Sometimes
some people are created to be magnetic creatures, more often to those unexpected,
and most often never to those desired. So when I found myself on board a
planning committee I initially declined to join, I knew that at the end of this
chaotic tunnel, a light would be awaiting me.
It
was ridiculously hot for a California summer day that you didn’t even have to
move to feel exhausted. Sitting beneath a canopy that reminded of my childhood
circus dreams while chugging down bottles of iced tea and water didn’t help
either. Before I knew it there was no separation between my clothes and my skin
and I began to contemplate how painful it will be to change into my pajamas
that night.
I
had twelve hours ahead of me and I wondered what colorful encounters were to
come as I sat patiently at the elusive Info Booth everyone kept questioning. By
hour number four I had come to the conclusion that at a predominantly Muslim/Middle
Eastern Festival I was bound to (and did) encounter the following scenarios:
-
The ever so famous male stalkers that passed by my booth in a manner
they believed was oblivious while everyone else knew was obvious
-
The even more famous elderly females who were devoted to setting up
their sad sad sons
-
The obtrusive remarks about how “too white” I am to be outdoors
-
Unconsciously becoming EVERYONE’S human punching bag for no apparent
reason while surprisingly keeping my cool
-
Finding myself in the midst of a man’s presence I never expected to enjoy
The
day was as energetic as the carnival rides and the music that blasted through
Downtown Anaheim. I was beginning to see the hard labor of our committee
finally coming to life. As I laid back in my plastic white chair, soaking in
the weather that was slowly beginning to cool down as the sun reached the tip
of the west, I noticed a woman a few booths down.
She
wore a pair of torn shorts, a plain white t-shirt and had her soft long hair
braided in a single braid down her back. She held a large trash bag in her left
hand and rummaged through a trash bin with her right. I realized she was
searching for recyclables, the way that many did earlier that day. Suddenly I
was humbled, far beyond my expectations.
In
the previous three weeks our group had been drowning in the stress of preparing
for this festival, almost forgetting the very reason for this event—celebrating
the achievements of Ramadan, the fasting month for Muslims. For 30 days we
fasted from food and drink during the day to do more than just the clichéd
answer of “feeling what the poor feel.” Removing the distraction of eating and
drinking gives us clarity when taking the even more difficult path of
self-revolution. And this year, I will confess, was the hardest Ramadan I have ever encountered. Having experienced
quite the rough patches that life loves to offer us all, I found myself facing
a battle I wasn’t sure I would win, and that’s when Ramadan rolled around. So I
took the chance, faced the monster in the mirror, and renewed the intention to
redefine my life and myself. I took it as the opportunity to re-write the
person I want to become and hoped to finally give myself a better plot to the
life I had found myself stagnantly living. Re-write the convictions I had yet
to convince myself of, whether it was love or work or dreams. Explaining this
to people has been even harder, but a part of my new resolutions was learning
to let go of this need to make sure that people understand, because I realized
most often people around me don’t want to. They just prefer to argue.
When
she gathered a few plastic water bottles the woman neared my booth. She caught
me watching her and we smiled at each other. I suddenly felt the plastic
beneath my very own fingertips as I tensed up. Quickly I finished the remaining
droplets and waited till she came to my table. When she got closer I noticed
the hearing aids in both of her ears; and as she began to speak slowly in a
different tone I became even more humbled, thankful to God for my health,
wealth and life, obstacles or not.
“Hello,”
she said. “What is this? A…festival?” I smiled and nodded taking a split second
to remind myself to articulate my words clearly because she immediately took an
immense focus on my lips and I realized she was going to read them. And as I
spoke in such a slower pace than my usual banter, for the first time ever I
actually got to taste the sweetness of deeper articulation. What things we take
for granted!
Her
next question was about my scarf, and not why
I wear it but how. So with a mixture
of gestures and vivid articulation I showed her how it was a long rectangle
that I wrapped around my head twice before tucking the rest underneath my
shirt. She immediately had a worried expression and said, “Wind? Wind!” as she
gestured the potential of losing my scarf with the brush of winds. I laughed
and said, “No it stays put,” although I remembered how instantly my scarf flew
off the first time I rode Silver Bullet at Knott’s Berry Farm. Of course that
had to be the exact moment the camera flashed and caught the picture. I’ll
never forget my cousin’s laughter as she rolled on the floor when she saw the
picture at the end of the ride. Clearly that day I had forgotten to secure it
tightly. That’s what happens when I’m forced to wake up too early to be the
FIRST human being at the park’s entrance, as my mother desired.
The
woman went on to ask me about other Islamic things she’d seen at this festival.
With a mixture of hand gestures and mouthing things clearly I explained the
different foods, the rides, the entertainers and the unity of diverse cultures.
She was enjoying the conversation thoroughly, and when she went on to explain
how collecting recyclables helped her pay the bills, I felt my heart wrench at
the realization that her moments with me were true moments of forgetful bliss.
That was especially so when she thanked me and asked if I would be available
the next day. I nodded and said, “Same place all day.” Her smile was filled
with excitement as she said, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Be back for more bottles
tomorrow.” I nodded and said, “Looking forward to it!” She shook my hand and
headed for the next booth.
I
won’t lie, by the time we started closing up for the night I had completely
forgotten about her and the humility she left within me. I was too consumed
with keeping my eyes open while securing the money, the decorations and then
driving myself home safely.
But
when I returned to my booth the next morning, trying to obtain as much caffeine
as possible, I found a plastic water bottle abandoned at my table and it all
came back to me. It was like I found gold and quickly I dashed towards it and
placed it in one of my storage bags. I decided from now till she came back (if
she came back) I would collect every potential recyclable in sight for her. So
as passerby after passerby left behind their trash and drinks, I found treasure
and collected each one. Pretty soon I had a hefty bag of bottles set aside.
My
thoughts were stolen again when I ran into company I didn’t realize my soul
kind of missed all this time. And for what seemed like a beautiful eternity we
escaped the heat and chaos of the festival and divulged into whatever it was we
shared. But all good things come to an end, and after what life has shown me
(and after what I tried to train my mind and heart on this past Ramadan) I
forced myself to say farewell without flinching. And that’s when she returned.
From
afar she waved at me with a large smile and I waved back, getting my bag of
collectables ready. This time she wore a polka dot white and pink shirt with
her shorts and it only made her look more youthful. Her hair, still braided
back, gave her the simple yet elegant touch. We exchanged how are yous like we
had known each other for years and began discussing the better weather Anaheim
gave us this time around.
As
we communicated, we got around to the bottles, and when I handed her the bag I
had filled up for her, she was utterly touched. She put her hand to her heart
to thank me and then gestured it in sign language. I never learned the signs,
but I understood this one perfectly. It’s almost universal, or maybe love is.
And love can be contagious, especially on days like this one. Just an hour
earlier a friend treated me to dinner, while another friend went off in search
of a brand new mustard bottle for me to use on my chicken burger. I felt the need
to do the same for this woman, whose words, “This helps pay the bills” echoed
so loudly and painfully in my ears.
So
as she turned away, bidding me farewell and thanking me for my help, I touched
her shoulder and handed her a meal ticket valid at our food vendors. When she
saw it she didn’t understand what the small colorful ticket was for, but I
explained and she was in awe. Her mouth gaping open and her eyes in sincere
appreciation. She let go of her bottles and reached over to hug me. I leaned in
happily to share an embrace I think we both needed.
Her
direction changed, from left to right as she headed for the food vendors
instead of the remaining trash bins. But two minutes later I found her back at
my booth. “Hi!” I said with a smile, wondering what was wrong. “Where?” she
said. “Any of the food booths,” I answered thinking she was asking which
vendors accepted the ticket. She shook her head and pointed at me. “You,
where?” I then realized she came back to ask for my recommendation. “Oh where do
I recommend?” I asked to be sure. She nodded incessantly. I pointed straight
ahead to the food vendor I had eaten at for the past two days. “They are very
good,” I said. She thanked me and headed straight over to wait in their line.
Ten
minutes later she had returned with an extra bag in her hand. She showed me her
chicken shawerma, French fries and soda. My heart wrenched again as she
demonstrated such excitement at being able to have three food items for dinner.
I felt awful at the realization that that very same weekend I had Starbucks
three times (yes it was THAT hot), shawerma sandwiches, burgers, fries and
crepes. I immediately made an internal prayer of thanks to God and wished her the
very best before she left.
I
realized then that she was the biggest reason God put this festival in my path,
despite my attempts to somewhat avoid the planning phase. But in the wise words
of my mother, “Don’t you know your destiny Dania? God will always send you
interestingly comical encounters and lots of events to plan.” And until the
next one, I will ensure to enjoy the encounters to come, while also working
hard to remind myself and those around me to enjoy the beauty in every aspect
of simplicity in life. It is our greatest blessing and our greatest link to
sanity.
