed out of their lands by the colonists, and how they would retaliate by attacking and killing the white man. He called them "early terrorists, in a way". This was when a girl in the front row turned around and just stared at me. Maybe five seconds passed, and she turned around again. I couldn't believe it. I knew it was the word "terrorist" which caused her to do that. And that made me angry. Yes, those behind 9/11 were Muslim, but they were radical Muslims, with extreme hatred towards the U.S. and the westernization it and Europe had brought on their countries. This was an example of the bigotry and ignorance I'd been expecting. I was completely shocked by what this girl had done.
But there was also a fun part of the class. There were only a few people who were outwardly, obviously, not dressed like themselves. One of them was a man dressed as an Orthodox Jew. He was very convincing, with the long black coat, black pants, wide-brimmed black hat, and the curls he'd pinned to the sides of his head. He was even wearing a Star of David. I was impressed, and we chatted for a few minutes after class, and both of us thought it was kind of cool how the two of us were dressed as two groups who traditionally avoided each other (Not all Muslims are from Arab countries, but the Jews and the Arabs have historically hated one another). It was a cool thing.
So here we are at the end of day 2, and it's already been an adventure.
May blessings go with you and yours,
Sarah
Anyway, I forgot to mention the abomination of idleness. According to Islam, it is a great sin to let oneself be idle; that is, to waste time. And see, I am a champion at being idle. I thrive on being idle. This includes watching movies, by the way, or television. It does not include reading, as long as the subject matter of what you're reading is good in Allah's eyes and does not promote sin. In order to watch movies or television, I have devised a plan: I must keep active while doing these things. So while at home, I exercise while my family watches Columbo. In my dorm, I sweep and clean while watching a movie on my laptop, or exercise. I work around this.
So anyway, day two. I will take my cleansing bath tonight and begin evening prayer at nine. I had dry white toast and fruit for breakfast again, and a salad with tomatoes, cucumber, carrot, and oil and vinegar for lunch. It's like a radical diet, but I'm doing better today with the no-caffeine, no-sugar thing. I suppose the four-hour nap helped tremendously with that. :) I'm assuming my father will bless the chicken we're having tonight, as he did last night. I will also have the mealtime prayers to add tomorrow, for both before and after each meal. That is a LOT of prayer. With three meals, I will pray 11 times in total each day, counting the five routine prayers throughout the day.
The first thing that happened today happened while I was walking to breakfast. There was a group of guys behind me, maybe 12 yards away or so, walking the same direction I was. I was almost to the dining hall when one of them yelled, "Hey look, a Muslim!" I can't describe the fear I felt. He was the first to acknowledge what I actually was, and he was within a group of six or seven other guys. I was automatically sure they were going to catch up to me and harass me, or worse. Maybe that's too paranoid, but you can't be sure. There's so much bias against Muslims here in America. My mother literally told me when I started this project never to walk alone. Nothing happened, but it got my radars up.
Then today at lunch, a woman who works at the dining hall and usually greets me with a smile and a "hello" sat a few chairs away from me, with a few other workers. I kid you not, when she sat down two chairs away, she positioned herself with her back to me. My mom says she barely recognizes me, so I understand this woman not knowing who I was, but still. It hurt. I'm growing surprisingly accustomed to keeping my voice down, and not meeting men's eyes, too. A guy from my English class just about ran into me when I was walking into one of the buildings, and I was the one who apologized. I also couldn't hold the door open for him, as I'm not permitted to do so for anyone. Strange. But whenever I do speak now, at least while dressed in the hiijab, I speak quietly and carefully.
The most eye-opening part of today, however, happened during my Ethnic Studies class. Ironically, this is the class through which I was assigned to conduct this project, and it was here I faced the biggest reaction to my appearance. First off, it was very hard to read the board to get the notes, without accidentally looking at my professor's face. It didn't help that he is very big on eye contact with each student. I managed to avoid his eyes, but did glance his face several times. But that wasn't the thing. We were discussing Native Americans, and the professor mentioned something about the way the indigenous people were pushed out of their lands by the colonists, and how they would retaliate by attacking and killing the white man. He called them "early terrorists, in a way". This was when a girl in the front row turned around and just stared at me. Maybe five seconds passed, and she turned around again. I couldn't believe it. I knew it was the word "terrorist" which caused her to do that. And that made me angry. Yes, those behind 9/11 were Muslim, but they were radical Muslims, with extreme hatred towards the U.S. and the westernization it and Europe had brought on their countries. This was an example of the bigotry and ignorance I'd been expecting. I was completely shocked by what this girl had done.
But there was also a fun part of the class. There were only a few people who were outwardly, obviously, not dressed like themselves. One of them was a man dressed as an Orthodox Jew. He was very convincing, with the long black coat, black pants, wide-brimmed black hat, and the curls he'd pinned to the sides of his head. He was even wearing a Star of David. I was impressed, and we chatted for a few minutes after class, and both of us thought it was kind of cool how the two of us were dressed as two groups who traditionally avoided each other (Not all Muslims are from Arab countries, but the Jews and the Arabs have historically hated one another). It was a cool thing.
So here we are at the end of day 2, and it's already been an adventure.
May blessings go with you and yours,
Sarah
Project Islam: Day 1: "Don't Judge"
First of all I should explain what Project Islam is. I was assigned a week ago by my Ethnic Studies professor to choose an ethnicity, a cultural set, a disability, or religion to 'become' for one entire school week, and to make it as authentic as I wanted or was possible. Initially I planned to go around campus in a wheelchair. This would prove to be especially difficult since the building I live in does not have an elevator, and I live on the third floor. However, I was unable to acquire a wheelchair in time, so at the last minute I chose to spend the week as a Muslim, practicing Islam.
I assumed of course that this might be a particularly risky route to take, simply because of the bias and fear surrounding Islam and the Muslim people because of 9/11 and the Taliban. I won't say I wasn't, and still am, extremely nervous about the reactions and actions of fellow students on campus. The first morning, I barely wanted to leave the dorm building. I was afraid of being cornered, challenged, or worse.
I decided, as I often do, to go all-out. I learned how to wear a hiijab, the headscarf worn by Muslim women, which much to my surprise I've already mastered! I wear long sleeve shirts, and long skirts to properly cover myself, and I avoid eye/body contact with men, eat only foods which aren't pasteurized, processed, or contain unnatural sugars or preservatives. I won't be able to pray until Wednesday however, and this is because women who are menstruating aren't permitted to pray, and must wait twelve hours after their last period to take a ritual cleansing bath. Only after these 12 hours and the ritual are they allowed to pray again. So tonight I will take that bath, just in time for the evening prayer at nine o'clock. I'll wake up again at midnight, and will continue the cycle at seven, noon, five, and nine the following days, through Friday night.
The first day brought a lot of stares. This was one of the toughest things for me, because I absolutely hate to be stared at. It's not to say I wasn't expecting it, but I hated it still. I had the thought that maybe, besides the hiijab, maybe one of the reasons people are so uncomfortable is because I am white. Maybe they recognize me and wonder if I went through a radical Muslim conversion. Nobody's asked me about it yet, and I highly doubt anyone will.
Another difficult part is the hunger. I'm so used to eating a lot of food, food not necessarily good for me, and I drink pop quite often. I consider myself in good health, and exercise daily, but this is somethng completely new. I'm existing on fruit and vegetables, and plain chicken I can only eat if it's been blessed, which so far my father has done for me. I ate a whole plain potato yesterday with supper. I can't have coffee, which I've become pretty dependant on. I could drink it, but only if it's black, because both the creamer I use and either sugar or Splenda are forbidden, because of pasteurization. I'm also allowed white bread, and I'm not sure why because I always assumed it was more processed than wheat bread. But I can't have wheat germ, so wheat products are forbidden. There was a guy behind me in my second class who apparently whispered something about me as I sat down. This is a class where I'm made fun of almost on a regular basis, even when I'm dressed as I usually am. Anyway, he said something which I didn't hear. What I did hear, however, was a girl behind me who said back, "Hey, don't judge." This was the first verbal confrontation I'd had about it, and I was grateful for the girl, but didn't have the courage to turn around.
It sounds funny, but it's really hard not looking at men. The only man I'm permitted to touch or look in the eye is my father (or my husband, but I don't have one of those!). I only have two male professors, but when they speak to me I have to look just over their shoulder; the same with other men who talk to me, which hasn't been too many.
I'm also not permitted to raise my voice, which I do on a regular basis, but usually out of enthusiasm. I've broken that rule so many times already.
Anyways, kids, that's all for now. I'll be checking in every day this week with more. Wish me luck!
Blessings from Allah,
Sarah
I assumed of course that this might be a particularly risky route to take, simply because of the bias and fear surrounding Islam and the Muslim people because of 9/11 and the Taliban. I won't say I wasn't, and still am, extremely nervous about the reactions and actions of fellow students on campus. The first morning, I barely wanted to leave the dorm building. I was afraid of being cornered, challenged, or worse.
I decided, as I often do, to go all-out. I learned how to wear a hiijab, the headscarf worn by Muslim women, which much to my surprise I've already mastered! I wear long sleeve shirts, and long skirts to properly cover myself, and I avoid eye/body contact with men, eat only foods which aren't pasteurized, processed, or contain unnatural sugars or preservatives. I won't be able to pray until Wednesday however, and this is because women who are menstruating aren't permitted to pray, and must wait twelve hours after their last period to take a ritual cleansing bath. Only after these 12 hours and the ritual are they allowed to pray again. So tonight I will take that bath, just in time for the evening prayer at nine o'clock. I'll wake up again at midnight, and will continue the cycle at seven, noon, five, and nine the following days, through Friday night.
The first day brought a lot of stares. This was one of the toughest things for me, because I absolutely hate to be stared at. It's not to say I wasn't expecting it, but I hated it still. I had the thought that maybe, besides the hiijab, maybe one of the reasons people are so uncomfortable is because I am white. Maybe they recognize me and wonder if I went through a radical Muslim conversion. Nobody's asked me about it yet, and I highly doubt anyone will.
Another difficult part is the hunger. I'm so used to eating a lot of food, food not necessarily good for me, and I drink pop quite often. I consider myself in good health, and exercise daily, but this is somethng completely new. I'm existing on fruit and vegetables, and plain chicken I can only eat if it's been blessed, which so far my father has done for me. I ate a whole plain potato yesterday with supper. I can't have coffee, which I've become pretty dependant on. I could drink it, but only if it's black, because both the creamer I use and either sugar or Splenda are forbidden, because of pasteurization. I'm also allowed white bread, and I'm not sure why because I always assumed it was more processed than wheat bread. But I can't have wheat germ, so wheat products are forbidden. There was a guy behind me in my second class who apparently whispered something about me as I sat down. This is a class where I'm made fun of almost on a regular basis, even when I'm dressed as I usually am. Anyway, he said something which I didn't hear. What I did hear, however, was a girl behind me who said back, "Hey, don't judge." This was the first verbal confrontation I'd had about it, and I was grateful for the girl, but didn't have the courage to turn around.
It sounds funny, but it's really hard not looking at men. The only man I'm permitted to touch or look in the eye is my father (or my husband, but I don't have one of those!). I only have two male professors, but when they speak to me I have to look just over their shoulder; the same with other men who talk to me, which hasn't been too many.
I'm also not permitted to raise my voice, which I do on a regular basis, but usually out of enthusiasm. I've broken that rule so many times already.
Anyways, kids, that's all for now. I'll be checking in every day this week with more. Wish me luck!
Blessings from Allah,
Sarah
Monday, February 18, 2013
Four Months
We talked for hours
Ate too much
And you told me about Nepal.
I told you about Elvis.
And got my umbrella stuck
In Seth’s hair.
You laughed at me because
I slept through the night holdingThe drumstick Bo had actually touched.
You took a picture of me sleeping
And kept calling me Mr. Lugnut
After the character from the board game we played
The night we first met.
And stay friends with you
Even though you guys would cuddle
And kiss and post pictures together
And I wanted to kill her for it.
One day, I didn’t know when, and we
Were gonna see him together.
We were going to see the world. We were going to cook and
laugh and watch movies and dance. You were going to help me with the banjo and
I was going to help you decorate your apartment.
Four months ago, I was just getting to know you.
Four months later, I wish we’d never met. Sunday, February 3, 2013
My Crazy Bedazzled Elvis-Loving Family
Let me start off by saying that I've seen Joseph Hall in concert officially 24 times. Twenty-four shows, spread out across almost 3 and a half years. Which might sound impressive, unless you talk to the same woman I did who'd been to nearly 200 shows in less than that time. But still, it's a number I'm proud of, and a number I never thought I'd be keeping track of.
Three years ago, I was a sophomore in high school. My mother took me to Northwest High School in Grand Island, Nebraska, to see this guy who sang Elvis. The first song he sang was How Great Thou Art. I was crying seconds after he opened his mouth. Boom. Just like that.
And just tonight, I saw Joseph for the 24th time at the Minden Opera House in Minden, Nebraska. Seeing him tonight, even after all the shows, the dinners, the hugs, the tears, getting to know him and his family and a lot of the people who follow him all over creation, it was just as fresh, just as real, just as breathtaking as it was three years ago. I danced. I sang along to every single song. I cried when he did the American Trilogy. And I hugged him several times after the show.
It was all so good, every song was flawless and beautiful and mindblowingly real. All the women, most of them in the front row, who have seen him countless times and wear his face on pins, t-shirts, purses, mugs, and now bobbleheads (I must confess, I got one of those), were there as usual. They scrambled and shoved and reached for the scarves and teddy bears as they always do, they screamed and howled and whistled every time he moved, they showered him with plastic leis and wiped away his sweat for him and begged for kisses. And though I must admit, sometimes I get really tired of their whole routine every show, I hardly noticed them tonight. The gentleman sitting next to me, who got a better seat since the other person I was supposed to have with me got sick, commented several times on how he could never have the patience to deal with those kind of people. But they barely registered with me. I didn't really see them because I was too busy taking in the music.
I love Elvis. I've loved Elvis since I was eight years old watching the movie Lilo and Stitch at a friend's house. The film uses several Elvis songs throughout, like Devil in Disguise and Jailhouse Rock, and because of that movie my mother bought me my first Elvis CD. I was instantly hooked, and my love only grew as I took in more music and more pictures, and visiting Graceland when I was 13 years old simply sealed the deal. Elvis was and is such a huge part of my life, and it's through him that I've met so many amazing, beautiful people and grown into the kind of person I am. I have more than half of his recorded music, books, posters, concerts and movies on DVD, I've been to both his Memphis home and his childhood home in Tupelo, Mississippi twice, and I'm still hungry for more.
Through all of this, Elvis has become a source of love, and comfort for me. Whenever I'm having a bad day or something happens in my life that causes me to doubt myself or my purpose, I listen to Elvis. I watch one of his concerts. And whenever possible, I go see Joseph's show.
Joseph brings Elvis to life for those of us who weren't lucky enough be there while he was alive. He dresses up in those glittery jackets, those polyester suits, and he makes us believe again. He pours his own soul into every song and almost embodies Elvis for a little while. Even tonight there was a moment, I can't remember which song it was, where something happened, something clicked, and for the briefest of seconds, I believe I was seeing Elvis Presley, through Joseph. I can't even fully explain it, but he was singing and it was like his face changed. He BECAME Elvis, in a way. I saw it, and I felt what I imagine audiences back then felt: rapture. Disbelief. Unshakeable joy.
I've had a lot of ups and downs in my life, in the short time that I've been on this Earth. Nothing that makes me any more entitled to pity or special favors than the next guy, but things that have brought me down and made me feel sometimes like the world didn't want me here. And through a lot of these things, the Hall family has been there. The less crazy fans have been there. The family friends who run the souvenir table and ticket table and run the spotlights have been there. Every time I go to a show lately I end up hugging at least six or seven different people, most of whom I didn't know a year ago. I've got twenty people asking me how I've been. Joseph's father treats me like one of his own children. I've hung out with his sister at her apartment. Joseph himself takes the time every single show to sit down with me and catch up on my life, and talk Elvis.
My point is, yeah there's crazy fans, but they're not all crazy, and even if they were, I wouldn't let that stop me from going to shows. Not only is this a place I can go to see Elvis reincarnated, Elvis reborn and very much alive in the form of an astoundingly talented 28-year-old. This is a place where I know I am always welcome, always appreciated, and always loved. I consider a lot of these people family, and they talk to me and I to them like we've known each other for years and years. His father Kyle, his sister Caroline, and especially Joseph have become treasures for me to know, irreplaceable safe havens that I know will always be there to tell me how awesome and beautiful I am when the whole rest of the world says otherwise. I can escape here. I can be just as energetic and free and off-key as I want with 200 other people who love Elvis (almost) as much as I do and who don't care that I'm not a normal 18-year-old. I am loved for being an Elvis fan. I am loved for being a Joseph fan. I am loved because I'm there and I'm singing and crying and laughing and hugging all along with everybody else. I am immeasurably grateful for the music and legacy of Elvis Presley, and for the ridiculous talent and heart that God has given Joseph Hall. They have both radically changed my life for the better, and I can't thank either one enough.
Three years ago, I was a sophomore in high school. My mother took me to Northwest High School in Grand Island, Nebraska, to see this guy who sang Elvis. The first song he sang was How Great Thou Art. I was crying seconds after he opened his mouth. Boom. Just like that.
And just tonight, I saw Joseph for the 24th time at the Minden Opera House in Minden, Nebraska. Seeing him tonight, even after all the shows, the dinners, the hugs, the tears, getting to know him and his family and a lot of the people who follow him all over creation, it was just as fresh, just as real, just as breathtaking as it was three years ago. I danced. I sang along to every single song. I cried when he did the American Trilogy. And I hugged him several times after the show.
It was all so good, every song was flawless and beautiful and mindblowingly real. All the women, most of them in the front row, who have seen him countless times and wear his face on pins, t-shirts, purses, mugs, and now bobbleheads (I must confess, I got one of those), were there as usual. They scrambled and shoved and reached for the scarves and teddy bears as they always do, they screamed and howled and whistled every time he moved, they showered him with plastic leis and wiped away his sweat for him and begged for kisses. And though I must admit, sometimes I get really tired of their whole routine every show, I hardly noticed them tonight. The gentleman sitting next to me, who got a better seat since the other person I was supposed to have with me got sick, commented several times on how he could never have the patience to deal with those kind of people. But they barely registered with me. I didn't really see them because I was too busy taking in the music.
I love Elvis. I've loved Elvis since I was eight years old watching the movie Lilo and Stitch at a friend's house. The film uses several Elvis songs throughout, like Devil in Disguise and Jailhouse Rock, and because of that movie my mother bought me my first Elvis CD. I was instantly hooked, and my love only grew as I took in more music and more pictures, and visiting Graceland when I was 13 years old simply sealed the deal. Elvis was and is such a huge part of my life, and it's through him that I've met so many amazing, beautiful people and grown into the kind of person I am. I have more than half of his recorded music, books, posters, concerts and movies on DVD, I've been to both his Memphis home and his childhood home in Tupelo, Mississippi twice, and I'm still hungry for more.
Through all of this, Elvis has become a source of love, and comfort for me. Whenever I'm having a bad day or something happens in my life that causes me to doubt myself or my purpose, I listen to Elvis. I watch one of his concerts. And whenever possible, I go see Joseph's show.
Joseph brings Elvis to life for those of us who weren't lucky enough be there while he was alive. He dresses up in those glittery jackets, those polyester suits, and he makes us believe again. He pours his own soul into every song and almost embodies Elvis for a little while. Even tonight there was a moment, I can't remember which song it was, where something happened, something clicked, and for the briefest of seconds, I believe I was seeing Elvis Presley, through Joseph. I can't even fully explain it, but he was singing and it was like his face changed. He BECAME Elvis, in a way. I saw it, and I felt what I imagine audiences back then felt: rapture. Disbelief. Unshakeable joy.
I've had a lot of ups and downs in my life, in the short time that I've been on this Earth. Nothing that makes me any more entitled to pity or special favors than the next guy, but things that have brought me down and made me feel sometimes like the world didn't want me here. And through a lot of these things, the Hall family has been there. The less crazy fans have been there. The family friends who run the souvenir table and ticket table and run the spotlights have been there. Every time I go to a show lately I end up hugging at least six or seven different people, most of whom I didn't know a year ago. I've got twenty people asking me how I've been. Joseph's father treats me like one of his own children. I've hung out with his sister at her apartment. Joseph himself takes the time every single show to sit down with me and catch up on my life, and talk Elvis.
My point is, yeah there's crazy fans, but they're not all crazy, and even if they were, I wouldn't let that stop me from going to shows. Not only is this a place I can go to see Elvis reincarnated, Elvis reborn and very much alive in the form of an astoundingly talented 28-year-old. This is a place where I know I am always welcome, always appreciated, and always loved. I consider a lot of these people family, and they talk to me and I to them like we've known each other for years and years. His father Kyle, his sister Caroline, and especially Joseph have become treasures for me to know, irreplaceable safe havens that I know will always be there to tell me how awesome and beautiful I am when the whole rest of the world says otherwise. I can escape here. I can be just as energetic and free and off-key as I want with 200 other people who love Elvis (almost) as much as I do and who don't care that I'm not a normal 18-year-old. I am loved for being an Elvis fan. I am loved for being a Joseph fan. I am loved because I'm there and I'm singing and crying and laughing and hugging all along with everybody else. I am immeasurably grateful for the music and legacy of Elvis Presley, and for the ridiculous talent and heart that God has given Joseph Hall. They have both radically changed my life for the better, and I can't thank either one enough.
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