As Night Succumbs to Dawn

We will love the silent stream
And esteem the hiding sun
Will relish the still feeling
That the sunset’s just begun

In the depth of darkness
Will surrender the stars

We’ll be flying in the moonlit night

From behind the caging bars

It’s in the barren desert
That our love will always bloom
As long as we breathe together

our hearts will never doom

There will be no distance
Though we will be far apart
With our minds not with our hands
We will ascend from the start

When the morning sun will rise
I’ll find you standing there
On that very radiating morning
The world will witness the rare.

Beauty in Simplicity

I was always picked on for not owning a cell phone for many years. While it’s partly possible that I may not have been able to afford one at university, I never ‘wanted’ it because I felt it will make my life complicated. I finally gave in to peer pressure and to the notion of life being impossible without it and regret the decision up until this day. Actually, regret may be too much of a heavy word – let’s just say I don’t like having a phone as I don’t like being tracked down or tracking people down. While it certainly has its enormous benefits, I feel that I can’t enjoy it as much because of an inability to ‘disconnect’ from it. That is what makes things complicated. It almost ‘never’ leaves me alone (and I feel extremely bad about turning it off, missing calls and getting it trouble for not picking up my phone). I think many people feel that way – I remember a while ago, my friend, Omayma, forgot her cell phone at home (an extremely rare event) and at the end of the day remarked how peaceful her day had been.

What does simplicity mean to you? When I was studying the human body in one of my undergrad courses, I could not help but to complain how ‘complicated’ everything seemed to be. There was just way too much terminology, diagrams, and tedious processes to memorize and understand in a limited time frame. But as the time went by and I was able to see the bigger picture, I began to realize how each and every natural process ultimately boils down to a simple function. A simple Newtonian equation F=ma, celebrated for its elegance and simplicity, together with other simple equations, accounts for a HUGE range of universal phenomena. It’s almost like finding a simple pattern hidden in an apparent chaos. Things get stripped down to their most basic, their most simple. It is no surprise then that many people including me find peace and serenity in nature. In nature, there is no more or less than what’s needed. There is no excess, no lack of organization – it is just the right balance.

The way nature manages to strike such a beautiful balance by simplifying complexity in simple yet remarkable ways is beyond inspiring. Simplicity then becomes the ability to use our complex thought process, intricate conscience, infinite knowledge, powerful experiences, and flamboyant emotions to master our mysterious world in such a way so as to achieve peace and serenity within our selves – our minds, bodies, and souls. Would you rather have a rack crammed full of mismatched clothes or a wardrobe simplified down to allow focus on the items that enhance your appearance and your personality?

"The wisdom of life consists in the elimination of non-essentials" - Lin Yutang

Do you know?

I know and recognize
those gestures and the smiles
your words create turbulence
from distance and miles.
You stand there with my heart
not like the other admirers
your hands are like magic wands
my creators, my destroyers.
You've grabbed my soul
and set it higher
with the passion ignited
I feel like on fire.
The mind is naive
may have a heart of a child
but you've left it wandering
to be swirled and beguiled.

Climbing High

I would like to thank everyone who has been a great help and source of strength for me during the last year particularly my family and friends.

It was the scariest chapter of my life and at times felt like the last one. A slope so steep that I was not able to see or expect what was ahead. Remember when you were a kid and were curious about something that you could not see on the kitchen counter because you were not tall enough? You were determined to see what was there; perhaps it was something good to eat, so you would stand on your tippy toes expecting that would help you see clearly.

So, I did exactly that; stood on my tip toes expecting to see what lies ahead while attempting to resist the sharp fall. Rising up on the toes increased my reach while decreasing the friction. But I couldn’t have done that without the compassionate ones who held my hands to raise my heels off the ground while keeping me balanced. I am still in that position welcoming exciting opportunities to begin my new life and they are still holding on to me. At this point, I couldn’t agree more that ‘to love and be loved’ is the greatest strength in this world - My mother’s prayers, my father’s strength, my brothers’ goofiness, my best friend’s compassion became my inspiration to climb back up again.

It was never an end. It was only a gap; a void. When many things were taken away, I was blessed with immense love. I learned that even when we feel it’s the end of the world and there is nothing left, there is always SOMETHING that keeps us going, that inspires us and gives us the strength to face the challenges and remain patient.

Those who know me well can testify that I always got it ‘easy’ in life – my parents raised me up like a princess, always pampered and taken care of. Effortlessly blessed with whatever I wished for, whenever I wanted. Without being ungrateful, I sometimes feel that made my heart into a barren desert – unable to thoroughly understand what it means to be trialed and tested and relate to someone’s pain. I spectated the misery in our world but only as ‘topics’ to be studied and discussed. I am now able to view the trials as rain drops on that barren desert – seeds that lied dormant are now blooming. Sometimes that is exactly what we need to bring out the best in ourselves. It is like a slap to wake us up and be able to see and be grateful for all the pleasures and blessings in our lives. My life was a big blur and out of focus – now, the lens is calibrated making the picture clearer than ever.

This is not the end of my story; it is just the ‘beginning’.

Pakistan: Jashn-e-Azaadi Mubarak (Happy Independence Day)

I am still hopeful for my beautiful country. Are you?


Lab pe aati hai dua ban kay tamana meri
Zindagi sham’a key surat ho Khudaya meri.

Dur dunya ka maray dam say andheera ho jaye!
Har jagah meray chamaknay say ujala ho jaye!

Ho maray dam say younhi meray watan key zeenat
Jis tarah phool say hoti hai chaman ki zenat

Zindgi hoo maray parwanay key surat Ya Rab!
Ilm ki sham’a say ho mujko muhabat Ya Rub!

Ho mara kaam ghareeboon key himayat kerna
Dard mandoon say za’ieefoon say muhabbat karna

Maray Allah! burai say bachana mujhko
Naik jo rah hoo us raah pay chalana mujh ko

May longing comes to my lips as supplication of mine O Allah!
May like the candle be the life of mine O Allah!
May the world’s darkness disappear through the life of mine!
May every place light up with the sparkling light of mine!
May my homeland through me attain elegance
As the garden through flowers attains elegance
May supportive of the poor my life’s way be
May loving the old, the suffering my way be.
O Allah! Protect me from the evil ways
Show me the path leading to the good ways

I'm listening!

I know you believe you understand what you think I said; but what you fail to realize is that what you heard is not what I meant!

Sometimes, I wish we all communicated with each other using sign language – so simple and concise. No reading between the lines, no hidden meanings, no misunderstandings; the biggest drawback - it would take FOREVER to say a simple sentence.

Why am I writing about this in my blog? Well, because verbal miscommunication is no laughing matter; words spoken in frustration can lead to serious hurt. They can hurt not only the person to whom they are aimed at but also to the speaker. I feel hurt when I am criticized, advised, or just spoken to with harsh words and tone. So does others. For me, it’s an inability to hear someone out when the tone of their message is harsh or full of frustration. I just want to plug my ears or scream on the top of my lungs – not because I don’t want to hear them out or not share their feelings or their advice isn’t important to me but because I just cannot handle it in that particular way of speech. And yes, I do start to cry! I am pretty sure I myself have had this behavior at times with others especially when I am running extremely low on patience and very high on emotions (guilty as charged). Sometimes I do it because I’ve spent years being ‘quiet’ and ‘calm’ at hurtful situations and misjudgments and now I just don’t want to remain quiet. I do however try my best to keep my tongue under control and refrain from saying hurtful things even ‘as jokes’.

In fact, most of the time, hurtful things are said when people involved in the conflict are themselves hurt, angry, resentful, and disappointed. In other words, they are said as a ‘reaction’ to a particular situation, physical/emotional pain, or even as a defense mechanism. Ironically and unfortunately, most of the times this tends to happen with our most beloved ones. Even more ironic is we hardly ever INTEND to hurt these people. In fact, we almost always intend the opposite. Makes me wonder if it’s really a communication/understanding gap between two people that gives rise to such miscommunication? It’s possible but that’s not always the case because many times we are often severely hurt by or hurt those with whom we have spent days and years, those whom we happen to know inside and out, and those whom we can’t live without.
Many things can intervene to prevent the intended message from being received accurately by the other person. As much as words are important, even more important are our expressions, tone of voice, gestures, and posture. We can easily convey a message without words (e.g. a smile) but we can never effectively convey one merely using a whole bunch of empty vocab. A single word can carry multiple meanings depending on intonation. It is important to realize that both the sender and the receiver will perceive the message based on their own situations, complexities, circumstances, previous assumptions, previous experiences, cultural/family differences, world views and expectations. Yes, one can definitely try to be open minded but if a heavy loaded message is not transmitted in the most appropriate way using ALL the important elements of communication, it is very likely that the message will be perceived differently by the receiver (hint: msn, phone, text messaging are all convenient but horrible ways to communicate an ambiguous message).

So, save your self from the confusion, all the extra explanations, and that horrible feeling of dissatisfaction “….but I did not mean it that way…he/she just doesn’t get it”. I’ve noticed that I tend to misunderstand people usually when I am in conflict with them. In that case, communication is already strained, and to top that off some people will often want to hide the truth to some extent for whatever reasons. Sometimes not sharing enough information or sharing TOO much information can also increase the risk of misperception. Most often, I find that it is useful to first state the POINT and then elaborate on it rather than the other way around. Sometimes, we end up going in circles and then conclude with the main point. That is also a good way because it softens the blow but holds the risk of the point being lost in the labyrinth of events. Another very important thing is of course, LISTENING. This is one of the things I really need to work on because I am a ‘talker’! The worst part is in a conflict, I either end up talking a lot or become dumbfounded (I am not even listening in that phase). I need to strike a balance there. Although, I find that being dumbfounded mostly works in my favor because it prevents me from saying things I may regret later on. But, it leaves me frustrated at not being able to explain myself thoroughly. I think it also leaves the person at the other end feeling frustrated because of an inadequate response. I am guilty until proven innocent. (Anyone have any good suggestions or advice to improve this aspect?). Usually, when I sit down alone and reflect on what was being said, I understand it well and oftentimes find that I have a response, but I am not able to articulate it well on the spot.

I hate playing the blame game. It’s almost like putting gasoline in fire. Unless I am really upset, I always try my best to avoid the words ‘YOU are this or that’ or ‘YOU did this’ in a conflict. If I happen to do so, I apologize because it is just plain wrong and rude. I despise it when people use it against me. Instead, try using “I feel upset because of this action”. This way one is making sure that it is the action that is being hated and not the individual. The receiver also needs to focus on the action and how it made the other person feel. It is best to avoid sarcasm and exaggeration, and be respectful even if an understanding is not being reached. It is not the end of the world. Everyone is going through some struggle and it is more important to be kind than to get your point across.

Lastly, the most important thing in my opinion is to give people benefit of the doubt and forgive and forget. As Muslims, we must always keep this in mind no matter how difficult a situation gets with another individual. We are not aware of the other’s intention; heck sometimes we are not even aware of our OWN intentions. If you think you are 90% correct in what you have to say, there is still a 10% probability that the other person may be correct. Kill your ego and always initiate a hand toward peace and friendship. If you’re holding a grudge, let it go. If your heart and mind is burdened with what was said and done, then refine it. We all differ in our sensitivity toward sensory mode language, so it is essential to be considerate to prevent heartbreaks. Making it through a conflict through dialogue is definitely important but sometimes it is better to just rise above and jump over it.

Experiencing the "Other"

Another Ethnography I wrote a while back. Experience it from my eyes. http://www.royalfair.org/

Usually I sleep so deeply that often times it takes me a while to really come into my senses and realize that the music playing is not a part of my dream, but the radio-clock blasting in my ears. However, last night's sleep was interrupted many times due to the agony affiliated with "Hell" week. Hell week is the pre-planned, conspirative wrath brought upon by professors on the poor students in which all the deadlines and tests happen to be in the same week. With an aching body and a numbed brain, I force myself out of bed and get ready to go to the Royal Winter Agriculture Fair taking place at the CNE exhibitions ground. To visit the fair for my field work is certainly not something I planned in advance as I originally wanted to attend a much smaller, confined event like a workshop or a group activity. Even at this very moment, I am debating my choice since I am worried that attending a fair may take up a lot more time than I originally planned to spend on this task. Moreover, it's intimidating to go there all by myself especially after my previous awkward experience at the Harvest Fest where I felt completely left out among families and children. I am sure it’s not something as overwhelming if you are accompanied by a friend or if you have kids to take along but unfortunately none of these options are available to me at the moment. Throwing my thoughts aside, I quickly gulp down a cup of delicious, hot chocolate milk and walk out of my house. I rush to the bus stop in an attempt to suppress the convincing whisperings telling me to leave this task for tomorrow. It is a typical autumn day characterized by clear skies and flourishing sunlight accompanied by crisp, cold wind repeatedly stabbing every part of my existence. The stiff, naked trees and the absence of flowers induce a sense of emptiness while the twirling piles of dried, scattered leaves on the ground remind you of bloodless wounds of farewell. With hands in my coat’s pocket, I run toward the bus that has already arrived at the bus stop and waiting for the traffic light to turn green. I remain successful at catching the bus and feel a sense of relief over a good start to my day. I feel a constant struggle to stay alert and prevent my brain from wandering off from ‘reality’. As I reach the subway station, I can’t help but to notice how empty it seems on a Saturday morning as compared to the weekdays. My subway journey from Kipling to Bathurst station should only take about twenty minutes since there doesn’t seem to be a lot of passengers. Once I reach Bathurst, I see an unusual, painted street car on which a poster reads out “Island of Bahamas: Escape from everyday life”. This text sounds ironic because within a few minutes, I expect to experience ‘the Other’ which will not only be an escape from my everyday urban life but for which I certainly won’t have to go to Bahamas. The street car takes me to my destination after passing by crammed shops, old dungeon-like houses with tiny front yards, brick-patterned buildings, traffic, noise, and all those things that typify a typical urban setting. An arrow on the huge sign reading “Royal Agriculture Winter Fair” directs me to a building called “Energy Direct” and a windmill, standing in the midst of artificially designed grassland, welcomes me. I am not too sure if this display merely represents the countryside or if the windmill is a reminder to the public of an alternative ‘energy’ source. After purchasing the ticket at the admission booth and picking up a schedule, I make my way into Hall A. According to the schedule, I have to wait about an hour before I can attend the very interesting sessions of “Milking a Cow!” and “Sheep Shearing”. I feel extremely confused in this huge hall with hundreds of booths lined up in rows and columns and an unbelievable amount of people, especially little kids. I am probably the only one here who is all by myself and it’s not as much fun as it would be if I dragged my family along as well. As I run my sight across a random row of stalls, I come across a stall called “the Fudge Factory”. The aroma of chocolate fudge and red, plump apple candies excite my taste buds and I run toward the stall in an attempt to grab a free sample of sweet, apple candy drowned with fudge and some sugary syrup. All I can say is that it is the yummiest one I’ve ever ate in my whole life and grabbing a free sample surely seems like a flawless victory. I take a few moments to finish off eating and then move on to a few other booths selling cowboy hats, leather jackets, country boots, jams, jellies, honey, wheat, rice and pretty much everything one might consider a ‘country’ souvenir. I wonder why people are finding these so astonishing when these items can be conveniently purchased in a local, city mall or a neighborhood grocery store. In an attempt to find my way to the Education Ring, I enter into another hall called the “lower annex” and feel almost noxious from a weird smell similar to cow’s dung. To my surprise, not only do you find people crowded in here but also cows roaming around slowly and in all directions accompanied by at least one person perhaps its owner making their way into a rink called the ‘Beef show’. I walk carefully on the bare ground finding it hard to distinguish between the mud and cow’s dung, my nose plugged with my fingers to ward off the noxious feces smell till I reach the Education Ring for milking a cow session. On the right hand corner are located benches aligned in a manner analogous to a stair case which is meant to be the seating area for the audience. In close proximity to the seating area is placed a small stage bordered with a white barn fence and enclosed within this fence is a huge, model cow painted black and white with a bucket placed underneath its rubber teat. The stage has been given the look of an old cow barn to give the audience the sensation of a real barn. As the show starts, a farmer wearing overalls and a cowboy hat brings out a real cow and introduces her as ‘magic patty’. I thought that he is going to milk her by hand but to my surprise, milking is done by mechanized black pumps attached to the cow’s teat with pipes going into a large machine. I am surrounded by little curious kids anxious to participate in the questions asked by the host as she engages the audience. After the education session, the host asks the kids to line up to experience cow milking first hand. To be interactive, I hesitatingly decide to join the kids and line up behind a cute little girl who looks upon me as if she's almost ready to question "what I’m doing here". When my turn comes, I introduce myself to the instructor as an ethnographer. I sit on a tool beside the cow’s rear end. She hands me a set of gloves to wear and wet napkins to wipe the teat in preparation for milking. I’ve never been this close to a cow before and I am not too sure if what I feel is fear or mere discomfort as I squeeze the teat in a downward motion. It feels similar to the rubber mouthpiece of a baby’s feeding bottle, slimy but not as soft as I imagined it to be. A steady stream of milk squirts out of the teat into the bucket as I squeeze analogous to the way water squirts out of a water gun. I thank her for giving me this unique opportunity and she gives me a tiny bag of fresh milk as I walk out. Just beside the education ring are located many cages placed on the floor with sheep, pigs, and horses. These cages are made of silver bars all the way around groups of 3-4 goats, sheep, and pigs and are not closed at the top. I wonder why all these goats are sitting so still and quiet in these cages. Why won’t they jump out of the cage? I am walking around looking at these animals from far away, one by one, admiring their beautiful skins and innocent faces. I think my favorite thing is the baby goats, with white fur and pinkish eyes, looking extremely adorable piled on top of each other. After checking out the petting zoo, I make my way through the beautiful displays of farm fruits and vegetables arranged in different patterns, colours, shapes, and sizes. On my way back, I watch the sheep shearing session where the same lady who milked the cow, is now shearing a small woolen, yellow sheep. The sheep is giving her a hard time by not standing still. It feels like the sheep just wants to run away and tries to as well but the lady grabs it in between her legs. The yellow, cloud-like wool piles up on the ground as the sheep stands naked, shameless in front of the entire audience. Something about the whole scene is humorous and the audience especially the kids are not only amazed but are also laughing hysterically. With a smile on my face and my heart filled with pleasure of making some new discovery, I decided to say farewell to the fair.

Hijab - A constant struggle

I was once told “The hardest part about doing hijab is that you face your own demons inside”. I couldn’t agree more. It is a challenge to destroy an image perceived by others based on outer appearance and beauty and build a personality based solely on your character and the ability to express yourself. You can no longer hide behind your looks. Your long, lustrous hair, curly eye lashes, tanned complexion, rosy cheeks, sparkly eyes, pearly teeth no longer gives you the satisfaction of being a complete woman. But it gets scary when the only way to make an impression and further gain acceptance in the world is through what you say and how you say it.
My struggle began at the age of 14 when I was striving to establish Salat (daily prayers). As I began to feel a sense of haya (modesty in Islam), my mind consistently felt tortured at any eye that refused to see beyond my looks. Compliments over my hair would bother me for days especially if they came from the opposite gender. I felt objectified when their fingers would run through my hair innocently trying to feel the texture or measure its length. I came to be known as the girl with long hair and glittery eyes. I did not want to be known as that. But I was afraid. I did not want people around me to feel that I have changed. I knew it would be difficult to feel accepted with a headscarf. I was afraid that people won’t understand and I’ll become an object of their ‘funny’ comments. I liked to be accepted, just not the WAY I was being accepted. However, this struggle did not last for long. I gave up and brushed any such thoughts aside. “I cannot do it now”. These feelings continued to visit from time to time.

“Hey, you wana go for a walk outside?” asked Tooba, my friend who I had just met in Grade 12 chemistry class. She observed the hijab. We used to walk every evening, chit chat, and eat fries. Occasionally, we would say salam (Islamic greeting) to this random, elderly muslim woman who would also be walking every evening around the same time. One evening, she asked me “beta, tussi musalman ho” (Are you a muslim?). Being the silly person that I am, I started giggling at her Punjabi. So did Tooba. She said to me that if I am a muslim, then it is a fardh (obligatory) to observe hijab (I will try not to say it in Punjabi from the fear of completely butchering the language). I did not quite get what she said due to the enormity of the message in a language I did not fully understand. Because I found the situation funny, it did not click to me right away how ‘ignorant’ I had been. This woman did not mind my giggles. It was like she knew my struggle.

The next and the following evenings, I observed hijab from the fear of bumping into that woman again. Tooba and I would laugh often about it. I never saw that woman again but I kept the hijab on. I bought a few extra ones. Different colours matching different outfits. It became a routine. It was not hard. I was criticized little by those close to me and I was not questioned. Although this did put an end to the ongoing whispers in my mind, I had no clue of its significance until I met and became friends with Hamsa, interested in knowing why I observe a hijab. I don’t think I answered her question well at that time but it got me searching for an answer. A woman’s body is sacred and the main principle for wearing a hijab is to respect and protect her attractive body parts as something valuable for her own being. It represents identity, modesty, chastity, veneration, and reverence. Ultimately, the main reason/intention should be to obey Allah swt as best as one can.

Over the years, the challenge continued as I faced few of the many obstacles most muslim women with hijabs have to face ranging from obtaining a career, marriage proposals, stereotypes, discrimination, and even hate crimes. I have not achieved perfection in it just yet but still striving towards it with determination and hope. I still have my ups and downs, my slips, my ‘giving up’ moments but the main thing is that it is something that requires consistent effort. The driving force behind that effort is nothing but true intentions and sincerity towards obeying our Lord. It needs to come from within; from strengthening our faith in the various ways prescribed by the Quran and the Sunnah (Prophet Muhammad’s sayings). It gave me an opportunity to re-define my personality, to build my character and to work towards a modest way of living, alhumdulillah (All praise is due to Allah swt). I pray that it continues to remain that way for me and for every woman trying her best to live a modest life.
(I just want to make it clear that this blog is written about my own self strictly from my perspective incorporating my experience and little knowledge. I do not in any way mean to imply that you can ONLY live modestly IF you observe a hijab and vice versa)

Folk Dancing

A piece I wrote a while ago. Based on real experience (ethnography).




I feel bizarre being at Robarts on a gloomy Friday evening despite the fact that there are more poor souls here tonight than I expected. I need to confirm the location of the multicultural folk dance workshop I’ll be attending later on tonight. A few days ago, I was exceptionally excited to go to this event but today, after doing a two hour presentation standing up and constantly talking, I am not exactly sure if I have the energy to dance. In a constant debate with myself whether or not I should go, I remember the deadline for the assignment is next week. Maybe I no longer have the choice to back out. As I sneak deep inside myself, I wonder if my reason for not wholly wanting to go is legitimate. I am scared to break out of my shell and participate in something I’ve never done before. Not only is that, but the thought of doing it with a complete crowd of strangers is overwhelming. This may come out as a surprise but I have never danced before! Except for a horrible version of Bhangra (folk dance from Punjab) or some random dancing I do at weddings. I snap out of my thoughts as my sight unconsciously strikes the wall clock situated above the information desk.

At about 7:30 pm, I walk out of Robarts. The wind, blowing outrageously, slaps every part of my existence as I walk north on St.George Street. I make a left turn from Bloor Street and can’t help but notice the giant, orange dragon staring at me from the glass window of the Bata Shoe Museum. While walking on Spadina, a huge sign on a building reading “Jewish Community Center” comes to my attention. Immediately, something in my heart questions “What if the dance class is here?” I feel tormented at the thought of walking into a Jewish community with my hijab (headscarf) on as it shouts my Muslim identity. I fear not being accepted due to all the political tension between the two groups. Hoping they are nice people, I enter into the glass building through a fancy, heavy door and feel extremely lost in the midst of a huge crowd of people lined up to enter into one of the theatre halls. Upon inquiring at the information desk about the location of Gym 122, I realize I am in the wrong building. Silly me! How could I possibly walk into a building without even looking at the building number? As I walk out, a sense of relief upon seeing the Faculty of Education building across Spadina Street soothes me. For some reason, having a gym inside a huge, castle-looking, ancient, brick building sounds as paradoxical as having a computer lab at Hart House. A massive show case of trophies greets me after I make my way through a giant door into the main lobby. I hear melodious but dim music as if it was coming from somewhere far away. Although it’s difficult to define, it arouses a feeling that I am listening to something vaguely familiar. It constructs an image of a Scotsman wearing a kilt with an ivory bag pipe. The music gets louder and louder as I get closer and closer to the gym located at the end of the lobby. A lady wearing a dress consisting of a laced petticoat, a blouse and a headscarf comes over and excitedly introduces herself as Tery, the folk dance instructor. While I explain to her the reason of my planned arrival, I quickly glance at the empty gym and realize that I am the first one here. She kindly tells me to have a seat on one of the wooden benches aligned along the walls of the gym and wait until everyone else arrives. The diamond patterned brickwork, basketball hoops, blue mats, and multi-coloured lines on the floor describe this typical gymnasium triggering forgotten, awful memories of my grade 9 physical education class.

I don’t feel uncomfortable just yet because nobody is here. Eight elderly people, five women and three men, enter into the gym after about twenty minutes with apologetic looks on their faces. They seem to be from a variety of ethnicities including Chinese, South Indian, Filipino, and a few others. Tery welcomes them all, one by one, with a handshake and a friendly smile. Just when I was thinking to introduce myself, Tery shouts out “Hello Ladies and Gentlemen” to grab everyone’s attention. My heart skips a beat as Tery continues breathlessly “We have a special guest here who is going to join us tonight.” I wave my hand with a smile on my face to avoid the weirdness that comes along with being the center of attention. Within 2 seconds, everyone joined hands and formed a circle around Tery. I planned to watch a few performances before I actually joined, but here I am, enclosing the circle, entirely clueless and confused. Yet somehow, I can manage to keep a smile on my face. Not that I am deliberately trying to smile, but the whole situation is weird enough to induce giggles. I sense butterflies in my stomach similar to the ones you feel prior to writing an exam or before a roller coaster free fall. Tery announces that we’ll be learning two new folk dances tonight and after that the group will practice the ones learned earlier in the year. She begins by teaching the first step of a Greek folk dance called Gazarkana. She takes three small steps forward counting out loud “1, 2, 3” and on the 4th count, taps the ground gently with her left feet. We all repeat the step after her while holding hands. She then teaches the entire dance, consisting of four steps, one step at a time and we all follow her. I actually find it relatively easy as compared to what I expected. After learning all four steps, we now perform the entire dance all together with the music. Things can get pretty messy if you take one wrong step or lose concentration. After some initial hesitance and mistakes, it becomes something instinctive and natural. I continue to follow the others and truly, I am enjoying every moment of it.

When I am in motion, my heart feels this immense joy. I feel alive! The dance starts off slowly and then gradually gets faster and faster following the beat of the music. You get so immersed in it that while the dance lasts, you are entirely diconnected not only from the outside world but also from your own self. You have no thoughts, no feelings, no conscious, and no stress as if you are on anesthetics. It feels like the music will never end and we’ll continue like this forever. The music gets slower once again and so we also get slower until we gradually come to a stop. My sweaty hand slips off from the person’s beside me. I try to catch my breath and gulp down the few drops of saliva in my mouth down my dry throat. I wipe the sweat off my forehead and sit on the bench to drink some water to cool off. Before I could take a moment to calm down, an old lady walks toward me, grab my arm and vivaciusly ask me to join the group in the next dance. I soon find myself standing in a circle again. The next dance is a Hungarian folk dance called the Burbur and the person teaching it is a Hungarian man named Michael. We are in a circle but instead of holding hands with our neighbours, we place our arms on their shoulders. On step 1, we swing our right leg into the air and back down. Right after, we swing our left leg and shout “hey ho!”. We hop twice and then the entire circle gradually move closer into the center and slowly move back out while shouting “Keep it up and dance all day, Till the devil take you away”. Just like the first dance, these few steps are repeated over and over till the sound track ends. I feel uncomfortable since this dance involves getting too close to the other members and being self-conscious is destroying my concentration. I find it relatively easy to perform the dance one step at a time but doing it all together as one piece, especially with the music, can result in forgetting the steps. Now, it’s time for the group to practice the folk dances they learned earlier on in the year. I sit on the bench and watch the rest bounce, swing, slide, tap and weave in response to the captivating rhythmic beats. After making a few more oberservations, I place my diary in my bag and walk toward Tery to offer gratitude.

Reflecting and Learning

“I was merrily proceeding along a certain route, when suddenly something spins me round and round, and I am off on a new tangent.”

This statement pretty much sums up my life in the past couple of years. Nothing too extraordinary. A life changing event placed me at a completely other end of the spectrum, reminding me how quickly everything we have can come to an end. I learned that true gain is always accompanied with loss, true love always accompanied with a compromise, and true happiness always with pain. I learned how the unexpected can really sweep us off our feet but ironically, can also dig us deeper in the ground. Every end always marks a new beginning. And that, we can always climb up again after many falls. It all makes sense though, doesn’t it? How else would we ever be able to appreciate and truly understand our lives?

The main question here is: How can we react to these unexpected increase or decrease in our lives? I had always witnessed people around me whose lives changed in moments (literally) and often wondered how they coped with the change. When asked, I was given ‘patience’ and ‘courage’ and many more words of wisdom and support. However, I am not too sure how much of these words of wisdom I was able to put into practice during my own trials. Alhumdulillah, I made effort. But is that nearly enough? Is there a way to make your faith so strong that absolutely no trial in the world can ever shake it? Or is it the other way around? When you are shaken, your faith develops and strengthens? Honestly speaking, when I was tested, my reactions were definitely more on the impulsive side than well thought out. One trial after the other was so overwhelming that I felt like a frozen soda pop; ready to explode. Although that phase has now subsided and I am gone stale, I often wonder if I could have handled it a bit better. If instead of a soda pop, I could’ve been a tube of toothpaste; full yet flexible. Suggestions anyone? “Yes…YOU” (I am looking for practical advice, sort of like a step-by-step procedure – fully prepared cake, ready to eat and digest :P)

Hope you all have an awesome day! Reflect. Life certainly has its ups and downs, as you well know. But what you need to understand is that beyond the cloud that hangs over your horizon, there is a rainbow of extraordinary beauty.

Long forgotten,
Hina