Bomb Threat.

So, we had a bomb threat at school a little while ago. I arrived on campus to find the Mall area swarming with cops and yellow police tape. As I walked through the campus I heard bits and pieces, with the rumor being there was a student who had a gun.

Here is what is known so far:

http://knightnews.com/2009/11/breaking-ucf-police-swarm-classroom-1-hpa/

http://news.ucf.edu/UCFnews/index?page=article&id=002400413702bfed0124310819fb0034ae

Hairdressers, Judas, and more.

Yesterday, I went to Ulta to get my hair did. As the hairdresser was snipping away, we started talking. Inevitably, we wandered to the topic of religion. Because of the fact that I wear hijab, and always request an alcove to the side where no one can see, any hairdresser I go to is always curious. At one point I was explaining the difference between our beliefs about Prophet Isa [Jesus], upon him be peace.

“We revere Jesus as a prophet, not as the–”

“What?” my hairdresser interjected. “You revere Judas?”

Heh. My powers of enunciation leave much to be desired. I repeated myself again, making sure to emphasize JEEESUUS.

We also discussed Slumdog Millionaire, the new movie Precious, how Jamaicans got their curry (from Desi people), and how to balance style with hijab.

I find the name “Ulta” amusing, because in Urdu it means upside down, or not as it should be. Thankfully, she didn’t do an “ulta” job on my hair.

Nidal Malik Hasan: Struggle

I know, the apologies for the lack of posting get tired real quick, so I won’t. Truthfully I have not been feeling the title of this blog and have been feeling far too profane to post.

I did have to come out of the woodwork because big things have been going down that I can’t NOT comment on.

So some guy in Ft. Hood went off his rocker and shot up a bunch of his fellow soldiers, and while the event is very tragic and sad I don’t get the luxury of participating in the boohoos because this guy happened to be Muslim with an Arabic name, and I have to make sure I scour every article I can come across so I don’t look like an ignorant dumbass when people ask me the inevitable, “So what do you think about what happened at Ft. Hood/Iraq/Afghanistan/Pakistan/Mumbai/9-11/Abu Ghurayb/The second coming of Christ?“

Also, I’ve been reading and silently (until now, at least) echoing the sentiments of everyone’s facebook status that sounds along the lines of  “thanks, you big jerkball, for flying your freak flag and shooting everyone up, why oh why couldn’t you have been a nice bland Caucasian?”

I appreciate the emails I’ve been getting from the major Islamic organizations, the ones about press conferences with Congressman Keith Ellison and a token white senator so we can show mad love for the Anglo-Saxons as well * and unilateral denouncings of this heinous crime, the finely crafted articles. I’m glad everyone’s talking about it. I’m not going to bring out the tired, “Oh, why must we still do this, white people don’t have to defend their fellow whites when one of them goes looney tunes!” because we have to. We must, and there is no one else.

All irreverence aside, this is really saddening. Everyone is talking about how ironic it is that he was a psychiatrist, he was the one who was supposed to keep these broken soldiers together, yet he himself was broken. When you think about it, it’s not ironic at all. Usually it’s the people who are the glue that end up cracking. What must it have been like, to see these soldiers everyday, some on their 3rd or 4th tour, and trying to help them deal with all the horrific shit they must’ve seen? While he himself was struggling? I’m not excusing what he did. But I understand feeling trapped. He didn’t like what he was seeing, and he wanted out–or at least spoke of wanting out with his aunt–even though the army records show no action taken on his part. According to her, he wanted out for years. And being confronted with his worst nightmare–actually being deployed to Afghanistan, after seeing all the broken men and women come back from there, in a war that seems like it’s never going to end. So he snapped. And everyone brings out the, “Oh, we never saw it coming,” and it’s true. Because you’re fine, until you’re not. Everyday you wake up when you really just want to forget the world exists, and you put on your face, the one you put on everyday to show people that you’re okay, and you play your part until you get home, and the mask drops. And it takes months, years, decades, but that mask starts to become suffocating, and you start to think this is it, this is the day when I’ll stop faking, and take a stand, and start being real…but it never comes. And the split between your authentic self and your fake self grows wider and wider, until it starts looking like a Venn Diagram, and that smallest sliver is the only thing holding yourself together. And when that goes…people react in different ways. An understatement, yes. Me, for example, I tend to bail on the world and hole up with Hulu re-runs and Supernatural fanfiction and any edible junk I can get my hands on.

Others react with shooting sprees. Everyone is a product of their environment and upbringing, and everyone is shaped by their experiences. To use the big words I’ve been learning in CAW-lege, it’s when we develop core pathologies instead of prime adaptive ego–oh, the bullshit, it’s too much, I can’t. Basically when we learn how to deal the right way, it’s good, and when we learn how to deal with bad with, uh, bad behaviors, it’s very, very bad. Basically.

I’ve been reading the background on this soldier, Major Nidal Malik Hasan, (Nidal means “struggle” in Arabic, by the way) and it’s eerie how small our world is. He used to attend the same mosque I went to in 4th grade, because my school was there, the same mosque where I used to collect honeysuckles with some of the other girls in my class from where they would grow by the chainlink fence, where we used to do experiments with electromagnetism (using my glasses as a conductor, once) and where Br. Omar, even though he didn’t need to, even though we totally believed his diagram of a bulb filament, still went outside, broke a 60 watt bulb on the railing outside our trailer, and brought it back inside so we could see for ourselves.

Major Hasan graduated from Virginia Tech, the site of another shooting rampage, now faded from memory, perpetrated by a boy who signed his name as a question mark.

Hearing about this incident caused me to dredge up memories of the DC sniper incident from a few years back. It was 2002. I still remember where I was, 4th period English class in 10th grade. Our school was on lockdown because of some shooting. We heard all kinds of crazy stuff. At first we thought he was in the school, then we thought near the campus, and then we found out later what really happened. I remember we were locked down through lunch so one of the ladies in the English department came by with a basket of Oreos. At first it was kinda exciting and scary, but then it got really boring. I still remember my teacher. I forget her name, but she used to be on a swim team and she was kinda pretty, and one day she parted her hair all weird and she was self-conscious because we were looking at her funny. She started patting her face and running her hand over her shirt self-consciously, but we never told her it was because of how she parted her hair that day. (I remember reading To Kill a Mockingbird in her class, and have her to thank because I understood every single Boo Radley reference I ever came across after that.)

When I got home and saw the news reports, and where the shooting took place, it was the same place my school bus would drive past, back when I still in middle school. Another shooting took place where my mom would go to work on-call, and another took place in the city where we’d get qurbani from.

I was reading through the wikipedia article, and my heart jumped in my throat, because one of the perpetrators, John Allen Muhammad, is going to be executed in 3 days, on November 10th, 2009. I’ve been scouring the articles, and maybe my memory is failing me, but I remember in the beginning, they weren’t calling him John Allen Muhammad, they were just calling him “John Allen.” (And then they were on about Lee Malvo, and I remember reading an article in the local paper–it might’ve even been my school newspaper, because I remember being at school while reading it, talking about interviewing some kid who was getting grief because people said he was the spitting image of Lee Malvo, and the metacommentary that says about us as a community and the blackification of crime in the US, etc etc. ) But I just remember feeling like…what? John Allen MUHAMMAD? WHAT? I felt so cheated, that I could share in the sorrow with everyone else, and then they just had to tack on “Muhammad” and suddenly it’s like what the hell man? These are YOUR people? And it didn’t even make sense, because one of the victims was a Desi guy, who technically I had much more in common with, but there was still that  “this is all because of your crazy family” vibe.

And then, TODAY, another guy (white, this time) shot up downtown Orlando, because he lost his job and his employers “left him to rot.” Also, last night there was a goddamn helicopter circling my neighborhood, conducting an honest-to-god floodlight search. I felt like I was in some action adventure movie, what with the sound of the rotors and the searchlights that were streaming through the blinds.

What all this craziness made me realize, I suppose, is that there are a great many more things going down that are bigger than me and my so-called problems, and I just need to buck up and deal. I remember listening to this Nouman Ali Khan lecture, (and I am paraphrasing/extrapolating, like, a LOT) and he said there are two ways to remind two different types of Muslims. The first type of Muslim can look at the intricate webbing in a leaf and their eyes fill up with tears and their hearts shake from these tiny, tiny reminders, and these are the ones who can bring themselves closer to Allah with academia, with the minutae, with the details. The other type of Muslim is a bit more stubborn, they can appreciate these details as well, but it doesn’t make them ACT. It takes something BIG, something really freakin’ crucial, to get them to shake and quake and think, “Wow, I need to change. Like, yesterday.” He gave the example of one of those big emotional lectures, the kind where the speaker starts off with, “When I was a boy, I had a DOG!” and by the end of the speech you’re shaking where you sit and the speech has that visceral, emotional appeal, and when you leave you’re saying to yourself in your head, “I really need to start praying.” It may not appeal much to the minutia-oriented, but it’s that punch to the gut the stubborn Muslims need. I fall into the latter category. It takes really big, crucial SNAFUs to make me react, and man, the events of the past 48 hours qualify.

*as I was writing this I thought, “Shit, what if he’s not actually white? And it turns out he totally wasn’t. Nor is he a senator. Thus the strike-through. Also, I get FAIL in US Government 101.

I know this was long and rambly, and it is what it is.

Beach Trip.

Went to the beach this morning with my mom and sister and it was amazing.

Came home, took a nap, and then my sister and I hung out with one of our friends from work, Tasha. We went to the mall, ostensibly to help with my assignment for school. I have to go to a place where teenagers congregate and observe the various cliques and groups.

We ended up getting sidetracked and I soon realized I would just have to go to the mall by myself and sit somewhere inconspicuous and take notes. Tasha was a big help though because she knows how every single trend started and could explain the origin of skinny jeans and every single fad and fashion. She’s like Wikipedia Fashionista. I did get a lot of background info and that’ll be very advantageous.

The skinny jeans on guys trend is so disgusting and I can’t believe any guy could wear those. I see guys at school and work wearing them all the time and it is just mind boggling. I remember when I was in high school and it was all about baggy pants. What happened to those days?

Fuzzy dice.

Drove to the downtown masjid with my mom, fuzzy dice dangling from the rear view mirror alongside my 99 Names of Allah hangy-thingy, feeling like a total baller. (Yes, complete stress on the “er.” Inside joke with my sister.)

Ms. Bonaparte won it for me at the milk can toss at VCC’s Matador Day because I have no coordination when it comes to carnival games. I can make baskets from the top of the key but when it comes to a piddly little tin can at a distance of 3 feet, I am lost.

I did win a really cool keychain by my own wits, though. I had to answer a question correctly in order to get a prize. The question: “Which artist refuses to play ‘Sexyback’ at his own concerts?”

Thank god I found out from a certain artist’s great-great-grandfather that one day, “He will bring sexy back.”

Had some amazing fried fish at the masjid. I forgot to pick up one of the scrumptous-looking cookies, though.

Afterward we participated in a group discussion. I volunteered myself to write down the pertinent points on the whiteboard. At first one side was supposed to be “Issues” and the other side “Solutions” but it wound up being more of a linear “Issue/Solution” layout because I kept running out of space on one side of the board. Sister N. volunteered to write down everything on paper because there wasn’t enough room on the whiteboard for all the points. Man, we wrote a LOT. “They made us work tonight!” I said to Sister N. when we broke for Isha.

I was so happy when Sister N. told me she reads my blog while working out. Awwww. *warm fuzzies* I become ridiculously happy whenever anyone tells me they read my blog. I’m still in denial that anyone even gives a crap about anything I write.

This morning I walked in the neighborhood. It was so beautiful, slightly overcast but with a nice breeze. When I got back to the house I felt like sweeping the driveway. As I was sweeping my sister opened the door and blearily stuck her head out.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Sweeping the driveway.”

“You know the tree’s gonna crap more leaves all over the driveway in five minutes, right?

“I’m doing it for the exercise!”

I noticed we have a basketball hoop pole…but there’s no hoop. This is the first time I really took a look at it, for a while it was just this annoying pole that I had to make sure I didn’t slam my car door into while getting in or out. There’s a notch at the top where you can install the backboard and once I cut back a few of the branches on the tree I’m gonna have me a veritable basketball court in my driveway, insha Allah. The pole is solidly built, cement poured all around it in the ground. Might as well make use of it. I found someone selling a basketball hoop on Craigslist for $20 about 10 minutes south of our house, so I’m taking a look-see tomorrow.

After sweeping, I installed the mirror in my sister’s room that has been sitting on her vanity for about 2 months. She was happy and made me feel like the best sister everrrr. Then I did a humongous load of laundry, and felt very accomplished and domestic for it not yet being 12 PM.

I started calling around a few places to look for possible alternate venues for the upcoming Al-Maghrib seminar. We have something confirmed for the first weekend, but the second weekend is looking a bit iffy because we need something we can secure for both days. I thought I had struck gold when I called OCPS and inquired about the high school auditoriums.

“Hmm…the auditorium. That’ll be $200…”

I waited with my heart in my throat.

“…per hour.”

And it immediately sank right back into my chest cavity.

I gently intimated that that was a bit out of our price range. Try like, a LOT. We’re still looking at other possible venues, so insha Allah we’ll find something.

Sleep now!

Running!

For blogging under the name “Running Muslimah,” I sure haven’t been doing a whole lot of running, have I? Well, I ran today! Ms. Bonaparte and I ran until we wanted to die, walked until we didn’t, ran until near fatal heart palpitations, rinse, repeat. It was beautiful.

Earlier this morning, at 8 AM, I finally took the plunge and skated around the university campus. It was insanely fun and 30 minutes later I had done a round of the entire campus and was feeling pretty groovy, albeit quite sweaty. Not the best thing to do right before class, note to self. Two campuses in two days, one pair of skates, what will they conquer next?

Supernatural was already underway when I arrived home, but I will watch the sacrilegious shenanigans of the dynamic demon-decimating duo and their unholy tax accountant…tomorrow, tentatively.

I adore alliteration.

Rollerblading.

After many, many, many months, dare I say, over a year? I finally dusted off the old inline skates and took ‘em for a spin after class. Breezed around the Valencia campus. Felt like I’d never stopped. Old noggin still got it, and I suppose there’s something to be said for muscle memory, too. Worked up quite the sweat, even though I didn’t feel I was exerting myself. It was…fun. Really fun.

Also, the solution to my life: Coffee. Copious quantities of coffee. Chai will always be my first love, but coffee is slowly but inevitably carving out a space for itself in my caffeine-riddled heart. The medicine to cure any ailment, so long as it is only related to perceived physical fatigue levels.

101° F. In October. I thought it was fall? As in, falling temperature?

So Florida is living up to it’s status of “in like a lion, out like a lamb” regarding the summer temperatures. Kinda turns the metaphor on it’s ear, because in this case it’s the HOT temperatures that are refusing to go. I was driving home from school yesterday and one of the various LCD screens along the way broadcast a cheerful 101° F. Lovely.

Today one of my classmates asked me to teach her how to wear the hijab. “You have the prettiest scarves!” D’awwwww. *warm fuzzies*

IlmFest was amazing  and awesome and everything I hoped it would be and needed it to be. I met Dalia Mogahed. She spoke on Saturday night of the conference (I bought the CD of her speech) and she said out of 3,000 service projects that were done for the United We Serve campaign, approximately 2,700 of the projects were from Muslim organizations! That’s like, 90%! Not, like, is! It IS 90%! She said the response from the Muslim community was overwhelming. She told me Project Downtown was one of the main inspirations! *hearts* I asked her why she didn’t come, and she was a bit confused because she hadn’t heard anything about coming to Orlando for our service project.

“My sister said maybe you skipped out and took your kids to Disney World,” I remarked. She laughed. She said she would have loved to have come, but she hadn’t known of any plans for that specific day.

One of the Al-Maghrib speakers gave her an American flag jeweled pin as a token of her efforts on behalf of all Muslims living here in the US. “Is it made in China?” I asked. She flipped the box over. “No…Thailand!” Hee.

I got a picture of her, but I didn’t get a chance to get a picture of she and I. For this, I am sad. But, hey, I MET DALIA MOGAHED. She rocks my socks, she has street cred because she works at GALLUP and totally wrote an awesome book and also auntie cred because she’s married and has two young sons AND she’s on our side, ya know? She’s our own rockstar.

Also, this:

Dear Eric Kripke,

Please to not make Castiel curse, drink beer, or venture into dens of iniquity. As Dean said to Cas at the end of, uh, The End: Don’t ever change.

Thank you.

Signed,

Concerned Fan, who feels Castiel is blasphemous enough, what with not-finding-God-on-flatbread and all.

Makes sense now.

Saw two news vans for WFTV last evening while I was leaving UCF. Now I understand why they were there.

This morning in lab one of my classmates mentioned a news reporter attempted to ask her some questions on her way out of her sorority house about an alleged hazing incident. Another girl piped in, saying, “Oh yeah, I heard there were like, 10 guys on this one girl? And then she like, complained?” Lovely.

Less than 24 hours after instituting it, UCF lifted their temporary ban on new pledges. Something about an upcoming “family day.”

I’m so proud of my school.

Takbrrrrr.

Finally, finally, finally, the weather has cooled down. This morning my sister told me to stick my head out the door, the air is actually cold! And it WAS!

This whole day was amazing. I wasn’t blasted in the face with a heatwave the moment I walked out the door or entered my car. Crisp, cool breeze, so refreshing and invigorating. I was driving home from school and the air was so fresh and cold and the moon was shining and the last strands of sunset were on the horizon and my heart felt so full I thought I was going to float out of my vehicle.

The forecasters got it right for once, they said we’d have a low of 67 F on Wednesday and they were right! Gold stars and cupcakes all around.

So…I dressed to workout but didn’t officially work out, although my legs are screaming like I did. I did, technically. Walking is a pretty good workout in and of itself, and at college I walk A LOT, but I still need to get back on track, yo.

Almost got hit while crossing the street by a driver who was trying to make a right turn. Is it “pedestrian,” “right,” or “way” that they don’t understand?

Managed to fit 4 days worth of clothing in one carry-on using the tried and true “whole is more than the sum of it’s parts” method. I have two outfits technically in the carry-on, and one outfit of clothing will be on my person, of course. Monday will consist of an amalgam of clothing worn on either Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. (With the exception of undergarments, of course. Doy.)

Still need to find some playing cards. 48 hours and some change until IlmFest!