Reality

With a simple pair of lens, the entire world can seem entirely different. What could once be seen as a foggy mist above mountains can instead be seen as a crispy clear sky in a distant landscape. Holding the pair of lens in my hands, I can actively choose whether or not I want a blurry world or a focused world--but why should this be a dichotomy? Why cannot I see the world as I see it, or perhaps as I wish to see it? Am I supposed to be aware that I have lens to see clearly with? What if I don't-- shall I just roam the world, blindly, or rather, blurriedly?

These lens pave a path for us to elude somewhere else, but at the same time we are handicapped to walk along this pavement since we are completely disoriented on what is real and what is not. Constantly, it is a struggle to decipher truth among deception. But, is this not assuming that deception is the reality? That we must question all that is unreal in order to distinguish what truly is real? What is reality?


In a generation when technology and the media have bombarded the imagination with a plethora of unreal images, fantastical lands, and mythological creatures, it has become possible to merge the unreal with the real. It seems, however, that the fatal mistake being made is the life lived in an illusion of what is unreal. We assign value to unreal things, we analyze actions that have not been made, we conclude judgments on the what-ifs. We create alternate universes among our own. But who is to say that we do, in fact, live in a single universe? Perhaps we occupy two or three simultaneously. Ever heard of deja vu?

In addition to the lengths of greatness occupied by a universe, there is the internal universe, our own reality that suggests itself to be uniquely formed. It is a reality best understood exponentially. First, there is the reality of a fly on a wall. Once the fly occupies space, it is connecting to the universe of whatever space, or mass, it is surrounding. Therefore, its occupied space multiplies by itself. Imagine the fly, on a leaf. Then, adding another power, some rain drops fall onto the leaf. Now, it is the rain, on a leaf, near the fly. Third power. With each increment of increasing power, it can be observed that the fly has encountered a greater reality-space than that with which it originated. Therefore, it can be said, that the fly is in its own world. And when it interferes with other worlds, its world becomes larger and larger.

The same can be said of humans. We have our own realities, we are in our own worlds--both as a mass, and then as individuals. Beyond the disciplines of an individual, there are his mental worlds. With every new interaction, the mental realm of a person enters a new imagination of possibilities. New fantasies, new realities. All are formed. And, with each merging of realities, a set of reality absorptions occur, so that one person is no longer wholly himself, but rather, a collection of others' remains, others' realities. For example, if I lived in my own bubble and never knew who President Obama was, I would never be able to imagine the realities and fantasies of America. I would be limited to just my own world's perceptions.

We create cultures as if they were worlds. Aside from the obvious--travelling--as being the only act to induce the clashing of cultures, it can be noted that cultures can be born in any setting. Within a room, a culture is created between roommates. In a class, between classmates. In a prison, among inmates. In the wilderness, among nature. With each consequent environment is a culture, and with each culture demands a reality.

Our realities are numerous, and we form realities with our environment as well as with our people. We create a culture within friendships, yet a different culture with relationships, and yet another culture with formal interactions. We pass the boundaries of one world, of one culture to the next, with a simple handshake. Or with a simple change of clothes.

But how do we determine a shared culture, a shared world, a shared reality? A single reality. A universal truth, something that can be accepted regardless of who we have interacted with, what we have been exposed to, or where we have been? Indeed, globalization has risen out of these questions and has ultimately molded the world into a single thread, where the spool acts as an axis as the thread spins around with singular ideas, uniform environments, and universal cultures repetitively.

Our realities have become so interconnected. To pull a chunk out of mine and consider it a collective sample of the whole would be a fallacy. And to consider it as a single, original piece of my own reality would be impossible, since I have developed many interactions and have interfered with too many a reality. But there still remain realities to be discovered. My exponential connection with different environments needs to increase. And with this, I end with a quote from a wise man:

When you are on land, you turn and only see what is around you.
Climb on the mountain to seek the truth, for at the top, you see what is unseen.

Relativity & Definity: Like Oil to Water?

Doesn't it seem like the world is against you when you rush to the train terminal and the doors JUST closed? The time board shows a slow countdown of seconds, one by one, to the deadline of the train's departure...but couldn't the train just wait for just one more second? And the world seems to have the timing just right when you are in the mood to eat popcorn at your next movie screening, but for some odd reason the machine is "broken" today...How about all of those times when you were on the brink of an A- with an 89.5 but the teacher wouldn't round up? When you arrived late to work by just ONE minute...but it was the third time this week?

Relativity or not? When I eat out with  a friend but I don't have enough change and she covers for me, even though I will pay her back later..and when I do, I'm a couple of cents short. My personal philosophy on this matter is simply that it all smooths out at the end.

For all of those moments in which definity is called upon, relativity scoops-in a place for itself. I wonder how it is possible to measure time, money, and all other definite things--when, on so many occassions, it is hard to formulaically carve out the right portions. Are there really 100 calories in every 100-calorie pack oreo snack? And, every time there is breaking news, doesn't the network have to re-assign the stories it had planned to air? How much of uncertainty can we predict? And how does it feel to expect uncertainty, to measure it, and realize that it occurred without you knowing? Albert Einstein once said, "Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. That's relativity."

Relativity in art occurs just as equally as relativity in science, despite the fact that scientific endeavors require precision. Are there not intervals in which polls decide PLUS or MINUS the standard deviation? Are there not endless solutions to calculus equations involving ∞?  Therefore, could it not be argued that a certain "pinch" of relativity is required in the formula of definity?

It is my impression that we are in a constant struggle to acheive every grain of measurement SO precisely so that the hourglass of definity is the same, after every twist up-side down and down-side up, each passing of sand reflects the same hour as the last. But what happens when our attachment to definity becomes dependency? If we are relying on the definite hourglass to say as it should, are we not permitting the allowance of relativity? Why has it become so unacceptable to have an extra grain of sand? Will we not need that extra grain..in case one of the others gets stuck within the crease of the wood?

Dear Death, Please Knock Before Entering.

Day after day you wake up. You mindlessly follow the daily routine of brushing your teeth and washing your face. Yeah- life tells you to stop and look at the roses, but even when you do, it can only be for a few seconds. What's the point in even taking the time out of your day to "appreciate" these wonders of nature and wonders of life if you can't ever seem to find time to pay respects to them? To acknowledge that lives, other than your own, occur daily around you--from the bees making honey to the skies shifting winds.

In our culture of hustle-bustle-ism, it becomes second nature to simply overlook the scenery...I get it. And in no way do I ask you to stop what you are doing just so that you appreciate the birds humming around you. Quite the contrary- I wish you and I became more aware of the unconscious, repetitive daily routines that we so mindlessly execute. Because it is these mindless executions--I think--are what entrap us in a cycle of repetition. We choose to exclude variety in our lives. We choose to do the same thing over and over again, because we never realize that we might die some time. And if we realized that death were ever so close to us, we may behave differently.

Case in point: On our way to school or work, we grab our wallet and keys. Did you ever look at your wallet and notice the expiration date? I did. You know what I thought? If I knew I was going to die a week from now, would I have to let the DMV know? How often do we get so close to death that our minds--the only thoughts preoccupying our minds--revolve around death?

Case in point: We drive the car and instinctively turn on the radio. I saw an ad for AT&T about losing a precious moment. If I once sat in a car and listened to the radio right away, I could have missed the sounds of a fire horn coming nearer to me within milliseconds. Or I could have been busy flipping a radio channel instead of rolling down the windows and simply listening to the sounds of the city--the people walking and the cars flowing.

Case in point: We grab a bag of chips before sitting down to watch tv. If I had a penny for every chip I ate in front of a screen, I think I would be the next Warren Buffet. But in reality, if I get a chunk of cholesterol for every chip I eat, I get heart disease. So if I knew that the next bag of chips I opened would lead to heart disease, would I do it?

Basically, we live in a world where it is impossible to carpe diem "seize the moment". But what happens when we stop realizing there are moments to be seized? For example, after routinistic patterns of eating unhealthy foods, people become obese. A recent Jamie Oliver discovery on the Oprah show proved one point: when an obese person dies, do you know how the funeral goes? First, they must get an extra-extra large casket that is double the size of a normal one. In carrying the casket (which can only fit through some double doors), the family is not able to give the body any dignity. Even while dead, the person is being humiliated. Ever seen the film What's Eating Gilbert Grape? It's about a mom who was so morbidly obese that she quit going outside in years, and eventually died on her bed. So does anyone ever think about the specifics of dying? Will we, too, lead our bodies to become machines and then die mindlessly?

Death comes suddenly, too, and can wipe out en masse--it has done so in the recent tragedies of Haiti and Pakistan. Does anyone ever look at the clouds, day by day, and think: one day it is these very clouds that might strike me?

If death can so easily invite itself to our lives, then what--exactly--defines or proves our existence? Do we prove that we exist by driving all day, getting stuck in traffic, and going home then watching tv? Or do we prove our existence by planting seed after seed and sowing the crops? How do we define ourselves when it comes time to place a tombstone over our dead bodies? "Amelia Noor- mother, wife, and daughter?" Is that a definition?

Life is an endless acre of corn fields. Each row represents a week, and each stalk is a day, and each kernel a minute. When you drive past the corn fields, they all look the same. Each one is a repetition of the last. There are a few rotten stalks, and several dead kernels. But when you drive past so fast, it's hard to focus on them, hard to notice them, because all the life surrounds them and engulfs them. You keep driving and driving past the acres of corn fields, but you never think--could the next acre be the last one I drive past?

Universally Speaking

I have this theory. This theory is that the universe requires of certain masses to be at certain locations at certain times. For example, the universe requires death in order to bring life. Or one flower to bloom in order for a bee to pollinate. Or perhaps one person to miss the train on a day that a train wreck occurs. Right place, right time. And this was one of those moments.

I could sing of your love forever...Lord. I could sing of your love,  f o r e v e r. . .

Even though I heard these words a week ago, it took a while for my inspiration to truly seep in and marinate my heart. I heard these words on a sunny Sunday morning around 10 30 am, with a live band in front of me and a makeshift choir behind me. I was in the center of a mass, but since that usually connotates Catholicism, I would like to clarify and state that I was in the center of a Presbyterian church gathering on a sunny Sunday morning just seven days ago. What I learned then, I will always remember.

The pastor told a story. It was about a lesson he learned from a faucet, termites, and ants. He noticed one day, while about to fall asleep, that the faucet was leaking. Tap, tap, tap the water went...each night.. He noticed it, but chose to ignore it. After a few months, he noticed his water bill spiked a bit. Some other time afterwards, he was cooking in the kitchen when he leaned against a wall and it cracked. He didn't want to do anything about it. A few weeks later, he noticed termites crawling up and down, eating away his walls and creating a giant hole. ..And lastly, ants were starting to creep around his house.

He decided to go to the hardware store to buy a new knob for the faucet, which took him only an hour to repair. He bought drywall and wood to reconstruct the part of the wall, taking him only one day's worth of work for the entire wall that the termites ate. And he bought ant repellent for the ants, which took a few minutes, tracking them all back to the single Queen ant who produced them all (by the way, fun fact: for each human, there are one million ants on earth).

What was the lesson, he asked? After all of the damage that accumulated over time, he realized he could have had short, quick, simple solutions and would have saved a lot of money, time, and gross-ness. Why is it so hard to simply hold ourselves accountable? Why don't we clean up our crumbs? ..I was at the right place at the right time when I heard the pastor tell this story because it inspired me to vacuum at 11 o clock at night today after I dropped crumbs of graham crackers all over the sofa.

Next. It was Saturday night--the night before I was making fantasy plans in my head about going to church one day. I told my roommate to come if she wanted, that I was going to go to church on Sunday. Somehow I started explaining the three Abrahamic faiths to her--Christianity, Judaism, and Islam--and what they all share in common. About how Abraham's story is universally accepted--God gave him and Sarah the ability to bear children at old age. God tested him. God and Abraham-a story surpassing the confines of scrolls.

Little did I realize that I was yet again at the right place at the right time. The pastor talked about Abraham the very next morning at church. Hello, the universe called. It was asking you to be at the right place at the right time. Thank you, good bye. ?!?!

Okay, now this one tops them all.  It was as if the whispers of all the energies in my head somehow sprinkled dust into the mind of the pastor. When he said, "..and sometimes, God speaks to you. In different ways. Sometimes he speaks to you through a dream, sometimes through other people, or sometimes just by chance." That was really, really spooky. I can't believe it. This whole time I was thinking about how the universe finds a way to put you at the right place and right time (Oprah had said it this way before) and yet, the very theory that I thought I had minted, was ejecting out of the mouth of this pastor.

It was the perfect Sunday for me to go to church.

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?

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.

My Crayola Crayon is Granite Gray. And I like to color biiiiiiiig gray areas with it!

There was a moment in my recent memory that really hurt my feelings. I was in a group setting where I, with a bunch of other students, was learning the meaning of integrity. We did a couple of exercises: if you agreed with a statement, you go to this corner of the room; if you disagreed with the statement, you go to that corner of the room. Oh, and let me not forget--if you STRONGLY agreed or if you STRONGLY disagreed, you also go to this or that corner of the room. (By the way, this room only had four corners... in case you were wondering ;) )

Some statements: "If you are driving your car in a school zone when there are no children present, it is okay to go over the 25 mph speed limit." "If your college is offering a $300 discount to a study abroad trip for current students only, and you just graduated two months ago, it is okay to take it."

After we all nomadically moved to different corners of the room in agreements and disagreements to these statements, we had a debrief. Here's the part that hurt my feelings:

The proctor asked, "So after this exercise, do you feel that there is a gray area in integrity?"

And I rose my hand and said, "Yes, a huge one."

As usual. Naively expressing my opinion without a care for what the consequences would be. Even if it meant that everyone in that room was judging me.

And here is what she replied: "Oh really, a huge one?"

And I said, "Yeah, I do not think everything in this world is black and white. For example, pretend that I'm a student who is going to study abroad in order to teach English to underprivileged kids. Not only that, I obviously have a deep financial situation that necessitates aid. Does that mean that I shouldn't take advantage of the $300 discount, simply because I graduated two months ago?"

The proctor simply replied, "But you already graduated."

The room was pin-drop silent and I felt my thoughts scrambling out loud like a twister, about to plague the room, without even being spoken out loud. I was so hurt that someone could imply that I do not have integrity. That I would dishonestly take advantage of a $300 discount.

I tried again.

"But I am different from a student who, say perhaps, is studying abroad recreationally and going to a country just for the sake of it and just to be a tourist in a foreign nation. In fact, I am doing good by teaching underprivileged kids how to speak English."

She was cold this time.

"You already graduated."

I felt like I was personally attacked. There is no justice. Why would I exploit someone else of a discount? Are we not all worthy of that discount? Oh wait, we are only worthy if we are currently students--not graduated students, but currently students. So, that means, even though in real life we are all able to receive the discount, the simple fact that there is an expiration date on it disqualifies us.

I felt dishonest.

I am not a dishonest person.

That moment urged me to really seek out the gray areas that I battle with constantly. In my every day life, I encounter so many gray areas. So do you. Gray areas come in so many different forms, in so many different ways, directions, shapes, what have you. I mean--the fact that the room had sections of "STRONG" disagreements/"STRONG" agreements implied that there are varying shades of the "gray area."

But before I move on, I want to state: be wary of the day that you see this world in simply black and white. This will be the end of your sanity and the end of your justice.

Why? Because the gray crayon is in your hand. You decide how much of a gray area there is, whether there is one at all, and if there is--then how big or how small it should be.

When we think of gray areas, this is what we do with them to make ourselves feel better:

1. We qualify them.


2. We justify them.


3. We embellish them.

But my concern is not that we have the wrong gray areas. Or that we are shading them in too big. Or too small. My concern is twofold: (1) that we have become so caught up with how big or small the gray area is that we can occupy entire conversations talking about how the gray area should be smaller or should be bigger; and (2) we actually accept the gray areas by doing the above mentioned things, and therefore have a total disregard to the fact that these gray areas can, at times, be potentially dangerous (especially when matters of morality are considered.)

So, aside from all of this, then, I would like to propose a completely new spin on gray areas: The next time you try to think about Robin Hood and whether it is wrong to steal from the rich to give to the poor, whether it is wrong to steal in general, and whether blah blah blah blah blah.. I would like you to ask yourself:

WHICH of these gray areas really matters? Some situations are life or death, some aren't.

But think of this: I have a friend who works at Taco Bell. And she has the ability to give me a discount on my food, since I am an acquaintence of hers and she would not mind punching in a few buttons for me. Am I doing the wrong thing by taking the discount--even considering the fact that this discount is not available to everyone else? That my friend is not friends with everyone else? Is it unfair that I am taking advantage of this discount when others do not even have it available to them? How unfair, right?!

Ah-hah! So...brings me back to the question...won't you pleeeeeeeeeeease let me use the $300 discount to study abroad? Por favor?!

I'm Right and You're ... NOT

So who has it right? When a person gets into an accident and one party is at fault, whose fault is it? Who was right and who followed the law? Who was wrong and didn't follow the law? What if you were both right and you both followed the law? And what if you both were too limited in knowledge of the law to realize that neither of you were right?

I come today with the notion of rightness and wrongness  based on the fact that there have been, historically, only two black-and-white sides to this world. Right and wrong. Whatever happened to the gray area? Whatever happened to colors that aren't visible in the spectrum?

Case in point: We are very limited in our knowledge as human beings. It's like that saying: The more I know, the more I realize how little I know. If we could sit and read all the books in all the libraries in the world and combine our knowledge to expand to every sentence and verse that has ever been written, we would still be missing information. Why? Oh, because some deusche bags lit fire on books everywhere in different countries around the world.

So some scientists believe that they can create an invisible cloak. Even better, some have realized the power of cloning..But so far, there have been none who can actually create. We think we are so smart and so powerful because we have the ability to make touchscreen iCrap. We think we are so cool because our cars have extra sensory perception and the wipers come on at the sensitivity to rain. We think we are so knowledgeable because three letters summarized the existence of the universe, E = mc squared. Who do we think we are?

We think we are right, that's who we think we are. We're right all the time, even when nuclear bombs kill millions of people. We're right even when ethnic genocides happen, because we all know who is genetically more superior. We're right when we had guns and they had arrows. We're right through the crusades, through the holocaust, through the apartheid. We are so right, all the time. We're right to think that this earth is ours, that the trees, oil, and ozone are unlimited--so use as you please. We are so right for thinking that Democrats are better than Republicans. That whites are better than asians. That batman is better than superman.

Because, you know, we're keeping a scoreboard here! And when we die, this is all going to add up! I win and you lose!

If everyone else judges a book by its cover, Imma do it too!

So recently I began to invest my energy in a thing called Dawah. Dawah is the arabic term for extending an invitation, but it is generally put in the context of bringing the knowledge of Islam to the people. No, we aren't preachers! And no, we aren't here to convert anybody. We are simply here because we would like people to have a chance to get to know more about us.

And boy, was I in for a ride. I began the Dawah session on bruin walk as any other Friday began- waking up late, intending to go to Spanish, then missing Spanish because I couldn't decide what to wear. On Fridays, we are to put efforts in looking nice and clean, by example of the Prophet, may peace be upon him. And in girl language..that simply means..let's go all out! So anyways, on a crisp Friday afternoon, I felt the air rush through the hoops of my earrings and felt a sense of becoming. I enjoy feeling a part of nature, and this was one of those moments. I finished eating a delicious falafel pita and I was looking forward to my very first time giving Dawah.

Next thing you know there's a homeless guy on a bike. His grin spreads across his face like a clothesline hangs from wall to wall. I noticed missing teeth, and the color of his skin was cooked to a tan. I hated the fact that I assumed he was homeless. So, for my own guilty greivings, I extended a warm welcome to him and handed him a Quran, while tending to a Deustch middle-aged skeptic as I was doing this. He motioned to me as if to shoo a fly, and indicated that he was not interested in reading the Quran.

No. It was not him. It was that he was illiterate. No, he was not illiterate. True--it is fact that if one cannot read, then he is considered, by definition, illiterate. But this man, homeless or not--we will never know, proved to me that he was not homeless. Although I was not able to interact with him myself, my colleague provided an account of his two hour experience talking to him, all while he balanced his two feet on the ground, in between a bicycle, in the middle of bruin walk. As my colleague answered a phone call with "Salamu Alaikum," the homeless man replied "Wa Alaykum As Salam." May Peace Be Upon You, and to you, as well, may peace be upon.

If ever there were a moment where I could light fire on the thoughts I have in my head so that they may diminish from the existence of space and the universe, it would be then. I wished to extinguish all the conceptions we make about homeless people. I wished to express the same happiness that this man displayed, patiently, while learning about Islam. But what had this illiterate to learn? He cannot read but he can respond. He can understand, and he is among us. We are lucky to know him.

I was so fascinated. Among other things, apparently this man also knew of Muhammad and believed he was the last prophet. It takes some Muslims their whole lives to figure that out, with the help of so many aids...and this man dispelled any need for help by his sheer open mindedness and capacity to take knowledge.

I became inspired to the point that I extended another welcome to a man in a straw hat on Sunday. He had to have been over 70 years old. The wrinkles on his face had such deep crevices that I would be able to unfold them and it would be a flat surface. He approached me and I was scattered...in my thoughts and in my apprehension, I simply began talking. He had tears flowing down his cheek, as if the sun struck his eyes, already shriveled to the point where I could only see the striking blue iris and nothing more. And yet another experience. I found out that this man in the straw hat and frumpy clothes was formerly a World Religions teacher and he knew so much, that the most favorable act he did for me was leave me with a joke. He said something about the pharoah and it was a good chuckle.

So I have opened these two books and I began to read.

To Religion? or Not to Religion? ... and interestingness on CUBA

So I have been having some revelations lately. My main one is that I am on a one man (i mean, one WOMAN) mission to eradicate ignorance. Yes, that means..I have INFECTED Your mind!! muahaha :)

First, I would like to say that I have become spiritually baptized. I love it. I have come to the realization that despite religion, I can survive on the basis of my morals. My internal compass that navigates the instinct to act wrongly or act righteously. It is this compass, I conclude, that tells me to continue to do the good that I do, and stop doing the bad that I do.

"When I do good, I feel good, when I do bad, I feel bad, and that is my religion." -Abraham Lincoln (stolen from Supreet).

I love this...why? Because it brought me to the realization that we ALL have a moral compass within us. I mean, at least, those of us who grew up being punished by our parents on what was wrong and what was right. So, then, what is the need for religion? To regulate our wrongs and rights? To tabulate them? To remind us that some of us are ethically superior than others? No! Religion is simply the act of bringing our morality into consciousness. We use religion to become conscious of our morality or immorality. Case in point: If I steal a small thing, it doesnt matter. Then I do it again, and it doesnt matter. Then, after stealing several small things, I eventually feel uneasy in my tummy because I know I should not be doing this more often. Now, replay this situation with the consciousness of religion. If, at the very first time of theft, I had realized that (in other words, if I had become conscious) of my actions, would I have done it? In my opinion, religion would make me conscious of my actions BECAUSE we are so used to associating fear of punishment with a bad deed, and thus, we become mindful of our actions. Therefore, we all have morality within us, but it is the practice of religion that allows us to be more conscious of our actions. Therefore, people without religion may find it more difficult to be conscious of their immoralities, as they do not have an innate fear of punishment that comes about from religion. True or not true? I would like to know.

Additionally, I would like to take a moment and SHOW you that the SECOND highest doctor to patient ratio in the WORLD is in...CUBA. Yes, Cuba! But many potential doctors are lost due to more lucrative jobs such as taxi driving for the tourism industry since it has higher pay--que lastima! Pero, why do we view "third world" countries such as Cuba with such a US-mentality that they are inferior to us? If you met a Cuban doctor in the US, would you take them seriously? They are JUST as smart as us, but we fail to recognize that. So many potentially SMART cubans could become doctors if they wanted to, but they dont...because taxi driving simply pays more. OPEN YOUR MIND!!!!!!!!!! Look at the world around you. And stop stereotyping!

Medical staff in Cuba

According to the World Health Organization, Cuba provides a doctor for every 170 residents,[53] and has the second highest doctor to patient ratio in the world after Italy.[54]
Medical professionals are not paid high salaries by international standards. In 2002 the mean monthly salary was 261 pesos, 1.5 times the national mean.[55] A doctor’s salary in the late 1990s was equivalent to about US$15–20 per month in purchasing power. Therefore, many prefer to work in different occupations, generally in the lucrative tourist industry (e.g. taxi drivers), where earnings can be 50 to 60 times more.[21] as
The San Francisco Chronicle, the Washington Post, and National Public Radio have all reported on Cuban doctors defecting to other countries.[56] According to the San Francisco Chronicle, one of the reasons that Cuban doctors defect is because their salary in Cuba is only $15 per month. [10]

GaGa .. Fashion, put it on. on meh.

Since there will be some down time from now until the next round of midterms (ugh I dont even want to think about tests anymore) I have resolved to update this blog more frequently.

Well yesterday I had some thoughts on Lady Gaga. I will not be ashamed to say that I, too, have fallen into the fallacy of Lady Gaga culture. It is a fallacy because it is not true; her culture only exists within her, and it cannot envelope others around her. This will contradict a few points I am about to make, however. Lady Gaga has this devilish ability to influence. I feel like she has been climbing the the mountain of power but has steadily approached the top through her success in the music industry. With this power, she has been influenced, and influences herself, by other people. For example, the first time I watched "Bad Romance" I thought, dang, Lady Gaga is so unoriginal. Anyone can tell you that her hand gestures mimick the King of Pop's signature moves, anyone can tell you that being the lead dancer with 20 backup dancers is a Bollywood trademark, and anyone can tell you that her ploys have all been done before.

But then I continued to watch her videos. Granted, I do not think they are socially appropriate or even morally appropriate. The videos are extremely explicit. So I wondered how her power translated into that explicitness. I wondered how she and Beyonce collaborated on Video Phone and then on Telephone, how Gaga's influence has had a profound effect on music standards. If she were in another decade, who's equivalent would she be? Kylie Minogue, Madonna, Patti Smith? Anyhow, she somehow was able to converge aspects of Michael Jackson, Bollywood, Beyonce, and Kylie all into herself. So, in being unoriginal, she essentially produced her own originality. Her own original combination of unoriginality.

Beyond that, I think she has a crude sense of fashion. The elements of her fashion are mainly futuristic-schemes. Of course, the fact that it is "futuristic" is only up to her interpretation. Remember, in the mid-1900s when plastic came about, and the whole world perceived it to be a thing of the future? All future schemes were related to plastic; plastic was the obsession; plastic was the miracle material, it had super abilities. Well, guess what? It still does, but we aren't fascinated by it anymore. Instead, we think flying cars are our future--thats what the UFO's and the sci fi movies have led us to believe, no? Anyway, our other preconception of the future is metallics. I dont understand Gaga's obsession with metallic schemes. I do not understand why she so desperately wants to associate metallics with the future. We have already discovered the elements on the periodic table, so if you wanna wear something fashionable that exudes futurism, then go wear some radioactive material!

And, in her fashion, she also aims to be original. But what I find ironic is: whenever somebody like Gaga tries to be so original--in terms of fashion--they can still be imitated. I can pull up pictures from Halloween where people are dressed like Gaga. That's not my point though.  My point is, even though Gaga wants to be "out there" doing her own thing with fashion, people are still able to imitate it and capture her essence. In my opinion, if she really wants to be Gaga fashion, I think she should not be predictable. I don't mind her pyramidal-schemed hats or blouses. I dont mind half-sewn spanish dresses. I adore her ability to create. But I hate that, in trying to be her own, people are still able to be her.

So, what I meant earlier when mentioning that her culture only exists within her and cannot extend beyond...is that she is someone who has taken the concepts of futurism and employed them through her wardrobe and risqué music videos. Gaga culture is just in that realm, and no where else. I do not think many people have the courage to be as unique as her. Not everyone can appreciate it when someone does something different. And that's why, although she has taken influences and can influence so many people, she is only in the realm of her own Gaga planet. I like her, and that's the bottom line. Do you think Gaga is original?
(polls)

The Cycle..of answering..to the Children of the Sky

World, Hold on...One day you will have to answer to the children of the sky.

So the past few days I have just been in finals mode. But the intensity of studying and the pressures of getting good grades somehow lead me to access the deepest recesses of my thoughts. Why have we, as humans, been created so cyclically? We all start life, live it, then end it. The cycle of life. Why are our emotions, too, so cyclic? We are mad, then we get sad, then we feel guilty (or some variation of this). Why are our relations so cyclic? We love, then we hate, then we forget. I don't know, this cycling, although seemingly predictable, doesnt satisfy my innate desire to connect the end to the beginning. Instead of forgetting at the end or dying at the end, why not continue and re-circumference our beginnings? Why is there only one beginning, why must we only get one chance. What is the importance of a first impression, and how can we never rid of the intial emotion or impression that we perceived of some one or some thing?
Among other thoughts, why are some of us more amibitious than others? I watched Precious last weekend and the reason why this thought comes up is because the mother was yelling at her daughter (who had been pregnant twice and stuck in middle school as a teen) that she was only good for welfare. No education will help her. Shit education, shit life. That's the cycle. And I cant help but think, even if education cant get her nowhere, why does the daughter's ambition matter to her? Anyway, my thoughts on the movie are somewhat critical. I did not particularly gain any insight from the movie; I felt like CRASH or Freedomland captured a truer essence of what racial tensions are like. However, I did appreciate Gaby's acting, she had moved me. And it wasnt on the typical scenes, either. It mostly came whenever she wrote in her journals and struggled to read. When I was a tutor for Kumon learning center, I remember yearning to teach the little children how to read. It is one of the most powerful, rewarding experiences you can ever endure--to teach a child how to read. I encourage anyone who has ever interacted with a child, even if they are your baby cousin, to at least sit there for a minute or 10 minutes and spend time teaching them the ABC's. When your life is ending, what will you have to say about who you helped? You may have fundraised for a cause, or fed a homeless guy on the street..but there is no everlasting gift better than teaching a child (or anyone for that matter) how to read.

Slaves dont deserve pity. and afterthoughts on Haiti

I cant describe what is going on in my head right now.

Today was the second part lecture in my Global Studies class that examined the history behind Colonialism and its brutal effects. I wondered: if people never knew the context, stories, or histories behind other people, they would probably not feel the right to judge others. I wondered: history is a pile of gossip, a bunch of negative things that accumulate on one person's tablet of deeds. Of course, that's only one side of it. Then you look at history from a different p.o.v. and you see the positives, the mistakes we can learn from, yada yada yada. But first, let's imagine.

If I had a child and I raised him/her to be completely stripped of information before entering school, this child would be almost the same as any other 4 year old in any other preschool: just wanting to eat, nap, and do the occasional play-do ball. But, the child learns math, English, science, and....history. The child learns: blacks from Africa used to be slaves. Natives in America were taken over by whites. Southeast Asians had to be civilized. All "minorities" had to assimilate.

Then I wondered. If I never gave a child the history behind people. If I never fed him the context of who they used to be. If I kept him blank until college. And he learned history in college.

Why college?

Because in young age, we are all too naive. Too naive to understand that we are being FED information, literally, by the spoon. Too naive to judge the soundness of knowledge, the accuracy of facts, the  validity of "true" statements. So, in college, hopefully, then, we would have acquired the skill set to manage our own judgments.

If I had a child and I had stripped him of history, he would have no right to feel superior over anyone. He would not admire nor pity anyone. He would simply accept another as a human, the basic lines of similarity. He would see the obvious instead of the details.

Because sometimes I think: we are only nice to certain people because we know their history. And we are only nice because subconsciously we feel that they had been done wrong. Someone wronged them, so we pity--but which party do we pity? The slaves or the colonialists? Far too often: the slaves. The slaves dont need sympathy, they dont need pity. THEY NEED THE RECOGNITION THAT THEY ARE JUST AS HUMAN, not a

"Im only your friend because I am a good person and I am only a good person because I know that my ancestors screwed up and I only know they screwed up because I read it in the books and I only read it in the books because I was being educated on history and so now that I know your history I feel sorry for you and I will be your friend."

It's never,

"Hi I wanna be your friend because you and me are the same, we are both human, and we are actually at the same level regardless of our differences. Where did that 98% genome sequence come from?! Holla!

On a more depressing note, I do not know what to do about this Haiti situation. A second earthquake hit and I feel trembles that I have not done anything to help. Pray for Haiti, if you can do nothing else.

And I leave with a quote to summarize my disposition:

The Prophet Muhammad said, "When any one of you sees any injustice, let them change it with their hand. If you are not able to do so, then change it with your tongue; and if you are not able to do so, then change it with your heart, though that is the weakest (kind of) faith."

I have one leg, No arms, and I am 60

So last night I was out with the fam to watch an Indian movie, Paa, about a child affected by a condition known as Progeria. It is a disease that rapidly ages a child and makes him physically more mature than mentally.

Needless to say, it was an emotional movie. But for some reason I did not feel the need to cry--this child is perfectly happy in his world. If I cry, it would be out of pity. That I am more fortunate than he is. But that is not true--in the movie, the child became a politician's favorite student and was able to see the President's house. Had it not been for the condition to separate him from the crowd, the politician would not have been curious about the child and would not have taken him to do such a prestigious activity.

After leaving the movie theater, my (distant) grandma grabbed her plastic handrest (cane) and dashed, relatively, outside the theater. I realized she did this because she did not want us to feel held up due to her slow walking disposition. I took her hand and walked her out.

Surprisingly, another elderly lady was dashing off, similarly, with her four-wheeled walker. She zoomed away to the exit as (what seemed to be) her daughter held the double doors open. This was a white woman who, after her handicap mother passed through the doors, gave me a look.

We both presumably just watched the same movie.

She had this look on her face: I know we are two completely different people. And normally I am not this nice. I truly see you as a different race, I do not view you positively. But your grandma and my mother are one and the same. They both need me to hold this door open for them. So I am.

I thanked her. My grandma in her cute English said Thank You. Thank you very much, thank you.

We are Different, yet the Same!

I somehow landed watching TLC tonight because of a special on Progeria-affected children. Then afterwards, Born Without Arms. Now, its about Shiloh, a mermaid girl with only one leg.

So what really sets us apart? A genetic code?

A World in "Harmony"- Toyota Prius!

http://www.toyota.com/prius-hybrid/commercial.html

Today I watched the making of this Toyota Prius ad and it made me happy. It made me think of why I am a global studies major, as many experiences in my daily life do. I am constantly asking myself: Why do I want to learn about the world? Maybe its because I would like to know what people are like on the other side. I want to know how people think, how people feel. What's the environment that surrounds them, what's the culture that whispers into their ears and breathes into their music? Wow, it is all so exhilirating.

At one point in the video, the Japanese director, Hiro, says something along the lines of, "It wasn't people from different countries that worked on this, it was just people." So true! Toyota, a Japanese company, employs the Brit dude to shoot the video, an American to choreograph, various other people assisting, and a Japanese dude to direct it all. It took people from around the world to create the world portrayed in the ad.

I would just like to take a moment and say that this is the definition of globalization--for me. There are many people who think that globalization is simply Westernization, when it isn't. Clearly, there is a mix of ideas coming from East and West that allow such a production as the Prius commercial to happen. There are endless possibilities when the great minds of the world come together and share their dish at the global potluck.

Asshole on Sexual Abuse

Sometimes you are so molded by reality and other, more sentimental, experiences that you forget sometimes. What do you forget? That there really are stupid people in the world. I mean, sure, you know that there's an idiot who'll get mad at a grandma behind the wheel, or a not-so-nice-lady who thinks she can get what she wants through her looks...Yeah, those are common examples of stupid people. But you know for a fact that they are stupid people. So when you are in an environment, say..UCLA, and you are surrounded by college kids--otherwise known as activists--and their ambitions are sky high, their intentions productful, and so on and so forth, doesn't it always surprise you to genuinely bump into a real-life JERK?

Today I witnessed an acquaintence of mine (not an acquaintence by choice) speaking to another acquaintence of mine on how to get girls. How to abuse them, how to violate them, how to basically get them as drunk as possible to use them for their own pleasure. I was sitting in the same room. Guess what? We were the only three in the room. I cannot disclose any further details. But I was amazed at the shamelessness with which this guy spoke. He was bluntly interrogating a freshman on things his mom would never want to hear. That's fine, at least, in the realm of private conversation. But for God's sake, he was literally telling him how to play on a girl's insecurities in order to get into her panties. It's one thing to be a jerk, another to be a jerk and say ASSHOLEish things IN FRONT OF A GIRL! Wow, I can't believe the stupidity that exists in people.

I would like to know why this person revealed his alcohol, drug, and sex abuses to the freshman as well. Ha.

Coldplay and Jesus

Ever wonder how each decade is characterized by the time of pop music? So I was listening to White Shadows by Coldplay (one of my fave songs by them), and thought of how 80-s influenced it was. With the ins and outs of the music in your ear, it had the vibes of the electric 80s sound that we are all so familiar with. Except much higher sound quality and less static, it's much easier to make out the words in the songs. Next, Suck My Kiss by RHCP played and I was thinking how similar it sounds to Sublime (just that particular song). How could both these two artists be equally as "popular" in this decade? What will our decade sound like to the kids who listen back upon it years from now? I wanna know. Because 80s music sounds fuzzy and computerized to me.

Something funny happened last night. I met Jesus. And I didn't even know it. He entered the Metro at approximately 10 45 pm with his brown latch sandals, hemp-like fibered cloth, and long hair and blonde-brown beard. The guy sitting next to him on the bus quickly taps his hand on Jesus' shoulder and quickly retracts:

"Hey, you were on TMZ, right?"

Apparently this Jesus is on TV and he roams the Grove. The guy keeps talking to Jesus while he glances back and forth at us, since I am involved in the conversation with my eyes. He then leaves to attend some Black Eyed Peas event, and shortly thereafter Jesus proceeds to pick up a conversation with us.