I was stuck in traffic the other day, and a man took this opportunity to yell at me from across his rolled down car window bellying “It’s Ramadaaaan.” Yes, this stranger is talking to me!
He was letting me know that it is Ramadan because I was chewing gum while driving.
Ladies and gentlemen, where do I begin with this whole over-zealous holy populace? If I were chain smoking death on a stick, no one would let me know that I was killing myself, but this man, felt that it was his duty as a good Muslim to stop me from disrespecting the fasting folk. Now, maybe I would have let this one slide, but over the last week, I was lectured by some women on the subject of Hijab and how my dressing like the ‘devil’ would not serve me well in my grave. Let me back up a little, I was at my aunt’s home offering my condolences to her for the loss of her husband. Unbeknownst to me, I found myself in the middle of a religious Dars. I’m confused, I do not live in Saudi, nor do I live in Iran, but for some reason, Jordanians are sounding more and more like people I do not recognize. What happened to moderate Jordanians? Where are they hiding?
I will continue to chew my gum…and I wish that I had blown a bubble in response to this man’s insulting commentary. That’s not the sort of person my parents brought me up to be, but in light of the current covert and overt indoctrination that is going on around me, I chose to blow bubbles at anyone who invades my personal relationship with God.
Monday, September 06, 2010
Saturday, September 04, 2010
Sentimental things...
Every so often, my family gathers around a tattered box of letters that my sister Dina keeps safe up in the attic and only brings down when my brothers and sister are in town. There are five of us you see, and we have all lived apart in different countries. At least we now live in the same region, but there was a time, when we were scattered across NY, Jordan, Dubai, and England. WE - the global folk - try to connect as often as work and life allows. And when we are in Jordan, we gather at my sister’s house.
On a typical afternoon, you can find us in the garden, swinging under the leafy tree, sipping on tea with fresh mint leaves, or the “good” coffee as my sister calls her fancier Austrian coffee bean. Sometimes, when we are in a sentimental mood, my sister brings down the old box of letters that we used to mail each other and we read them out loud and laugh – the kind of laugh that comes from the belly.
These are old relics from that magical age called childhood. They are hand written letters that are falling apart from being loved up, read and re-read. We love the past in all its glory. Part of the past is not just the narrative of the tales, but it’s in the hand written style and font, the drawings, the decorations of hearts and arrows…it’s really the flavour and scent of a more innocent and simpler time.
It feels good to look back and reminisce on stories of by gone times. The days when I used to write letters to my family right before lights out in boarding school; when my brother would write letters from his summer camp; my sister would send post cards from her adventures…and it’s the envelope that is also interesting, the stamp on it, the date, the address…the whole affair is an invitation to pause and smile. Letters are just so special because they are personal.
Being me, it got me thinking about emails and how we communicate nowadays. Email is fantastic, so I won’t even dare knock it. All I’m saying is that I miss the act of writing letters and receiving them. I even miss the post man – what happened to post-men? Has anyone seen one lately? There is something utterly romantic about opening a letter that you know crossed oceans and continents and exchanged a million hands just to get to YOU. Someone out there took the time out to sit down, THINK, and tell you something weighty and important. You waited and waited…remember waiting? I miss waiting. Everything is so instant now (thank god, because I’m impatient – I never said I was consistent in my thoughts so don’t go all up in my pants…! I am allowed to wants two things!) …so I love emailing, and just wish people continued writing letters. Why must we give up one thing to do another? I think letters are grand, and I would like to go and buy some nice paper and write a letter to someone special.
Aren’t letters grand!
On a typical afternoon, you can find us in the garden, swinging under the leafy tree, sipping on tea with fresh mint leaves, or the “good” coffee as my sister calls her fancier Austrian coffee bean. Sometimes, when we are in a sentimental mood, my sister brings down the old box of letters that we used to mail each other and we read them out loud and laugh – the kind of laugh that comes from the belly.
These are old relics from that magical age called childhood. They are hand written letters that are falling apart from being loved up, read and re-read. We love the past in all its glory. Part of the past is not just the narrative of the tales, but it’s in the hand written style and font, the drawings, the decorations of hearts and arrows…it’s really the flavour and scent of a more innocent and simpler time.
It feels good to look back and reminisce on stories of by gone times. The days when I used to write letters to my family right before lights out in boarding school; when my brother would write letters from his summer camp; my sister would send post cards from her adventures…and it’s the envelope that is also interesting, the stamp on it, the date, the address…the whole affair is an invitation to pause and smile. Letters are just so special because they are personal.
Being me, it got me thinking about emails and how we communicate nowadays. Email is fantastic, so I won’t even dare knock it. All I’m saying is that I miss the act of writing letters and receiving them. I even miss the post man – what happened to post-men? Has anyone seen one lately? There is something utterly romantic about opening a letter that you know crossed oceans and continents and exchanged a million hands just to get to YOU. Someone out there took the time out to sit down, THINK, and tell you something weighty and important. You waited and waited…remember waiting? I miss waiting. Everything is so instant now (thank god, because I’m impatient – I never said I was consistent in my thoughts so don’t go all up in my pants…! I am allowed to wants two things!) …so I love emailing, and just wish people continued writing letters. Why must we give up one thing to do another? I think letters are grand, and I would like to go and buy some nice paper and write a letter to someone special.
Aren’t letters grand!
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