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| My goodness it's been so long. Gosh. I have really missed you all :) | | |
| waiting at the airport. is the better part of traveling.
anticipating. waiting. thoughts of being w/ people, mom, saara,
etc. time slows. for once. still, it's brief.
i'll sometimes get there a few hours earlier. sit alone.
sip a diet coke. and watch the lemmings scurry around.
"excuse me, can i ask you where you're from?" a voice interrupts my moment.
a bit perturbed, i mumble. "uhh, i'm indian." a partial
truth. like telling people i'm allergic to food. i just
don't want. it's easier. not having to constantly
explain myself.
"really! i'm reading a book on indians. it's about the
trail of tears, the things our country did to your ancestors, etc,
etc.. .etc... ." she continued to ramble on. and on.
i tuned her out. smiling. still, nodding my head
appropriately. instead, my attention drifted past her. my
gaze now on the vacant stool at the bar. everything around it
fades. still, not entirely focused the stool, itself.
rather, it's my scapegoat. from this women. an excuse. a
"damn, i'm going to die. and then what?"
moment passes. and as quickly as it came. it dissipates. and i continue.
i met this indonesian brother. he needed a place to
stay. not knowing him, i offered to put him up in a motel.
driving out there. we began talking. he had had a falling
out with his dad. and left indonesia as a result. instead
of making amends, he began living on the streets. he'd been clean
for a 3 weeks. of cocaine, that is. he hadn't smoked
cannibus in a week. digging in garbages for food. crashing
at catholic churches. and earning his bus ticket from
masjids. to go the next town. to do it all over
again. it was 2 a.m. by the time we found him a
place.
"alright, here's your key"
"thanks sadiq, i appreciate this." inhales his cig.
ironically, the two not only needed each other. but also
resembled one another. white. slim. killing each
other, lol. "you want one?"
"no thanks. i quit, actually." (like a lot of things).
"really, why?"
"i don't want to die."
"afraid? i just leave it in God's hands."
i muttered an answer. offered some cash. wished him the
best. and left. yeah, i was about spill my guts to a (i
hope former) drug addict, too proud to speak to his father, a begger,
etc. it's too ironic. but still, a Muslim. a
brother. this shit bothers me. these issues exist.
but they're abstract. in movies. newspapers. but
never our neighbor, or friend. i'm just
as guilty.
it seems discussing death is turning into an increasingly morbid,
depressing thought. a hollow ball stored in the back on one's
mind. rather than confronting it. one would fill it with
seemingly docile, fleeting, emptier things: each other, worries,
thoughts, cash, xangas, facebooks walls, words, etc. i
do it. but filling emptiness with more only creates more.
it's like crashing a car. rather than going home. and
telling your parents immediately. you stop at starbucks
(lol). prolonging the inevitable.
anyways, school's great, Alhamdullilah. i have 6 more weeks left
in the year. James mom was arrested. she was apart of a
driveby. the victim, her abusive ex-boyfriend. his dad
murdered a few years earlier. i bought him a few bags of
chips. and now i'm his hero. i read in a better xanga
once. how forgetfulness can be seen as a blessing.
Alhamduillilah, kids forget quickly.
richard stood up in the middle of class a month back. to repeat
the first half of shahada to me (something his cousin taught
him). wearing his kufi. he now wants to come in the
mornings to learn more about "this man Muhammad" (pbuh).
lately. i'm just grateful. i've been given this endless
supply of things. and, now, finally, i'm satisfied. finally
grateful. finally. we go through these
trials. get down on ourselves, etc. and then remember God
(after the fact, ofcourse). but, if i knew 5-6, maybe even
farther back, i'd be at this position in life.
with this state of mind. surrounded by these people.
everything inbetween would have been worthwhile. even
smiling. but i didn't. i guess that's the idea.
now, i'm just thankful. thankful for an audience to express
myself to, thankful to eat my fill, thankful to know some great people,
the air, my job, family, and, most importantly, these constant
reminders. and proofs.
| | |
| hayward was expelled. and deservedly so. on his last
day. he stopped by my room to say his final farewell.
before leaving, he gloats, "i already know what you're gonna say Mr.
Patel." "and what is that, Mr. Hilton?" "you're gonna ask
me why i wasn't an all-star in school?" something i always called
him. and, again, deservedly so. hayward being the fastest
kid i had ever seen. lol, and worst behaved. "well, that
too, Mr. Hilton, but i'm also going to wish you the best of
luck." "thanks mr. patel." and that. was that.
i can't say i wasn't sad to see him leave. he gave me hell.
but i was. seeing people go. students leave. saying
goodbye. well, it always immediately pulls on your heart.
after a while, you will forget that pull. once you're accustomed
to that individual(this, in a general sense, ofcourse) not being in
your immediate surrounding. mainly b/c, like that individual,
you, yourself, move on. and get accustomed to life. w/o
them. and that's natural. but to claim disregard, indifference (that. was that),
apathy (towards anything) is unnatural. people are supposed to
care about each other.
your body always attempts to move towards something that is more
natual. natural, according to myself, submitting to God's laws
(or trying to, atleast). your body, subconsciously, follows the
will of God. submitting itself to Him, always. the
development of an embryo, to the tiny muscle tissues, cappilaries
(sp?), etc, (these terms. the only ones i rrecall. from molecular
biology.) are all governed by laws pescribed to them. from
God. and, consciously, man is given free
will. and it is up to him to follow what is natual (submitting himself to Him). to be apathetic, indifferent, lazy,
etc. it's as if a person is volunatarily going against nature.
the crack addict. who lived downstairs. was evicted last week.
section c (project) housing is a wonderful place to meet societies
forgotten ones (is that a kinder way of saying mishaps?) i must
admit, i always enjoyed her bits. that. and her thinking i
was a dr. (b/c i always wear green work out pants. everywhere.) i
hope she's in rehab. but with two (very young) kids to
support. i figure she's still selling dope (& smoking
it). when i first met her, i, as i always do with people, created
a pseudo history for her. re-creating her life's story in my
mind. young. newly divorced woman. raising her children on
her own. taking new life steps, in the right direction.
well. as it turned out. she was just a crack addict. but.
.. i think i already knew that.
in fact, i'll sometimes do that for myself. while driving in the car, brushing my teeth, etc, i'll re-create my
life in my mind. like. . young, aspiring phD candidate (at Uni.
of SD) studying the effects of receptor c3B on agrobacterium
tumafacians, or. . .methamphetamine fiend forced into rehab by
concerned parents, or .. . former peace corps applicant rejected b/c of
lack of american citizenship, or .. . former (&
current) piece of shit turned holy. and. as it turns
out. i'm still just a teacher. by now. i'm pretty sure
everyone already knows that.
my sister moved out today. moved in with her husband in
Michigan. she also has a job (dream, according to her) working in
the Islamic branch of a bank somewhere up in Ann Arbor.
immediately after she left, my mom calls, sobbing. i, as i
usually try, came up with something to ease her .. . sadness (mind?), i
guess. ofcourse, our conversation ended with her asking me if i
had eaten. as if my response of yes wasn't good enough. she
had to ask what exactly it was that i ate. lol. immediately
after, i called saara (yes, 2 a's). in her usual, monotone.
and extremely strong-willed self. (i don't mean this in an i'm an
independent, free-spirtited individual [subjective?] sense. the
verbal sense. but more of an i'm independent. and to prove
it. i'm going to pay half of the mortgage ( and still continue to) sense. more
action-oriented. & provable [objective] ) she was looking
forward to moving on, her new life, its experience(s), etc. and
that's awesome. i'm always happy to hear optimistic people.
my kids are furtering their progress. gosh. i really don't
know. early last week, one student stood up in class and yelled
out at a female teacher, "shut up bitch, why don't you suck mr. patel's
d***." (my kids break my heart). the n*gger count is up to 30,000. this
week, i was a white, arab, pakistani, and afghan n*gger.
lol. class was so bad the other day (relatively speaking, i'm a bit of a control freak), after sixth period, i kindly
asked one of my students to shut the door. after which. i
took one of my chairs and began to throw it until the damn thing
broke. opened the door. and emphatically (lol) greeted my
writing class. God bless my kids.
still, in my clasroom, it seems as though my students have found
something reasonable to respond to. often, at school, any child
will find in school some promise which is kept. something
sensible. or even beautiful. something not available in their
homes. or families. or in their blocks. and come to really
live only at school.
anyways. i apologize for this crap post. and, in reality,
i'm a pretty up-beat person. i swear. everytime i
press submit. i tell myself this is the last one. but.. .i
feel
as if xanga is a great way to . . .get this out. i hardly ever
verbally speak about my experiences out here.
| | |
| in this xanga, i'm trying to convey my experiences teaching. actually, learning
how to teach in a public school. a year which is being spent at a
particular school, at a particular time, with particular students.
these particulars being my anecdote. it's these anecdotes that
count. not my morals, points, interpretations, etc. if my
particulars can be kept clear, then there will be something for others to see,
visualize, a picture created for them. my interpretations, on the other hand, are as numerous as my moods.
in my infinite genius. i've decided to give up my saturday mornings.
to teach math. this past saturday was somewhat inspiring. for the
first time, i was able to give students individualized attention.
something that's difficult with classes with over 37 students.
my afterschool program is something i look forward to nowadays. one
student, trying to impress me with her vocabulary, began belting out
sentences demonstrating this phenomenon. deceased, being the word. my
daddy's deceased. tizaah's momma's deceased, mr. patel's shoes are
deceased (lol), and so on.
another student. my favorite, actually, tonisha, is so wonderful in
class that i asked her for mother's number. so i could call home. and
let her know how wonderful her daughter is. "why misttterrr
patellluhhh" she kept asking. she's adorable, mA. a bit reluctantly,
she finally gave it. after school, i was speaking to the secretary,
mentioning to her what had happened earlier. ofcourse, to find out, a
couselor visits her twice a week. which always means the child's in
foster care. ah well.
it's amazing the effect an environment has on a person. hayward gives
me hell in class. he's done everything from cursing at me, to showing
me visuals of my family, to demonstratting for his classmates his
meeting with my mom the other night (selective hearing, lol). during
lunch, he asked if he could stay in. i had no objections. as i was
checking my email, he came over. there were pictures of sweatshops. i
spent the rest of lunch explaining to him where his nike's are made,
who makes them, why, etc. those who are able to establish themselves
as the same individual alone and in the company of others are some of
the most amazing indivudals, people you keep close to. an older woman
once critisized a young malcolm x that he was the most dispicable young
man she's ever known. but went on to say how he, still,
wasn't a hypocrite. something, he said, stayed with him for the rest of his life.
lately, the grind's been on this mind. i'll be honest, teaching, the
after-school program, saturdays, etc, all increase my paycheck. i
don't neccessarily do this out of benevolence, good-will, and that
romanticized bullshit. there's nothing noble to this. or so i'm
realizing. it's an exchange. a service for a monetary supplement (and
a great learning experience which is invaluable). a person's trade,
whether it be a teacher, lawyer, dr, service man, has no intrinsic
value to it. unless one's willing to be hungry, destitute, without a
nice(r) home, basically, experiencing whatever his targeted audience is
experiencing, while performing his trade. otherwise, it's just an
exchange.
while in the halls, i'll see students pass by. and i'll think, he's
going to be in the prison system, he'll be working for minimum wage,
she'll go to college, she definitely won't. and i say working for
minimum wage as if it's this unhonorable, despicable profession. it's
honest work. and within that student's circle, he'll be respected for
his honest work, and providing for his family. i've learned different
socio-economic classes can't neccessarily mix. a person's mindset on
what success is directs him to associate with people who have a similar
outlook. i had friends in highschool who didn't go to college. now
ask me if i still keep in touch with them, lol. once in college, one
then needs to determine how much determines success. so it keeps
becoming more specific. educated students will then be spread out on
based on their income (realistically, middle - class, more
specifically, lower, middle, and upper middle class) and it's based on
this spread that people begin to cluster themselves around. the elite
to their own. the 60 g's a year mon fraires to their own, and so on.
and ofcourse, all this propelled by the individuals family and the
lifestyle they're accustomed to. so, realistically, it's cyclic.
wealth stays with the same family's, cultures, etc. and, ofcourse,
Islam transcending all of that.
i heard a khutbah about a brother who lived on the southside of
chicago. spent his entire life just above the poverty line.
this
great man gave to others, wore the same clothes for years, etc.
still,
so blessed, he was able to put his children through college. his
funeral, the largest the khateeb had ever seen. so it makes you
think,
what is success? living in wealth, but in obscurity? what
ideals are
we going to pass on to succeeding generations? these are things
we need to seriously reflect on. and why is it we reflect when
we're
faced with hardship only? it reminds me of the Ayat describing a
ship in water. during a storm. and these vivid descriptions of
the hardship the sailors faced. as a result, they made sincere
dua, as does
everyone, when in desparate conditions. when God relieved them of
this, they regressed as if they never made dua. these are
proofs. this man's life
was a piece of evidence supporting the Truth. but still, we don't
take time to discern this from that which is purely mundane.
change isn't moving
from one whim to the next, and still having the same mentality.
instead, it's moving forward, but also thinking differently based upon
the previoius experience.
for moein. because i love this brother. illionois is changing. in a
generation or so, people will no longer associate crime to chicago.
but suburbs. chicago's rent is increasing. and suburbs provide cheaper apt. rates. check it out. | | |
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