He said ... She said ...

What makes a phrase more audible when it comes out of a man rather than a woman? “Did I not just say that?” I asked the girl sitting right next to me in class. She looked at me and had the same puzzled look as I did. “That’s what she just said!” Her voice was not loud enough for the man to hear, but it definitely made me feel better. I was surprised, however, with how well I took the situation. Maybe I had just been through it enough times to just not care whatsoever.

It was my Wednesday class—the one I actually liked in my first semester at graduate school. The class covered a topic quite significant for the goal I had in mind for myself: Human Resources Management. Our class was covering a specific case study regarding employee vacation time and pay. I really liked my professor and respected him a lot. He was one of those that realized being a rude pressuring teacher was not going to help the already overstressed students at all. He kept the class casual, laid back and quite entertaining. I felt a sense of duty to give back to him by participating in discussions whenever I was confident enough. Today was one of those days. I read the case study in pure detail, highlighted all significant points, and raised my hand immediately as he asked the class who would like to give us a summary. I usually kept to myself and allowed someone else to take care of that, but today I was ready and excited.

Although I volunteered to answer, I still got nervous. Anytime the attention is on me and there is the pressure to speak, I will shake and worry. To the best of my ability and knowledge, I explained what I understood from the reading and stopped when I felt I had finished. The professor seemed satisfied with my response and he asked the class, “Does anyone have anything else to add to this?” Immediately he raised his hand—the man sitting on the opposite end of the classroom. Since day one, I sensed he was not the easiest person to deal with, but I never really took into consideration that he did not like me. But after today, I realized that all the times he had rolled his eyes at my comments or laughed at my questions, it came from this dislike he had towards me. “I have no idea what she just said! It made no sense! But what I got from the readings was…” and he continued on to babble exactly what I said before. Half the classroom turned to see my reaction to his rude disagreement with my interpretation and I just smiled—coolly shrugging it off like it did not matter. Most were females, taking pity on me for being so rudely disregarded like an uneducated immigrant who said something stupid and he just made it sensible.

But with all honesty, somehow it did not offend me or upset me. It reminded me of the first time I experienced such rudeness from a man—such real sexism from a supposedly “educated” and “mature” man to be respected. HA! That was the day I was offended and deeply hurt; the day my eyes were opened to the reality of the men we have today.

The room was cold—the air conditioner was on to ventilate the stuffy small orange and green room. Twelve of us sat around a large square shaped wooden table, holding our papers and pens, jotting notes on upcoming plans and proposals for our organization. This was the first group I really got involved in and I had such great hopes and goals for us—now I barely know if they can make it to tomorrow. Anyway, we were contemplating ideas for fun activities and events to host for our community’s families. A consensus for a spiritual hiking trip came about and it was great. I absolutely loved the idea and we soon began discussing the details of this event—the when and where and who. Somehow the decision for a Sunday afternoon/evening hike came about and I disagreed. Although I no longer had school to worry about, I thought of my siblings. That would be a school night for them, and after a long afternoon and evening of hiking, the last thing they need is to return home late and sleep even later. So I gathered up all my courage (being one of the few women amongst many men) and spoke up. “I honestly think we should shift it over to a Saturday OR a Sunday followed by a Monday that is a holiday. Or if that is too difficult, move the time up a few hours so that every child can be home with their families by 7:30pm/8:00pm max.” That may sound corny or a time that no one would really need to sleep at—but that was not my concern. If the child wanted to sleep late, fine, but as an organization, it is our duty to have the children back by a proper and modest time.

Has anyone ever seen the movie Just Like Heaven? Suddenly I felt like Reese Witherspoon—unheard and invisible. It was as if I had not even opened my mouth. Exactly like Reese in the movie, she talked and talked and her sister, standing right beside her, could not even feel her presence. The only person who could hear her was ONE guy—and I was blessed enough to have that ONE guy there with me at the meeting too. But the feeling of being ignored so obviously is quite irritating; knowing that you have a point and a pulse, but having it go completely unacknowledged—argh! The group continued to finalize the planning for Sunday late afternoon to evening. The book on that was about to be closed and the next point was reached when a boy, just a few seats away from me, made an interrupting sound. “Uh…actually, I am thinking about it and Sunday is a school night in my opinion. So coming back that late would just ruin my schedule and leave me tired for school the next day. You think we could shift it over to a Saturday or early Sunday?” This time, but this time, I was furious! The thing was however, I had to hold my tongue. How “emotionally unstable” (as men say) would I look had I exclaimed, “Didn’t I just say that?!?!” So instead, I watched, sitting on fire, burning mad, I watched how the group reacted to this MALE’S concern.

If I already was not angry enough that this guy spoke out like I had not mentioned the same point just 47 seconds before, the group’s reaction raised the temperature. “Hmmm, you’re right! That might actually be an issue for some. How many of you think we should change the schedule because it could conflict with the school night?” asked the MAN in charge. How I controlled myself I have no idea, but I had just witnessed pure sexism, right there before my very own eyes. Yes, the stupid jokes about women belonging in the kitchen were irritating, and the egotistic ways some men think they can order us around to get them coffee or tea is upsetting, BUT THIS, this crossed the lines because there was no joke or game behind it. It was pure unfiltered sexism.

I was truly grateful for my savior that day—the one man that did hear me. He tried to slip in the phrase, “Yes, just as Dania mentioned, I do believe that it conflicts with the school night.” I remember he was sweet enough to bring it up again at the next meeting, when they were putting the final touches on the trip and confirming the day. He said, “Well we already talked about it. Remember Dania brought to our attention the idea of the school night issue, so we decided Saturday.”

That was the day I left that group with a new disappointment. If with this, stupid, petty, useless thing they had to be sexist, then what is left? It irritated me as well how all the remaining girls just accepted it. One of the greatest aspects of Islam is the wholesome status it gives its women. I wear this scarf so that you can SEE me as (1) a person sitting right there next to you and (2) a human with a mind, just like yours, that can conjure up ideas just as good, or even better than you. In turn, these men and society, has shifted it into the idea of pure oppression and something they can control.

Well honey, here is my pure unfiltered opinion: Unfortunately, I no longer have faith or trust in you or your generation leading us anywhere. Just watch a WOMAN lead the way please! And that is what SHE SAID.

Ain't it funny how ...

Not to quote JLo, but “ain’t it funny how” double standards take over people’s mentality, as if there is no OTHER way to think? So when they are confronted with someone who differs (uh…me) their reactions are surprising? Being a confident woman who expresses her honest opinions openly is seen as conceited and in need of fine-tuning. Whereas a man who is confident in himself is “successful” and “moves forward.” What’s the difference? SEX? That’s not reliable.

What about relationships? Oh god for the double standards on those. Throughout the years I noticed a constant theme: Men seem to receive ALL the benefits of the doubt and women receive…um…the blame? Yeah, that’s it! It’s ironic because if you sit with young women for 30 minutes you can hear stories of what men have done that make you want to take a vow of singlehood for eternity.

To continue on this point, more than once I heard men mention that for a wife they prefer a pretty girl that was skinny/gorgeous and what was the reaction of the mothers around these guys? “Oh sweetie, of course! You deserve a beautiful one.” I stood there in shock…and my shock only grew when this happened: Another discussion of marriage comes up one day and the older ladies are asking me of my preference for a guy. I described that he had to be intelligent and MATURE and open minded…and so on; and when I came to physical traits that I prefer the mothers all threw their heads back in laughter. At first I wondered whether it was because I was detailed or because I was a girl and I am supposed to fit under the passive creature that says typical clichés like, “Oh I don’t care at all about the outside, it’s all from within.

I am not shallow, but let’s be serious, the outside matters in some way. It is the physical aspect that you often have to think of when you contemplate married life—so if that doesn’t click, how can you agree to go with the person, even if inside is nice? Some may agree, some may not, but this is me. I found out their laughter was both from the detail and the deviance and so their response was, “Honey, you DON’T want someone who is good looking because then all the girls will be staring at your man and so his ego goes up and so does your jealousy.” Hmmm, well ever think of the fact that maybe jealousy isn’t a part of EVERY girl? Or the idea that good-looking guys were born that way and they’re going to get married to someone anyway? Might as well take one! Maybe they were just jealous because they don’t have what I dream of, and so they just prefer to put me down now and crush my hopes in order to fall into the self-fulfilling prophecy and somehow prevent myself from taking what I want. I shall prevail!

Ain’t it funny how a woman’s beating heart is seen as creepy? OH MY GOD I HAVE FEELINGS, RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!! That is exactly what I am told (in different terms). They say that in a relationship there is always someone who gives more. I think that that applies to every one of my relationships. Friendship. Kinship. Loveship. The problem is that all my ships are sinking. I guess I give more weight to the ship and drown it (as in I am the person who is always more into it than the other). I just didn’t realize that caring was an anchor to a ship—a flaw to the ships smooth sailing. People always tell me that I need to be more “mysterious” and a better “hard to get player” in order to get a guy (a.k.a. be a girl that has no anchor, no weight, no realism). Ok, so someone answer this question for me: WHY do I have to be an apathetic snob to attract a man? Is that really what they want? Well, then don’t look at me sweetie. I have a heart and a desire to love—sorry.

One last “funny” example on this point is referring to break ups. If a relationship of any kind comes to an end, I find that pity and sympathy sides with the man. For a few weeks (maximum) the woman is sympathized and cared for. But if her sorrow goes any longer, the environment around her seems to drift away and shut her down when the topic comes up. However the man receives constant sympathy and thought. So what’s the difference here? How come I hear, “Oh the poor darling,” when referring to the man of the ceased relationship and “Oh that depressed drama queen,” for a woman? Trust me, it is irritating to either be in that situation and feel alone OR to watch the man get babied for months after the ceasing.

Truth is, it really ain't that funny!

The Men (I ran into) at the Mall

It occurred to me today, after such awkward and somehow thought provoking experiences at the mall, that I narrate, analyze and think over every aspect of my life...and somehow it always entertained me. I'm a narrator. It was the part I always strove for when we read historic Shakespearean like plays in grade school. I wanted to be that person in the background, the one behind the scenes that was still very crucial in making everything clearer for the audience. Bringing to life the story they were about to see/hear. And I realized, that's how I live my life every single day.

Five months had drastically changed this mall. It went from being a dead and eerie set of hallways to the most crowded and flashy mall yet. I had a large "Must Purchase" list that I made after my return from a five month trip to the Middle East and a few exchanges I needed to get done. My time was limited due to the fact that I had to pick up my brother from school by 2:30pm and it was already 12:57pm. So after I left NY & Co. I dashed on over to the newly opened double deck Forever 21.

I could see it from the end of the hallway. Seductive. Sparkly. Sensational. It made every fashion hater fall at their knees in awe. The way the sunlight from the ceiling windows fell across those silver letters made the F-O-R-E-V-E-R-2-1 shine like a hopeful mirage in the middle of a desperate desert. My heart beat a bit faster. I wanted to finally experience true shopping since for five months the only mall I saw was a tiny two story building filled with stores that sold children's clothes or underwear.

My feet scurried over and I could feel my face break through the thick mall air. As I breathed it in with great anticipation a postcard suddenly appeared before my eyes. "Here!" he said as he shook it impatiently at my face. I grabbed it with even greater impatience as I muttered a quick thank you and continued on my mission-like walking strategy to Forever 21. "Have you heard of this?" he called out immediately behind me. I turned around and smiled. "No, I haven't, but I'm actually in a hurry. Sorry." But before I could get a chance to turn away and head towards my destination I felt my right wrist being grabbed and pulled towards the innocent cart that was truly a prison. I turned around with sad eyes and a heavy heart at the Forever 21 that was so close, yet so far away.

"So do you wear makeup?" he asked with a hint of hesitation as he observed me. I knew he was probably wondering if a covered Muslim girl would wear makeup. I nodded. "Yeah at parties and such but not on a daily basis." He smiled and found the information useful. I mentally kicked myself for realizing that that was NOT enough to get him to let go of my hand, which was starting to turn yellow from the lack of blood flow. "Okay then, let me show you this." Almost as if he believed he was showing me some jaw dropping magic trick, he used his free hand to dip and dab a few different brushes and demonstrate to me the magic of this "natural, chemical free long lasting all purpose makeup." I rolled my eyes and tapped my feet hoping he would catch the obvious irritation I was trying to illustrate. It went over his head.

In three minutes he managed to paint my hand a mocking embarrassment of a Jackson Pollack masterpiece and I felt overwhelmed at the sight. He had demonstrated how these amazing mineral powders could be used in six different ways and I laughed at the pathetic reality that it probably could only be used for two.

He saw that I nodded and carelessly agreed with him, looking at my watch constantly hoping he would let go (luckily he did set my hand free), but that only made him try harder, and he and his openly gay coworker decided to throw out the psychological method of cajoling innocent bystanders in purchasing their products. The problem was I am not an innocent one, although I was a bystander, and the entire time I was not convinced. So the psychology began.

"Oh my, this color would look soooo good on you," said the other coworker who couldn't stop batting his eyelashes and smiling devilishly at me while sticking out the tip of his tongue. I thanked him and shrugged my shoulders. "Can you tell us about that thing, on your head, like why you wear it and stuff?" I explained briefly the purpose of my scarf, that it was my way of demonstrating my identity to the world, that I am a person, and not an object to be admired for my looks, but rather for the talents and personality I carry. "Wow!" he said, batting his eyelashes a bit more. I wanted to laugh but I held it in. "So you wanna buy these three???" they suddenly asked, and I realized how a typical fool would have been sucked in by their fabricated sympathy and say, "Oh yes, and add those four too!" I took a step back and said, "I'm not so sure."

That's when, the other guy grabbed my hand again. "Here, let me show you this color too!" Oh dear god, will the torture never stop? "Hey you know what, I'm just going to take THIS one," and I stepped aside and handed over the poor Visa card that was surely going to JUST begin the swiping process. "Now if you get ONE more you get a better deal." If only he said that to me ONCE. I heard it seven times in 90 seconds and he didn't seem to understand no for an answer. The same way he couldn't grasp the concept that I ALREADY HAVE AN EYELINER BRUSH AT HOME AND DON'T WANT TO BUY HIS "ON SALE EYELINER BRUSH" THAT IS NOW $15 INSTEAD OF $20!!!

He ripped the receipt and placed it in the bag. I wished he could have just handed it to me and let me go but there was more. He got closer and attempted to demonstrate a few more tips on how to apply the makeup. I nodded and pretended to listen (and care) then I grabbed the bag and ran for it (literally). My heels clicked so loudly against the marble-like floor that I could hear it echo down the two separate wings I was now approaching...where Forever 21 stood in the middle.

I stopped right there at the entrance and admired this store. The way it was once a nobody store and how suddenly it became FOREVER 21, or in more classy terms, XXI (lol). I walked in and let myself savor the beauty of a wanna-be Bloomingdale's, but without the amazing bathrooms and ridiculous prices.

Because of how huge it was I had no idea where to begin. I had two dresses to exchange and I had pajamas on my "Must Purchase" list, so I headed to the pajama section and decided to start there. Shorts. Shorts. Boy shorts. Items of which I'm not really sure are what...or even wearable. Aha! Pajama pants! They were so soft and gorgeous and simple that I grabbed the two available colors in my size and headed towards accessories; and that's when I noticed him. The short round tan man wearing glasses and a cross-body navy school bag.

He was following me. Wait...I made a quick turn to double check. YES! He was!!!

I decided to head into the second accessories area just to double check. And there he was, slowly lurking behind the beads, scarves and crappy $3 sandals. I dashed back into the pajama section remembering that there was a Forever 21 employee unloading new items and I would be in a safer zone. I pretend to look at the other pajama items and see if anything interested me when suddenly...

"Excuse me. You speak Arabic?" Besides his heavy accent, I quickly noticed every nook and cranny of his face as I turned around to find him literally inches from mine. It gave me an idea of what babies see when adults play peek-a-boo with them. I jumped back and landed into a pile of boxes, which were probably filled with more boy shorts and unmentionables. "Um, yes," I said with a shiver yet a hint of relief. I began to rationalize that he was probably some newcomer to America, excited to see another one of "his kind" in this country

"Oh Marhaba!" he said with loud enthusiasm. I smiled and responded, "Ahlayn." Typical Arab greetings. That's when he decided to give me his life story, a typical Arab move and even more so a typical Arab "I just moved here" move. I listened and nodded as he explained how he was from Morocco, just arrived to California a few months back and lived literally two traffic lights away from the mall. He pretty much began to draw me an air map of his intersection and gave me the Arab, "You know where zis street iz? Okay so you make a left and then...."

Then he explained how he comes to the mall to meet people, more specifically Arabs, and how I proved his methods correct. I laughed and asked him, "Did you ever think of trying a mosque? Or Arab event? Probably better results than the mall." He shrugged his shoulders. "Well I don't know any around here and like I just saw you now, and your scarf, and I thought you're probably Arab and I came and asked, and you were!" I couldn't hold my laughter back at this part but I tried to muffle it beneath a fake modest girlish giggle to avoid insulting him.

"There's a mosque in Anaheim, close by, I could give you the address, if you'd like?" He smiled and nodded. "Oh yes yes please!" So I took out my pen and paper and began looking around for a place to write down the address. He hurried over to one of the tables and started pushing away all the neatly placed undies for me. TALK ABOUT AWKWARD. I didn't get why he didn't just approach me in Accessories? Or shoes? Why lingerie and sleepwear???

I wrote the address and the mosque's telephone number and handed him the card. "Thank you! Thank you! And oh, this iz...your number?" he asked in a manner that was SO clearly filled with a hidden agenda that his attempt to cover it failed. "No, this is the mosque's number, so call it for directions and..." He cut me off, "Put your number."

CRAP!!! What the heck do I do? He had this large grin on his face and I stood there literally stupefied holding the damn post-it I suddenly wished I didn't whip out. "Uh...um...." I stumbled in the dilemma of being rude and digging my own grave. I placed the card back down besides the messy pile of briefs and started jotting down digits. Why couldn't I be a professional liar and just come up with random numbers and call it mine? I wrote the final number and felt a bit satisfied because I opted out for the house number. Those phones that no one ever answers let alone remembers.

I handed him back the card, still praying that he would never ever use the second phone number, and noticed that he had already whipped out his outdated Samsung and inputting the digits like a mad man. "Please, write your name on top of your number, so I know." I took the paper (not gently I might add), secretly rolled my eyes, and jotted down the five letters I wished were not mine either.

I gave it to him and said, "Yeah you should go there on Fridays. It's crowded, and you can bring your family along, and you can meet people there." He had mentioned his brother, a local that lived nearby as well and so I thought they would go together, but he stopped me mid-thoughts and bluntly stated, "I'm single. I live alone. I came alone. Not with my family. I don't have anybody." If he had the authentic Merriam Webster definition for single, he would have recited it as well

"Oh," I said without knowing how else to follow up that monologue of his. "You're single?" he asked with that smile again. DAMN WHY COULDN'T I LIE? Curse this proper upbringing of mine! "I don't see a ring!" he said in Arabic. (Actually most of our conversation was in Arabic.) "Yes, I am. Well nice meeting you, take care!" And I gave him a quick smile, grabbed the pajamas and headed towards the register.

I spent the entire ride home thinking of how:

1. I only got ONE thing on my freaking "Must Purchase" list

2. I should've been stronger and a bit tougher and just said NO to those guys at the makeup cart

3. MAYBE if this Moroccan guy had been someone else, MAYBE I wouldn't have had a problem jotting down my cell phone number...like if it were someone who didn't approach me in lingerie and examine my wedding ring finger?