Hijab's hard y'all

A weekend at the beach when you're hijabified means looking like a frog themed superhero for the most part and weird tan lines. Clothing almost always looks ridiculous, especially when you're wearing at least 4 pieces of clothing in our hellish summers.

This isn't a diatribe to discourage anyone from wearing/practicing hijab. I believe that it's an obligation (this is not a discussion of that argument). To me it's not a choice, it's a duty. Some people oblige, others don't. I also believe it's a personal freedom, as in no one should be forced to wear it if they don't believe in the obligation.

This is a discussion of the sacrifices the practice demands. I think people who live in Muslim-majority countries become so accustomed to hijab that it becomes the default setting. It's not like people are running around naked here, how much can you be giving up? Hijab is challenging regardless of where we live. Our Nafs is unruly and it wants what it wants (to be comfortable, to look good, to get attention, to fit in...).

I get annoyed when people complain about inadequately covered hijabies-especially when the complaints come from men. You know what? Women in tight clothing, full makeup, some sort of attention-seeking ensemble who do manage to cover parts of their hair are at least trying. Maybe instead of tsk-tsking in their general direction we should accept that they're trying and try harder ourselves.

Hijab is but a snapshot of one way nafs can physically manifest for women. There is no equivalent for men. There's no way to judge a man's morality as he walks by.

It sometimes seems unfair that my personal fight with temptation--as a woman--takes place in the public sphere. (Although, public accountability is an invaluable part of my arsenal against nafs.)

What if all our shortcomings were visible to people?

Regardless of where we are, let's acknowledge that covering up isn't always the easiest option and commend those who are trying.

the magic orange button.

I have a love-hate relationship with my google reader. I check it eagerly every morning and night. I get excited when I'm away for a few days and it reads 54 new items. I love pointing the arrow at the next button and getting huffy at bloggers who don't share their full posts (pageview whores!).

But I am reluctant to share it with anyone. I'm actually slightly embarrassed by the number of cooking and decor blogs on the list. Looking through my reader, one might think I'm a girly-girl. (Maybe even someone who falls asleep watching makeup tutorials on youtube. What? She has a really soothing voice.) I've got a few political blogs in there but they don't update as often as the frilly fun ones do.

Remember checking websites for new posts? That feels like forever ago. Of course sometimes it seems like the internet was much more fun that way. A surprise with every click.

All this to say, thanks if you're subscribing through a reader or through email. And I'm curious, what else is on your reader?

Death by Internet

Doomed

Doomed is the slave of the dinar,
doomed is the slave of the dirham,
doomed is the slave of fine cloth and
doomed is the slave of velvet.

If he is given something he is pleased
and if he is denied,
he is angry.
Doomed is he!…

— Prophet Mohammad (PBUH)

Five things that made me happy today:

1) Thoughts of making tiny chocolate cupcakes with pink frosting.
2) Hearing my nephews squealing with joy after finding a bug.
3) Listening to my father and older brother guide the kids about picking up said bug.
4) Taking a long hot shower.
5) Knowing that I can run outside today if I want to.

Tug of war: Alzheimer's vs. my memories

As I've grown older, my interest in my grandmother's lives has grown. I'm lucky to have been able to hear a lot of stories from both grandmothers before I lost them over the years.

My maternal grandmother passed away in 2006, having met two of my nephews and attended my brother's wedding.

My paternal grandmother faded slowly over the course of the past decade from Alzheimer's. Today, the disease has left her as helpless as a few month old baby; not aware of her surroundings and immobile.

I'm aware that she technically hasn't left us yet, but to me she has. Her body's still around to touch, kiss and talk to but she isn't.

It's ironic that of my two grandmothers, Alzheimer's took the strongest, most assertive matriarch. She was opinionated, capable, articulate, confident, and demanding of those around her. Even in her last lucid days, she couldn't stand having someone around to help her. To leave someone who took pride in doing everything herself helpless seems especially cruel.

The oldest of five sisters, she got married young, around 14 probably, to a cousin who wasn't much older. With him she moved to a desolate farm area outside Kuwait's walls. Her sisters talk of her year away as being the worst in her life. Soon after giving birth, her husband passed away. Within a few years she was married again to a childless widower in his late 50's probably (my grandfather) who was probably somewhat abusive. My grandfather passed away when the youngest of his seven children was barely a toddler. The second time she was a widowed she was in her late 30's or early 40's with eight children to care for.

She devoted her life to her children, neglecting family, friends, and almost all social obligations. When her children grew older, married, had several children and began moving away, she felt betrayed and voiced her feelings loudly.

Sometimes I wish she can see them now, huddled around her seemingly empty body, talking to her, massaging her hands, feeding her. Not a day goes by without at least two or three of her children coming to see her.

Unlike death, Alzheimer's takes a loved one away slooooooooowly and painfully. First, she was frustrated with her memory, then she was angry at us all the time, then she slowly stopped recognizing us, and now this lifeless yet familiar body has become my grandmother. I'm sorry, she's not. I work hard to remember as she was before she was stolen away by the disease. Remembering stories, talking to my great-Aunt's and my aunts and uncles to make sure that I continue to know her as she was.

As all of us are, my grandmother was a product of her time. Even with all her faults and flaws clear to me now, such as the crazy things she taught me about marriage and social standing, the strict rules she had set for herself and us, the way she chose to live her life as a victim, I still find her to be a remarkable woman.

I'm lucky to have grown up with her as a role model, because she really was a kick-ass woman. I'll admit that whenever my cousins tell me how much I remind them of her, I stand a little taller with pride.



This post has been brought to you by a PostSecret from this week:

To the sender I say, yes I was hurt and felt cheated when my grandmother forgot me; but I'll never forget her and I'll forever be grateful for her involvement in my life.

Can you hear me now? 50 and lonely

What is it about women in their early 50's that they always seem lonely?

In observing the women I live with, as well as relatives and friend's mothers, they all seem desperately lonely. My not very social aunt, in her mid-50's, has been making a lot of attempts to reconnect with friends from her youth, emailing people who might have went to middle school with her, calling people who were my grandmother's neighbors in the mid-70's.

My mother, whose best friend passed away several years ago, has also reconnected with college friends who she hasn't been in contact with for years. My mother's quite social and has lots of friends. But on any Friday night, I could walk into the house to find my mother sitting alone and looking relieved that there's someone finally someone to talk to.

Even a friend's extremely independent mother, a socialite who throws unparalleled parties and has what seems like an exciting social life, who has become a drain on her children because she refuses to be left alone.

How unfair is life to these women?
Most of which have dedicated the past 15 years, at least, of their lives to their families. Spending their time between making sure their children are healthy, happy, and somewhat successful. Feeding them, helping with homework, keeping them entertained, all the while not realizing that their own relationships are unraveling before their eyes.

Then waking up one morning, after these kids have grown up and are leading their own lives, to a seemingly empty life?

What happens then?

Do they frantically try to collect the pieces of a life that once was?
Is that what happens?
Do they cling to their children and meddle in their lives?

Most of my friends, married or married with children, have already began pulling back from a lot of their friendships, mostly because of social obligations and limited amount of time, which is understandable. But I wonder, whether this is where we, as women, set ourselves up for the inevitable loneliness in middle-age.

We never learn to maintain friendships. Our chosen relationships are not a priority.

What about men?
Does the same thing happen? Or is our culture more forgiving of allowing men to have friendships throughout the years?

Are we all, regardless of age or gender, lonely and just keeping busy?