Feminism is a word that pushes away most men. Hence, singlehood status. But this past week, I got a glimpse into the reality of feminism. One I was definitely aware of, but never actually lived. One I definitely advocated, boiled my blood over, tasted, but never swam in. I took a dive and found myself drowning, wishing to be saved. But alas, those men that fear true manliness won't near feminism. No, they won't.
Exactly a week ago my mother left town. Her first vacation alone in years. She was so cute as she packed her perfectly matching suitcases and somewhat skipped across the house taking things from here and there. I could see she was happy and so I worked extra hard at hiding the fact that it was hard on me. Bottom line, when I sift through everything and everyone around me, she is what remains. What happens when she isn't? I am exposed to feminism.
I dropped her off at LAX and only allowed a few tear drops as I walked back to the parking structure alone. I thought to myself, "Not a big deal. Two weeks. I've got school. My little brother has school. My dad's at work. And NO ONE is expecting me to cook!" WRONG!!! (to the first sentence and last sentence).
A typical day includes waking up for fajr (the predawn prayer) followed by potentially a long nap, followed by waking up for the day between 7:30 and 9:30 depending on the schedule, completing errands and working, homework, eating a bite somewhere here and there, and going to school in the evening. Now that's MY day. My mother's day involves a lot of reading between those lines.
She wakes up prior to 4:30am ... begins her errands and to do list then. A bit later she wakes all of us up to for the prayer and goes back to working. We usually take the long nap option. Now that she's gone, guess who has to wake up the little one for prayer? Yup, so my alarm is set to ring at 4:45am. But I wish it were that simple. Ever since she left I haven't been able to sleep. Tossing and turning and waking up in the middle of the night thinking: OMG! I MISSED THE PRAYER! I'M LATE TO TAKE MY BROTHER TO SCHOOL! I FORGOT HIS LUNCH! I FORGOT MY MICROECONOMICS PAPER!!!
I hit the clock light to find out it's still 2:31am and I slowly get back into the uneasy sleep. So let's mark it - seven days of improper sleep. Ah, what it has done to my physique and sanity, no one really wants to know.
Following this, I must be ready at 7:00am to make breakfast, coffee and the little one's lunch. If it were a healthy option, I'd throw down a $5 bill and tell him to buy lunch, but that's gross! And so I open the freezer, defrost eggo waffles, pour a glass of milk, take out the bread, make the peanut butter and jelly combo or the turkey etc. combo. It includes a drink, a side of healthy chips, an oatmeal granola bar, some fruit and a napkin. My eyes are barely able to stay open but I pinch myself, especially as I work on the stove making the Turkish coffee for the next member. It smells so good and energizing. And for some reason I always forget to make myself a cup too!
The two men leave. It feels peaceful. I walk back into my room and try and ignore my bed's seductive attempts to pull me back in. By then it's already 8:45 and I just worry if I go back to sleep I will get sucked in for too long and forget the rest of my laundry list of crap to do.
That list never seems to end. Seven days later and it's still not dead. Go to Target and get 7867532347568 items. Go to Ralph's and get 78543768 items. Go to the mall and exchange 2346343 items. Read budgeting chapters 1 and 2 from EACH textbook, read chapter 4 from research methods textbook, read chapter 3 from microeconomics textbook. Type up essay for chapter 4 and chapter 3. Make sure it's double spaced!!!
Now for my mom, this would involve things like: Edit presentation. Confirm appointments. Cancel and reschedule this or that. Print out document. Mail the six envelopes. Review the three chapters that will be taught. Make 767545346687 calls. Drive to 345684325465 places. Pick this up. Drop that off. Make dinner. Try NOT to fall asleep at the traffic light. Survive the rest of the evening.
It amazes me. All of it does. Because in each of these past seven days, the girl that used to sleep at 2:00am now can barely master breathing at 9:30pm. When the clock hits 8:45pm, I am rushing everyone to finish everything off and go upstairs. I shower, write down my new to do list (a new one for each day, and they keep growing!) and finally let my head hit the pillow. And of course then the nightmares begin. And sleep is choppy. And the next day starts all over again.
Women who truly apply themselves into this world, who give themselves a real purpose, are the ones that decide to take on the roles that this world enables them. An active businesswoman, who is also a good friend, no a GREAT friend, a neat freak of undeniable organization, a professional baker and chef, an educated intelligence, a wife and a mom - that's a woman. One exercising her true feminism and femininity at once.
I'm not explaining an epiphany. Really. I knew all this from long ago and advocated. Wished and yearned that these men today appreciated it at the LEAST since they cannot seem to comprehend the need for them to alleviate this pressure and share the tasks that life provide. But what I am saying is that for those who fear that word Feminism, and decide to run away from those women who are strong, independent, adventurous, and are taking an active role in this world to make a difference, are, well, losers. That may come across pathetic and juvenile, but what other word befits this situation?
I don't understand how they can differentiate this and then their mothers. They love their mama (I mean, hello, don't you dare make fun of their mama!). They would do anything for her. But then suddenly comes in a wife, and where does the appreciation go? But then again, let's take a step back. They love their mama but do they appreciate her? And all the work she does? If they sit back and relax and enjoy the free ride of getting their laundry, food and life handed to them on a silver platter at home, of course they're going to take advantage of the next woman in their life. Telling her what she HAS to do for him and what's HER job as a woman. There's another -ism for that ... it's called Sexism. GASP! Not that word!
That word could and has written books and led us no where really. I don't know if there's this hopeful change beyond the horizon for this generation, but, I felt a need to express this after swimming in this pool that my mother has for all these years. And of course I am only doing 5% of what she does and it is unbelievable. The only shocking part is the lack of appreciation I find. The people that speak about this amazing feminism and strength to believe in your full rights as a woman to go out and do whatever it is your abilities allow to make a difference like it's a shameful bad thing. The true shame is that men just cannot get over their sexism and allow us to boast in our well deserved feminism.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
And the OC Register did it again ... :)
The OC Register asked for a follow up article in regards to the Islamic month of fasting and its post Holiday ... and here it is:
http://www.ocregister.com/news/eid-265973-day-ramadan.html
http://www.ocregister.com/news/eid-265973-day-ramadan.html
Redefining Holiday (Tough Love Special)
The day of Eid has come. Thirty days later and it is finally here. But why don't I feel the jittery excitement of butterflies like I always do? And why does my heart wrench when I come across Facebook statuses that are a bit overjoyed for Eid? Is Eid not our holiday? My holiday that I earned after 30 days of consistent sacrifice and worship? So why aren't I counting down the minutes, and tossing and turning in bed like children do on Christmas eve from the sheer anticipation of finally celebrating? What happened to me this Ramadan that altered my definition of holiday, into literally, Holy Day?
It started three days before Ramadan. I could feel it in the air. Ramadan was coming and I mentally pushed it away. Out of sight. Out of mind. I wasn't sure if I really was looking forward to not eating all day and refraining from my typical routine of gum chewing and diet soda intake. I wasn't sure I could manage changing the remainder of my free summer schedule to revolve around the soon to be added worship rituals of the month. I could tell. I could tell something was coming. If not to my Ummah, at least to me. And it did. In the final three days of Ramadan it rained on me, the same exact way it actually rained in the skies of Southern California on day 27.
The withdrawal was starting early. All of a sudden the month I was once too weak to anticipate was now making me fear my weakness with its absence. I was changed. I was hooked. I am addicted. And what will I do now?
I cried in the final Ramadan prayer, holding the Quran so tightly, imagining how this same beloved book that is reviving my heart right now, is enraging a racist pastor on the other side of this country; enough to burn it.
I cried realizing that a few hours before I was a victim of a personal incident that hurt from a dear friend. And I wondered why didn't Ramadan shake her heart as hard as it did mine? It's not arrogance. But it is realization. I spent my entire life working extra hard to please the world around me. Walking on eggshells to never hurt a single soul. And when I dare sit back for a moment to rest, I find that wounds start to appear and everyone doesn't mind hurting me.
I am not the only one. I have seen many others suffer. And I watch painfully as they continue to go unappreciated and I wonder why. Why are we, the Muslim Ummah, so unfair to each other? Why are we rarely there for each other in our own backyards? How come we can rush to supposedly solve every international crisis with protests and rants, but when a local asks for help, or even the simplicity of a kind word or open ears, we do our best to turn the other cheek.
I continued to cry feeling so alone. And that is when I reached a verse that wrenched my heart even more. God said that He will always be with you, always be watching over you. The tears spilled and I couldn't let go of Ramadan at all at this point. Ramadan's specialty is how much closer, not God becomes to us, but how much we get nearer to Him. How much we remember him.
I felt overwhelmed and exhausted. Thirty days of effort and struggle to remove all the "me" from myself and give it to God. But I did. And now I don't want it back. I don't want any of what I gave God back. I want to stay this way. And I'm scared. I am scared of Eid. And now I understand why my mother was always scared of the morning of Eid too. Because when you walk towards the masjid, everything starts playing out in slow motion. And for the first time you see the REAL Eid.
Everyone is laughing and talking loudly in a gathered crowd. Children are running around and giggling. You see the bright colors. You see that everyone is dressed up so much so that you think you're at a wedding. And it all has this eerie undertone to it as the takbeerat get louder and louder. And it hits you. THIS IS THE DAY I RECEIVE MY REPORT CARD. This is the day that draws the line of who Ramadan made you and whether or not the coming year will be your success or your failure. Your heart starts beating. You can't help but start to cry. And you wish, that for just one more second you had just the touch of Ramadan again. But it's gone. It's gone. And no one is ever sure that it will be back for them.
I prayed this year that it would be the year of change for my Ummah. It was number one on my list of duaas that I posted up onto my wall. It stood there on the bright yellow paper: #1 - Guidance to My Ummah. I wanted this year to be THE year. The year where men would finally be men. Where women would let go a little more of this dunya and take in a bit more of this deen. The year where sexism finally ended and men realized that following the sunnah doesn't just consist of growing a beard with an attitude, but much much much more. The year that women realized what the true meaning of hijab is and actually applied it physically and not just mentally. The year we finally took upon ourselves the obligation of respecting one another. The year we finally took a dive into the pool of modesty we have so long abandoned. The year where we actually knew what standing up for and with each other meant. The year where we all started walking on eggshells to please one another and not hurt each other.
This Ummah has sat in a silent slack given routine for so many years. And it is watching itself fall apart day by day. Lack of respect. Degradation. Increase of divorce. Lost youth. Terrible treatment. And let us not forget the disasters that happen around this world. The things that happen around us are not meant for the sake of us overreacting and making a terribly embarrassing scenes. Rather it's a notice, a warning, from Allah that it is time to step it up and improve. And I will tell you that I will gladly sign my name up on that list because I know that we all have much to improve on. And this Ramadan drew the line for me.
I'm not saying that we shouldn't celebrate. We should. Actually we must. Eid is a day of Reward. A day we earned after great sacrifice and we deserve to enjoy the blessing Allah has given us. The blessing of being able to go to any masjid in Southern California without worry and fear. The blessing of being able to have hours of a good time without problems. The blessing of being able to eat and spread a sense of spirituality with our youth and children and families and friends. But what I am saying is this year, let us work harder than ever before on NOT losing what we gained just 24 hours before in the month of Ramadan. Instead of turning to dramatic actions when responding to calamities around us, how about we try turning to something we've forgotten, like an increase in our worship and prayers. Dedicating a day to fasting for some incident. Or dedicating a Quran reading. Let us make THIS the year that we finally become "Khayra Ummah". The world makes New Year Resolutions every December 31st/January 1st, why shouldn't we at the end of every Ramadan and actually stick with them?
Allahumma Taqabbal Minna Salatana wa Siyamana w Rukuaana wa Sujoodana w Qiyamana w Duaana w Saleh Aamalaneh. Allahumma ihdeena feeman hadayt w Afina fi man Afayt. Allahumma Wahhid Ummat Nabeeyika Muhammadun Salah Allahu Alayhi w Sallam. Walhamdulilah Rabbil Alameen.
It started three days before Ramadan. I could feel it in the air. Ramadan was coming and I mentally pushed it away. Out of sight. Out of mind. I wasn't sure if I really was looking forward to not eating all day and refraining from my typical routine of gum chewing and diet soda intake. I wasn't sure I could manage changing the remainder of my free summer schedule to revolve around the soon to be added worship rituals of the month. I could tell. I could tell something was coming. If not to my Ummah, at least to me. And it did. In the final three days of Ramadan it rained on me, the same exact way it actually rained in the skies of Southern California on day 27.
The withdrawal was starting early. All of a sudden the month I was once too weak to anticipate was now making me fear my weakness with its absence. I was changed. I was hooked. I am addicted. And what will I do now?
I cried in the final Ramadan prayer, holding the Quran so tightly, imagining how this same beloved book that is reviving my heart right now, is enraging a racist pastor on the other side of this country; enough to burn it.
I cried realizing that a few hours before I was a victim of a personal incident that hurt from a dear friend. And I wondered why didn't Ramadan shake her heart as hard as it did mine? It's not arrogance. But it is realization. I spent my entire life working extra hard to please the world around me. Walking on eggshells to never hurt a single soul. And when I dare sit back for a moment to rest, I find that wounds start to appear and everyone doesn't mind hurting me.
I am not the only one. I have seen many others suffer. And I watch painfully as they continue to go unappreciated and I wonder why. Why are we, the Muslim Ummah, so unfair to each other? Why are we rarely there for each other in our own backyards? How come we can rush to supposedly solve every international crisis with protests and rants, but when a local asks for help, or even the simplicity of a kind word or open ears, we do our best to turn the other cheek.
I continued to cry feeling so alone. And that is when I reached a verse that wrenched my heart even more. God said that He will always be with you, always be watching over you. The tears spilled and I couldn't let go of Ramadan at all at this point. Ramadan's specialty is how much closer, not God becomes to us, but how much we get nearer to Him. How much we remember him.
I felt overwhelmed and exhausted. Thirty days of effort and struggle to remove all the "me" from myself and give it to God. But I did. And now I don't want it back. I don't want any of what I gave God back. I want to stay this way. And I'm scared. I am scared of Eid. And now I understand why my mother was always scared of the morning of Eid too. Because when you walk towards the masjid, everything starts playing out in slow motion. And for the first time you see the REAL Eid.
Everyone is laughing and talking loudly in a gathered crowd. Children are running around and giggling. You see the bright colors. You see that everyone is dressed up so much so that you think you're at a wedding. And it all has this eerie undertone to it as the takbeerat get louder and louder. And it hits you. THIS IS THE DAY I RECEIVE MY REPORT CARD. This is the day that draws the line of who Ramadan made you and whether or not the coming year will be your success or your failure. Your heart starts beating. You can't help but start to cry. And you wish, that for just one more second you had just the touch of Ramadan again. But it's gone. It's gone. And no one is ever sure that it will be back for them.
I prayed this year that it would be the year of change for my Ummah. It was number one on my list of duaas that I posted up onto my wall. It stood there on the bright yellow paper: #1 - Guidance to My Ummah. I wanted this year to be THE year. The year where men would finally be men. Where women would let go a little more of this dunya and take in a bit more of this deen. The year where sexism finally ended and men realized that following the sunnah doesn't just consist of growing a beard with an attitude, but much much much more. The year that women realized what the true meaning of hijab is and actually applied it physically and not just mentally. The year we finally took upon ourselves the obligation of respecting one another. The year we finally took a dive into the pool of modesty we have so long abandoned. The year where we actually knew what standing up for and with each other meant. The year where we all started walking on eggshells to please one another and not hurt each other.
This Ummah has sat in a silent slack given routine for so many years. And it is watching itself fall apart day by day. Lack of respect. Degradation. Increase of divorce. Lost youth. Terrible treatment. And let us not forget the disasters that happen around this world. The things that happen around us are not meant for the sake of us overreacting and making a terribly embarrassing scenes. Rather it's a notice, a warning, from Allah that it is time to step it up and improve. And I will tell you that I will gladly sign my name up on that list because I know that we all have much to improve on. And this Ramadan drew the line for me.
I'm not saying that we shouldn't celebrate. We should. Actually we must. Eid is a day of Reward. A day we earned after great sacrifice and we deserve to enjoy the blessing Allah has given us. The blessing of being able to go to any masjid in Southern California without worry and fear. The blessing of being able to have hours of a good time without problems. The blessing of being able to eat and spread a sense of spirituality with our youth and children and families and friends. But what I am saying is this year, let us work harder than ever before on NOT losing what we gained just 24 hours before in the month of Ramadan. Instead of turning to dramatic actions when responding to calamities around us, how about we try turning to something we've forgotten, like an increase in our worship and prayers. Dedicating a day to fasting for some incident. Or dedicating a Quran reading. Let us make THIS the year that we finally become "Khayra Ummah". The world makes New Year Resolutions every December 31st/January 1st, why shouldn't we at the end of every Ramadan and actually stick with them?
Allahumma Taqabbal Minna Salatana wa Siyamana w Rukuaana wa Sujoodana w Qiyamana w Duaana w Saleh Aamalaneh. Allahumma ihdeena feeman hadayt w Afina fi man Afayt. Allahumma Wahhid Ummat Nabeeyika Muhammadun Salah Allahu Alayhi w Sallam. Walhamdulilah Rabbil Alameen.
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