Saturday, June 26, 2010
Your Diagnosis: Greed. Source of infection: Materialism
Perhaps the organic vines of hatred spiraled and sprouted as I moved from Orange County to Los Angeles. These vines were implanted by greed, watered with money, and sustained through the culture of materialism. As the hatred absorbed the satisfactory effects of material pleasures, the vines torpedoed out of control. Perhaps the light of reason or the heat of pressure would kill these vines of hatred, perhaps the vines would turn into weeds. Alas none of this has happened and I await the time that I can scoop the dirt from their roots, and transplant them onto soil that breeds immaterial pleasures, unconditional and everlasting happiness.
In speaking of these vines, I refer to materialism and how deeply I feel against it. Perhaps I align with Sayyid Qutb in his hatred for Western notions of materialism winning happiness, but simultaneously, I align with the third richest man in the world, Warren Buffet who still lives in the same $31,000 house he bought in 1958.
Materialism embodies the American spirit of buy now, pay later, and think about it later. Instant gratification sells! Buyer's remorse exists..
..and Materialism only encompasses the rainbow of brands that so many admire and aspire to own. It is an infectious disease that has taken nations by storm, allowing people to be swept away by price tags and foreign names. What I wonder is: if it doesnt make a difference to a child's eye, a foreigner's eye, or a sheltered eye, then why do you make it such a point to be seen? Brands, that is.
If you somehow ended up randomly one day in the middle of the Polynesian islands and you were wearing a Burberry shirt, would they care that you paid $400? Would they even know what the hell Burberry is? Who gives a shit? And if you somehow landed into the depths of the Alaskan natives, would you eat caviar in front of them to indicate that your food is superior, and appropriately corresponds to the high class society you belong to? If you had to sleep on a concrete rooftop for one night in the middle of New York City, on a high rise apartment building, with only one item to wake up to, what would it be? Would it be a necessity or would it be a frivolous, show-off item? Could a child tell the difference between ice cream that spilled on his $200 coach shoes versus $20 payless shoes? If it doesn't matter to them, it shouldn't matter to you.
Are we cows? For humans to desire brands, to wear them, to be easily identified? Are we THAT alike--so indistinctive, undistinguishable, that we need to brand ourselves? I'm Hugo Boss and you're Bebe. Oh wait, you're Bebe too, so I guess you and I have been branded twice by the same iron. What a dismay.
Are we insecure? For humans to think that they must be defined by subscribing to someone else's tastes, someone else's expression of art, someone else's creation--isn't that called theft/plagiarism/un- uniqueness?! We are so undefined, that we must wear clothes, buy accessories, and show off these BRANDS so that it is easy to understand us. Easy to categorize us. Easy to see which class we are from. And this is all from the surface. Girl meets girl, understands her surface, and quickly turns away. Split-second eye contact, quick judgments, and the disease has spread into a plague.
So if you didn't have your Dolce and Gabbana perfume, your Louis Vutton bag, your Armani Exchange pants, who would define you? Are you that plain, that insecure, that colorless, that you need someone else to decide who you are? Someone that you are willing to pay HUNDREDS and HUNDREDS of dollars to, just so that you can wear a name, a brand, and let others judge you? Wow, you must be the most shallow and most fluid person ever. And by fluid, I mean that you are so quickly passing through my fingers that I can't hold you for a minute to get to know you.
What a shame, no? You've been infected by the credit cards, permanently immunized to feed into this consumer culture. You are so brainless that you allow others to make decisions about who you are. You no longer have a real desire to express yourself, you are no different, you are simply a uniform of BRANDS. BRANDS BRANDS BRANDS, that's all you are. You wear watches, you were purses, you think you are better than everyone else.
And you can only stop this disease if you figure out, within yourself, that the cure is a simple realization of time. Time will test you. Time will erode your beauty, your money, your ... life. When you die, and you weren't born into an Ancient Egyptian civilization, you will be buried with nothing but insects and dirts besides you. Your only expense will be oxygen.
So please tell me: What is it about status that so many of us are seeking to gain? Why must we impress people we don't like? Buy temporary fixes to long-sustained, permanent problems? Why do we submit to the commercialization of our emotions--buying chocolates for "love"? No wonder our next generation is so confused about the lines separating love and physical infatuation. Why does buying equal happiness?
How far will you go until your greed is finally satisfied?
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Exhibit A: Identity on Display
I wish there was a word for this. You know how "bittersweet" captures that perfect mix of sour and sweet? I feel that way, but with emotions-can't tell if I am happy or can't tell if I'm disappointed. So, a little bit of both. I'm happointed.
This morning I discouragingly woke up to the sound of an 8 am alarm which I snoozed for 32 minutes and arrived at my 9 am class wearing my pajamas. What was I wearing? I proudly represented my Al Talib T shirt, but--somehow--not consciously. I wore it as I wore any other pair of pajamas, like they were abandoned canvasses. Marks of makeup, remnants of food, and other histories added to the character-funk of my PJs. But this was a brand new white T shirt that had the term "Al Talib" written in Arabic, translated in English, and then a tagline stating "the muslim newsmagazine at UCLA." So I walked into my discussion class with not an entirely conscious state of mind; rather, I was not very well aware of my actions.
I hungrily went to grab a smoothie after class ended. At the order counter, I usually state that I would like the "mango smoothie with no sherbert, please." But sometimes I just feel bad for the order takers and I just ask for a regular smoothie, and then I later clarify it with the smoothie artists that I ONLY want mangos and soymilk. In the past, I'd say, ten times, I have not encountered a problem with it. Except once. A lady denied me once! She flat out rejected my order, shaking her head left and right, with this look on her face that she wouldn't "cater to anyone's 'special' needs." That look deeply irritated me. She kept insisting that I change my order, so that I may get a different smoothie that already has soymilk in it. "Get the orange smoothie," she said. I was mad, and a volcano was brewing inside of me.
As always, its because I kept the frustration to myself. I kept thinking, does this lady have no regard for the benefit of the doubt? Granted, not every situation is worthy of doubt, but did she even entertain the fact?
No.
So I responded to her. I said, "I can't get the orange smoothie because my stomach cannot handle acid."
Did she know, that at the tender age of 14 years old, I was diagnosed with GERD (Gastro Esophageal Reflux Disease)? Did she know that I occasionally regurgitate actual vomit? For no reason, other than I have too much acid? If I got an orange smoothie, it would not be the end of the world. But WHY, why, why...why did she have to make life that much harder for me? And for herself?!
I told her, I just want a smoothie with Mangoes and soymilk. That's it. And I had gotten it so, so many other times before, that I simply could not wrap my finger around why this lady seemed to have a personal vendetta against my order, or me for that matter.
Finally she agreed by saying that she would make it only this one time and that next time I better get the orange smoothie.
What a waste-my whole explanation about my stomach problems did not seem to deem a valid enough reason to get a "special order." Why not? When food items contain peanuts in them, people go out of their way to make sure there aren't peanuts. When some recipes have pork or lard remains, the chefs usually accomodate. And even out of simple good nature, why would you reject someone else's desires--ESPECIALLY in the work force, where professionalism is so highly dignified?
Nevertheless, today, I went in for a mango smoothie again. I observed that today, the smoothie artist was the same lady. I felt like I had already crossed a hurdle with her, so that I would not have to fight this battle again.
Alas, this time, it was war. I hate war. But I asked if she could simply put mangoes and soymilk. Nope. She would not. In fact, she refused to even do it--again. She kept pointing to the juice machine that there was no such thing. So I pointed to where the mangoes were, and said that I just wanted mangoes, and soymilk. But at this point, I was literally begging her.
Nothing worked. She insisted that she would call her boss. I became enraged only because I felt like she was disregarding any thoughtfulness, any morality, any kindness--all for the sake of her pride, so it seemed. It seemed she was too proud to serve my "special order" needs. I even reminded her, again, that I have stomach issues. I even insisted that I had gotten this very same order plenty of times before. But after she kept nodding her head left and right, shutting her eyes in utter disagreement and condescending disapproval, I decided to take matters into my own hands.
"Fine, I will just ask the manager myself."
I proceeded to the manager. He looked at me as if to observe a statue. Without my conscious realization, I had noticed that he read my shirt. He noticed the Arabic. He knew who I was.
I am Muslim.
I explained the whole ordeal about mangoes and soymilk, my stomach, and that the lady simply refused although I had gotten it many times before. And he just walked with me, almost disregarding anything I had said to him as if he understood the more important things in life, and simply stated, "I will make it for you myself."
I was instantly humbled.
He went around to the back of the smoothie counter, made it in front of my eyes, and proceeded to converse with me.
"So, you are Muslim...."
He was Muslim, too. From Ethiopia. Held some Ramadan dinners at the campus dining hall. We talked for a minute or two and I was happy. After such a long struggle. I was formerly so disappointed in mankind and its lack of empathy, but everything reversed in such few moments. As he personally handed me the smoothie, he told me that the lady was simply following orders--they are not allowed to deviate from the original smoothie recipes. But he said, of course, accomodations can be made for dietary reasons. He mentioned that by having only mangoes and soymilk, the smoothie doesn't churn as well, so that was another reason why she did not want to make it (but is that a valid reason, or is it laziness, or is it just pride--that I will not make you a smoothie because that requires more effort than you are worth?) He assertively, but gently, reminded me that the lady was only adhering to the rules and she was not trying to be mean to me. Oh, if only he knew.
In the end, I have some things to say: (a) I had never realized the power of displaying identity so forwardly. Had I not worn my Al Talib shirt, which clearly proclaims my Muslim pride, would I have gotten different treatment? Did I get different treatment because of it? and (b) is wearing a shirt that screams "I am Muslim" have any weight in terms of replacing it with a headscarf? I.e. If I wore a shirt for the rest of my life stating "I am Muslim," how different would it be than wearing a scarf on my head? and (c)If this difference exists, then why are people so afraid to approach those with headscarves, if t shirts can be equally as threatening or equally as inviting?
and (d) How damn important is it to follow the rules? The lady seemed to be fine in bending the rules the first time. She completely disregarded my dietary explanations the first AND the second time. What made her do it the first time? What was the big deal in doing it again? I mean, it's just a smoothie, and if she doesn't follow the rules, she is not gaining or losing anything--no managers were supervising her.
and lastly (e) I am ashamed. After the humbling kindness of the manager, I felt like my Muslim identity had been compromised due to my strong thoughts against the lady. I felt like I was wearing the t shirt--I was walking the walk, but not talking the talk. And usually, it's the other way around.
She put me in check.
This morning I discouragingly woke up to the sound of an 8 am alarm which I snoozed for 32 minutes and arrived at my 9 am class wearing my pajamas. What was I wearing? I proudly represented my Al Talib T shirt, but--somehow--not consciously. I wore it as I wore any other pair of pajamas, like they were abandoned canvasses. Marks of makeup, remnants of food, and other histories added to the character-funk of my PJs. But this was a brand new white T shirt that had the term "Al Talib" written in Arabic, translated in English, and then a tagline stating "the muslim newsmagazine at UCLA." So I walked into my discussion class with not an entirely conscious state of mind; rather, I was not very well aware of my actions.
I hungrily went to grab a smoothie after class ended. At the order counter, I usually state that I would like the "mango smoothie with no sherbert, please." But sometimes I just feel bad for the order takers and I just ask for a regular smoothie, and then I later clarify it with the smoothie artists that I ONLY want mangos and soymilk. In the past, I'd say, ten times, I have not encountered a problem with it. Except once. A lady denied me once! She flat out rejected my order, shaking her head left and right, with this look on her face that she wouldn't "cater to anyone's 'special' needs." That look deeply irritated me. She kept insisting that I change my order, so that I may get a different smoothie that already has soymilk in it. "Get the orange smoothie," she said. I was mad, and a volcano was brewing inside of me.
As always, its because I kept the frustration to myself. I kept thinking, does this lady have no regard for the benefit of the doubt? Granted, not every situation is worthy of doubt, but did she even entertain the fact?
No.
So I responded to her. I said, "I can't get the orange smoothie because my stomach cannot handle acid."
Did she know, that at the tender age of 14 years old, I was diagnosed with GERD (Gastro Esophageal Reflux Disease)? Did she know that I occasionally regurgitate actual vomit? For no reason, other than I have too much acid? If I got an orange smoothie, it would not be the end of the world. But WHY, why, why...why did she have to make life that much harder for me? And for herself?!
I told her, I just want a smoothie with Mangoes and soymilk. That's it. And I had gotten it so, so many other times before, that I simply could not wrap my finger around why this lady seemed to have a personal vendetta against my order, or me for that matter.
Finally she agreed by saying that she would make it only this one time and that next time I better get the orange smoothie.
What a waste-my whole explanation about my stomach problems did not seem to deem a valid enough reason to get a "special order." Why not? When food items contain peanuts in them, people go out of their way to make sure there aren't peanuts. When some recipes have pork or lard remains, the chefs usually accomodate. And even out of simple good nature, why would you reject someone else's desires--ESPECIALLY in the work force, where professionalism is so highly dignified?
Nevertheless, today, I went in for a mango smoothie again. I observed that today, the smoothie artist was the same lady. I felt like I had already crossed a hurdle with her, so that I would not have to fight this battle again.
Alas, this time, it was war. I hate war. But I asked if she could simply put mangoes and soymilk. Nope. She would not. In fact, she refused to even do it--again. She kept pointing to the juice machine that there was no such thing. So I pointed to where the mangoes were, and said that I just wanted mangoes, and soymilk. But at this point, I was literally begging her.
Nothing worked. She insisted that she would call her boss. I became enraged only because I felt like she was disregarding any thoughtfulness, any morality, any kindness--all for the sake of her pride, so it seemed. It seemed she was too proud to serve my "special order" needs. I even reminded her, again, that I have stomach issues. I even insisted that I had gotten this very same order plenty of times before. But after she kept nodding her head left and right, shutting her eyes in utter disagreement and condescending disapproval, I decided to take matters into my own hands.
"Fine, I will just ask the manager myself."
I proceeded to the manager. He looked at me as if to observe a statue. Without my conscious realization, I had noticed that he read my shirt. He noticed the Arabic. He knew who I was.
I am Muslim.
I explained the whole ordeal about mangoes and soymilk, my stomach, and that the lady simply refused although I had gotten it many times before. And he just walked with me, almost disregarding anything I had said to him as if he understood the more important things in life, and simply stated, "I will make it for you myself."
I was instantly humbled.
He went around to the back of the smoothie counter, made it in front of my eyes, and proceeded to converse with me.
"So, you are Muslim...."
He was Muslim, too. From Ethiopia. Held some Ramadan dinners at the campus dining hall. We talked for a minute or two and I was happy. After such a long struggle. I was formerly so disappointed in mankind and its lack of empathy, but everything reversed in such few moments. As he personally handed me the smoothie, he told me that the lady was simply following orders--they are not allowed to deviate from the original smoothie recipes. But he said, of course, accomodations can be made for dietary reasons. He mentioned that by having only mangoes and soymilk, the smoothie doesn't churn as well, so that was another reason why she did not want to make it (but is that a valid reason, or is it laziness, or is it just pride--that I will not make you a smoothie because that requires more effort than you are worth?) He assertively, but gently, reminded me that the lady was only adhering to the rules and she was not trying to be mean to me. Oh, if only he knew.
In the end, I have some things to say: (a) I had never realized the power of displaying identity so forwardly. Had I not worn my Al Talib shirt, which clearly proclaims my Muslim pride, would I have gotten different treatment? Did I get different treatment because of it? and (b) is wearing a shirt that screams "I am Muslim" have any weight in terms of replacing it with a headscarf? I.e. If I wore a shirt for the rest of my life stating "I am Muslim," how different would it be than wearing a scarf on my head? and (c)If this difference exists, then why are people so afraid to approach those with headscarves, if t shirts can be equally as threatening or equally as inviting?
and (d) How damn important is it to follow the rules? The lady seemed to be fine in bending the rules the first time. She completely disregarded my dietary explanations the first AND the second time. What made her do it the first time? What was the big deal in doing it again? I mean, it's just a smoothie, and if she doesn't follow the rules, she is not gaining or losing anything--no managers were supervising her.
and lastly (e) I am ashamed. After the humbling kindness of the manager, I felt like my Muslim identity had been compromised due to my strong thoughts against the lady. I felt like I was wearing the t shirt--I was walking the walk, but not talking the talk. And usually, it's the other way around.
She put me in check.
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