Freezing baby squirrels

If you've seen me lately you probably thought, "She seems tired" If you so thunk, you indeed thunk right. I am very tired. In fact, at the moment I feel so exhausted that the thought of getting up to get a glass of water seems a task too onerous to actually attempt. Why? Squirrels, that's why! There have been things bumping and scratching around in my attic and walls for a solid week. I called pest control who said the noises were likely squirrels that crawled in to bear young or escape from the cold. Thanks a lot pest control. Now I have to live with the guilt of kicking out poor baby squirrels from the attic. Note to self: Get images of freezing baby squirrels out of head. It's actually not that difficult to keep from feeling guilty since I read about the damage they can do which just makes my stomach hurt, and results in my surfing the internet for inordinate amounts of time researching all things squirrel. It also keeps me up at night particularly when I can hear the pitter patter of little feet running through the walls. So if you see me around these days and I appear aloof and consuming illegal amounts of coffee, please know that its not you, and its not me- it's the squirrels.

On random selection..

In Babel there's a scene where Amelia struggles at a border checkpoint. Going into Mexico was a breeze, but coming back was slightly more complex. Perhaps because of my own checkpoint memories the scene was particularly compelling.

Thirteen years ago, we as a family drove up with relatives to the promised land of large water faucets and infinite amounts of Ripley's Believe it Or Not Museums, I speak of course, of Niagara Falls. Entering Canada was downright festive as though trombones and confetti should have accompanied our arrival. I still remember the checkpoint guard as he waved us through with a huge grin. Perhaps he smiled because he was tickled at the fun we'd have trying to return

If that was the reason for his grin, he was dead on because the return to the US was a bit more complicated. I still remember us inching forward to the checkpoint amidst rows of cars, us cousins sitting in my parents gray minivan curled up in blankets and eating Doritos. I still remember the guard (let's call him Bob). Tall and wiry with a brown mustache and tinted brown sunglasses and for some reason absolutely convinced our passports were fake. I remember my father's exasperated insistence that we were US Citizens and I remember Bob smirking as he shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the proof we provided and responding in the nasal voice which I can still remember to this day: How do I knowww you're an American Citizen? I remember showing him driver's licences, vehicle registration, grocery receipts crushed inside purses, but to each he shrugged and invariably responded "How do I knowww you're an American Citizen?" After an interminable wait where I presume they ran our passports, they allowed us to pass, but leaving us cousins bewildered but giggling as we imitated Bob the entire ride home in various reincarnations such as How do I knowww you're not hiding the Doritos. For us it was silly strange Bob, nothing more, and we knew it was the last we'd see of him.

But Bob has shown himself to me quite frequently since then, particularly at check points where he feels my luggage always merits a second glance. Ofcourse I know its random. It is so random that my Brazilian classmates must have found me clairvoyant as I predicted our random selection minutes before we approached the ticketing booth. They must have been clamoring for a palm reading by yours truly for as we handed over our passports, lo and behold, the lanky agent with the carefully parted hair studiously read off the screen that it just so happened that my husband and I were selected for inspection. He took great pains to assure us it was completely random.

Years later as the number of Bob's I encounter grow exponentially I still try to find the humor in it though the amusement is tainted by an unavoidable disappointment. I've accepted that it is what it is and I grin and bear it because I must and I understand the reasons behind it, I do. But I can't help but feel slightly sucker punched as it is a reminder that though the US is all I've ever known, somehow I am still a foreigner within its borders.

On the elasticity of bungee cords

As a human being who lives life not shuttered away inside a giant cocoon I have been hurt and disappointed plenty in my life. My own stress, frustration and tears I can take but the same in those I love I simply cannot bear. If I love you I want nothing more than for you to be happy, eat kosher marshmallows, and frolic in gardens. Any hint or smell of pain or stress or devastation and I am suddenly a mama bear guarding her cubs with fierce devotion. But unlike a mama bear, the wolves and tigers that lurk near those I love are not necessarily tangible beings I can simply stand guard in front of and frighten away and that is the most painful feeling in all the world. If something isn't going well I want to know how I can fix it and if I can't fix it I want to know who can. And if no one can, then I feel like my heart has sunk to the bottom of a dark, airless well and I cannot find the ropes to take me back up to land.

So what is my conclusion? I guess I have no conclusion. Life is unexpected and life can be unfair. I wish I could wrench away all the aches and heartbreaks of my loved ones and balance them solely upon my shoulders but they aren't mine to wrench. All I can do is stand at the precipice, hold their hands as they jump and pray as hard as I can for elastic bungee cords.

“I once saw a forklift lift a crate of forks and it was way to literal for me" Mitch

Remember how psyched I was about school? It lasted approximately 2 days. This semester is busy as though someone designed it to ensure this is the last degree I'll get (b/c part of me was actually toying with a PhD but me thinks not anymore) Despite the busy-ness my 101 in 1001 is moving along! Who knew? Yay!

Ugly Betty and an aside on American Idol*****

I love this show and yay for the two Golden Globes! (and how much does America rock?? Even the fuggers were kind) Ugly Betty can at first glance appear "silly" but behind the silliness there are real issues addressed in a nonconfrontational manner to an audience who may not have ordinarily considered issues such as illegal immigration, the unrealistic expectations of beauty pushed upon us by the media, feeling like the odd one out, sticking to your ethics despite pressure, the value of family and the struggles to balance cultures are all dealt with an emotional sincerity that is touching, endearing and utterly lacking in television today (Free full episodes online if you want to get on board). Now the fun stuff: the story lines! If you watch please share your thoughts! (If you don't watch there are spoilers though its not a thriller type of show so you're not ruining it for yourself if you do end up reading)

Betty's love drama Walter cheated on her and dumped her and gets her back? I know he's sweet and seems to adore Betty and though he whines quite a bit about her job he eventually comes around but he seems the sort of guy who'll only bring her down in the end. What really gets to me is Hilda, Betty's sister is pressuring her to make this work. She lied to Henry when he called saying Betty wasn't home and threw his number away! Who is she to meddle like that? I understand its scary to see your sister who you love throw away a "good opportunity" but isn't Betty worth more? Does Hilda think she's too ugly to find a better catch? Why won't they give her the benefit of the doubt? And isn't Henry just fabulous and don't they have great chemistry? I hope the misunderstanding at the Christmas party when she thought he kissed a model (which he wasnt, she kissed him) will get cleared up very soon!

Wilhelmina. Yes, she has evil tendencies, but can you blame her for being angry? She's more capable than Daniel but got passed over due to nepotism. She also knows the curious circumstances behind the former editor's disappearance and the shadiness of Daniel's father. So I'll see how this story develops to truly understand the depths of her wickedness. She showed her sweet side by reaching out to her daughter and passing up a fabulous Gucci party to bake a turkey much to her consternation. I feel so bad about her broken heart. Love made her so sweet and happy. She was about to put an armadillo up on display people! In Wilhelmina land that is the mark of true love. And he knew it wouldn't work beacuse he was married! What a jerk for breaking a heart that was frozen in frost for so many years.

Salma Hayek. I loved her, now I hate her. My jaw was hanging after last week's episode and her evil back stabbing. I didn't realize she was lying to Daniel though in retrospect its ludicrous to think she would have dumped such a perfect guy who she had been dating for years who was on the verge of proposing for Daniel Meade a known philanderer who she barely knew. She is correct that he has broken women's hearts but these women mostly knew what it was about. He never asked them to propose. She intentionally led him on and met his family and tricked him into proposing only to break his heart on national television! And she USED Betty. I can forgive many things but cannot forgive her taking Betty as her pawn in her sick publicity stunt. Now I'm afraid Daniel will blame her for the backstabbing leaving her jobless. And can she get her job back considering Amanda has it now? Also, did you notice in last week's episode that Daniel's mother said something about Salma being heir to a fortune which Salma denied vehemently? I'm starting to wonder if there is more to that story now.

The AI aside: Watching today made me feel sick. Part of the show's charm is the laughing at bad singers who think they are good but the truth is these people auditioned at least twice before meeting the judges and so they think they are good enough when they meet the judges. But today I felt very queasy watching because today on the second half of American Idol they had two boys on who clearly were mentally challenged or had some sort of special needs and my heart broke. These boys had no chance to make it so clearly they were sent through the prior rounds because the producers felt they would make good television. I dont think making fun of the handicapped is funny and encouarging the handicapped to humilate themselves (by putting them after through two rounds of screening auditions) is cruel.

**********Ugly Betty: Okay I just watched last night's episode online and a few questions 1) Is Amanda now totally evil? That makes me sad. 2) ALEXIS???? That is Daniel's brother??? I knew Rebecca Romign would be in this episode bc her name showed up as part of the CAST (not a guest appearance) but I thought she'd be Fey after a reconstructive surgery, not a MAN! WOAH.

My Baby Mamma Drama

I'm a bit nervous sticking my toes into this end of the pool. I'm not yet a mamma and there's the chance actual mamma's won't be one bit amused by my baby mamma drama. But if you've been reading long enough you should know my intentions aren't bad. Im just pointing out some areas that non-mamma folks occasionally experience a little bit of, well, drama. If you've done these please don't be offended, tell us your side! (needless to say this is just some mammas some of the time not ALL mammas, some of my bestfriends are mammas. Really)

Mamma Drama #1: The sex of the baby is a secret and I will rub it in your face. I understand if you want to wait and be surprised. I get that. I do. But what I don't get is when you know, tell everyone you know that you know but won't let them know. For purposes of illustration I share with you the following situation:

Me: Congrats on your pregnancy!
Bobeena: Thank you *rubs belly*
Me: do you know the sex of the baby?
Bobeena: Ofcourse! We found out right away. We're so happy, always wanted one!
Me: Oh how exciting! boy or girl?
Bobeena: Oh, *smirks* We're not going to tell everybody.

If you know, and don't want to share with everyone, then to the people you dont plan to divulge this news, say "I don't know" I mean, what do you gain by saying "we know but are only telling special people" You're likely not Britney Spears who has to worry lest friends run off to paparazzi with the gender of the baby for a hefty profit. All it does is leave the branded as unspecial people quite sad and a bit down and glum.

Baby Mamma Drama #2. Now this is just a misunderstanding but I've heard many pregnant mamma's cry "people keep saying how big I am" Darling Bobeena, you are pregnant sweetie. You are supposed to get big. If you were not pregnant no one would dare say "my you are getting big" even if you were in fact getting big. All we mean if we say such a thing is you look pregnant. If you thought you were hiding that fact with your protruding belly, then rest assured we can all see it.

Baby Mamma Drama #3: People who keep the pregnancy a secret way too long. Yes three months is the typical amount of time people wait before announcing it. But the reason is not because its fun keeping a secret but because most miscarriages occur in the first three months! Desis particularly, take note: after three months people share. I have had close friends tell me 6 to 7 months into their pregnancy. One went so far as when I noticed a round belly on her otherwise slim trim figure and asked the obvious she responded with an offended "NO!" Making me feel horribly awful for about two months for offending her until I learned she was infact pregnant and at this point expecting at any time. Was it worth it to make your friend feel bad? I could understand if there were some kind of questionable circumstance, like health of the baby, or you're 15 and your mom doesn't know yet... but seriously? You're a married adult and there will be no whispers of a shot gun wedding.... what do you fear?

Baby Mamma Drama#4. Playing the trump card. If you make the naive mistake of saying something that could imply you're tired, they pounce: "TIRED?! You dont know the meaning of tired!!!! Wait til' you have kids!!" Infact, anytime you mention anything like "wow i just had an exam" or "jeez I had to walk uphill six miles after my car broke down in the middle of the night during a blizzard" they reply "you think that's bad?! Wait till you have kids!" I know being a mamma is tough but some empathy to the non-mammas would be nice unless you want the non-mammas to remain just that!

Baby Mamma Drama #5. Mammas who forgot how to talk about anything other than being a mamma. This one is particularly sad to me. I had a group of close friends when I moved here. We got along great, had fabulous themed one dish parties, and I truly enjoyed their company. Now? Some I havent seen in years, and the ones I do.. it's just awkward. Why? Babies, that's why! Somehow having babies makes you want to flee from childless people with hands flailing baby under arm. Why? Do we begin to have a distinctively repellent odor? To be fair some tried maintaining the friendships but it grew increasingly difficult to find anything to talk about. I suppose its natural that when you have a baby and care for her 24/7 you obviously have baby on the mind, and the lack of sleep makes you not particularly garrulous... but its sad for me as fairly good friends went poof once babies appeared.

Three (or five) beautiful things Thursday***

I got this from Huda who got this from Yasmine and Hijab Man. They write three beautiful things about life each Thursday. I don't know how regular I'll be, but today felt like a nice day to remember beautiful things.

1. School started Tuesday. Now you're wondering, why is this under three beautiful things? Well y'all it's my last semester! (Now you're thinking, does this mean we don't have to hear Aisha's law school gripes anymore? This is a beautiful thing! Maybe we will include this nugget in our three beautiful things Thursday) (Though admittedly you might be thinking: Why is she trying to predict what we're thinking, it's so obnoxious) I can't believe law school is almost over, when it began I thought it would never end. I remember how stressed I was, how stupid I felt, and how disheartened and depressed I was particularly during my first year of law school when I taught full time and went to school four nights a week. I think I almost forgot how to smile that year. And now? I'm almost done. Wow.

2. I have rockin classes. Litigation (I hope its fun), Professional Responsibility, International Human Rights, Constitutional Law Seminar, Con Law II, and a child advocacy clinic. These are the types of classes I came to law school for so I'm happy.

3. I lost my keys at school. I retraced my steps visited lost and found, nothing! I called Kashif who had lengthy meetings today but promised to come ASAP. In the process I sat down with some friends (hi Cylinda!), took a deep breath, and make myself respond not react to the situation. It was then I realized a place I overlooked, went there, and found them! If I'd panicked I wouldn't have thought to look there. So the beautiful thing here was patience and actually practicing it.

4. Gourmet Coffee is delicious and drinking it at your favorite coffee shop while you listen to nice music and prepare to do a little studying makes the day 100 times better. It also makes Aisha a 100 times more hyper which is why this post may seem a little off the wall. Does the caffeine jiterryness translate to the screen???

****5. And how could I forget to mention that the GATORS ARE NATIONAL CHAMPIONS IN FOOTBALL!!!!!! (Oh and we're national champs in basketball too, hee!) I was there when we were at a low point. When we LOST AT THE SWAMP to FSU! I remember the deafening silence on campus. The shame permeating. So it felt unbelievably beautiful to see them not only win but destroy Ohio State considering they were picked as the easy losers. What a great moment. It's almost enough to make me care about sports. Almost. (I only wish our gator didn't look quite so mean... chin up, we won remember? a smile wouldn't kill you!)

Standing up for righteousness! (sort of)

Paper or plastic? This once was the question at your local grocery store. Then it became: Is plastic okay? Now? Now, they dont even ask! For many years I have suffered in silence as I get distracted by the bright orange tic tacs on the shelf as my groceries slide by on the conveyor belt only to look a split second later with a half stifled cry as the bagger has zipped out the plastic bags, bagging at record pace.

I distinctly remember the day when the bagger would grin sweetly, ask you for paper or plastic, and sometimes even walk your groceries to the car and help you unload! Now? You can't even get paper bagging! What is going on? Using careful sleuthing methods (i.e. my little brother a former bagger who prefers to remain anonymous) my suspicions were confirmed: The bagging by plastic sans permission was not just a coincidence. In truth my confidential source revealed this was an all out conspiracy of baggers nationwide. Instead of the old, "Paper or plastic" they were instructed by those higher up the chain to ask: Plastic okay? Thereby taking the unwary customer, distracted by (strategically placed) orange tic tacs to absentmindedly agree, or the particularly timid shopper who might infact truly desire paper but wishing to appear agreeable into saying "yes". Manipulation via subtelty at its finest.

Well ladies and gentlemen I your vanguard out to make a change for the citizens of the world can tell you that today, as the food began sliding over the scanner and into the baggers field I did not stay silent. I watched as she began reaching, pretending to be all casual, for the plastic bag, and just as her fingers touched the flimsy plastic I nonchalantly asked, "paper please" She looked at me for a full three seconds. "Excuse me?" Remaining strong, determined not to back down I stood my ground "Yes Paper. I'd like to have my groceries in paper" Our gaze met but I refused to look away, smiling I faced her in the showdown, a smile frozen upon my face. A bit dazed, she took out the paper and began bagging. As I walked out the store with three paper bags and not 20 plastic ones I felt a rush of emotion. I felt victorious. I felt triumphant. My bagging experiences would surely never be the same again.

On writing, or the fact that I dont

In third grade, a substitute teacher told us to write a story about a shark. Mine was about a misunderstood grayish-blue shark with protruding teeth and beady eyes. He swam in circles and loved lollipops. Later that day she read us her favorite story- mine. As the quiet child with average marks I was pretty much ignored except when it came to my writing. I dreamed of the day when I would be a writer sitting in coffee shops filling up pages in my notebooks for my next great novel. That is the incredible sweetness of childhood though, your future is a question marked mystery and anything you want could conceivably be yours.

Over the years I've written articles and monthly columns, and these days occasional freelance on and off. But its mostly off. Writing is an integral part of my identity, but if that's really true, then why do I do so little of it?

Seven years ago I worked at a bookstore and ran into the company's book buyer. The topic of writing came up. He asked me what I wrote. Ethnic literature. He didn't hesitate: "Aisha, Write it. Send it. Now. Eastern Lit is going to explode onto the literary scene" Monica Ali, Jhumpa Lahiri and a host of others have proven him right. I won't pretend I could be like Monica or Jhumpa but why didn't I even try? Probably because writing is hard. Its boring. Its thankless. There are a million distractions and no guaruntees. I could use law school as my excuse but it's a cop out and I know it.

Then I heard the gorgeous new Damien Rice CD. What struck me most about his music was the passion with which he sings. How could I learn to channel that same energy? And that's when it hit me. Damien writes from his heart, not for radio play or top ten charts. His lyrics are uninhibited. Me? As soon as I begin typing I'm filled with hesitation. Will this be printable? What will critics think? The truth is I am my own worst critic and my critique is cruel.

I don't want to look back at these thoughts years from now mourning what could have been. I'm going to start writing a little each day. Even if its terrible. Even if its boring. I'm not going to think about publishers or critics. I just want to write from my heart and to know at the end of the day that at least I tried. I will try to tame the fear.

"Keep walking. Though there's no place to get to. Don't try to see through the distances. That's not for human beings. Move within but don't move the way that fear makes you move" Rumi

Ode to a purse

I'll never forget when we first met. There I was, minding my own business, walking through the mall, when I happened to glance at the store to my left- there it sat- encased in glass, sitting atop a shelf: The Coach holiday patchwork tote purse. I felt giddy elation as I dragged an unwilling K into the store with me. It was absolutely gorgeous in every way. Large enough to tote, but stylish and feminine. I could see myself wearing dark blue jeans, a black long sleeved shirt, so simple, yet instantly perked up by the presence of this lovely handbag. A purse that wouldn't just go with my outfits, but would make my outfits. I knew I had to have it. As I reached out for it Kashif walked up to me holding a tiny little wallet with an incredulous look upon his face: $150 dollars for a wallet?! Its smaller than my hand! The wind beneath my wings began to falter: If the wallet was $150 how much would the purse be? Some of you might be thinking: Aisha its a coach purse! How much do you think it costs? Well, you must understand that though I absolutely adore purses, and they are my favorite accessory I stick to TJ Maxx and Ross for my purse buying needs. I doubt I've ever paid more than $40 for a purse. I live within my means and if a cute 9 west purse from Ross will do the trick and look nice too, why spend more? Sadly this led to a sheltered life from the elite purse world that would giggle themselves silly at the sight of a Ross purse. Thus I had no idea how much a Coach purse would cost and this purse was decidedly not $40. Not even on the same planet as $40. I tried to rationalize how it might be worth it, but somehow reason could not accomodate such a purchase. How could I have fallen in love with an unattainable item?

Six weeks later, walking through the mall with my little brother I saw it again- this time sitting in the center display of the Dillards Coach pagoda. He was unimpressed: "It looks like a hobo waded through the garbage behind the Coach factory and stitched up the scraps to create a purse" My father sympathised, "it must be very expensive, is it $100?" (And it is for this reason I haven't listed the actual price of said purse)

Then came Eid. After Eid Salat and breakfast brunch, we sat in the living room surrounded by gifts of varying degrees of gift wrapping perfection. One by one the packages went: my brothers with their matching polos, my dad and his calender mouse pad, my mom and her leather bound address book, Jadore perfume for me. One by one the packages went and finally there were none left. Just as we were about to go for our 98th cup of tea for the day, Kashif smiled saying there was one more gift. From behind a cushion came a Macy's bag- my heart stopped for at least a second- there it was, in all its splendid glory, my purse.

My family was astonished. I'm not a brand name junkie. I'm definitely not sophisticated enough to be a Coach purse aficianado. Vat happened? I still have not removed the tag and only model it in the mirror with gentle care. Should I return it? Should I keep it? Though the coach website says it can be used year round, when I asked the coach sales clerk if I could she paused (possibly suppressing laughter) and then politely said Well, though there is no law against wearing it year round.... I would not recommend it. That much for a fall winter bag? But I reason: 1) I am careful with my expenditures 3) In my twenty-something years on earth I have never wanted something this unnecessary but fun and pricey 4) It is a gift 5) I really love this purse. Its a conundrum indeed, but just maybe purse, you are finally home.

The thing about desi parties

When audiences see movies and read books such as Little Women, or Pride and Prejudice they see an era of time long ago. Of girls awaiting courtship, of women in extravagant gowns whispering about the comings and goings of the local socialite. But for desis, such movies do not represent times long ago, instead it represents the here and now. At any given desi wedding one can find the carefully made up girl with the small gold set and hair swept up, standing nonchalantly hoping an auntie will take notice for her son, or better yet, hoping to catch the gaze of the son himself. Just like any Jane Austin novel you will find carefully made hairstyles, embroidered clothing with sequins and frills. You'll find air kisses and smiles and whispering behind closed doors. This sort of atmosphere should objectively speaking be cherished because it is of a waning era and should be enjoyed while it exists.

I love many aspects of being desi. I love the gold jewelry and the colorful greens, reds, and yellow clothing, the henna decorated hands, the songs, the saris. I love the respect for elders, and the hospitality. But there is something about desi dinner parties, particularly those of my parents generation, that throw me off and leave me feeling a bit desolate. I try to hide it as well as I can because my parents love them, and love bringing us along if we are visiting. But inside, there is something that aches after parties such as these, a sort of emptiness. After thinking about it, I came up with a few reasons.

1. Gossip, gossip, gossip. I will not deny I have gossiped in my life. Its not something I'm proud of and since childhood I have tried abstaining from it. I do think there is a different between venting (i.e. expressing frustration because the situation affects you) and another to talk about someone else for the pure sake of taking apart their outfit, their demeanor or speculating about their life. I try to refrain from the former but I make it my personal mission to not engage in the latter. Does not the Quran say that gossiping is akin to biting the flesh off your dead brothers back? There is a reason why gossip is also referred to as backbiting. But desi parties are a caldourn of gossip. Almost every corner you turn, almost every voice you hear. She could be clad in hijab or wearing a sleeveless sari but you can hear the gossip. What is she wearing? Why is she talking to him? Did you hear they are having marriage problems? I see Auntie X hug Auntie Y and say how nice she looks and ten minutes later see Auntie X tell Auntie Z how bad Auntie Y's outfit is. As I sit quietly taking it all in, I can't help but feel the negativity overwhelming me.

2. Idle chit-chat. If being charming involves being able to stand at dinner parties and engage in mindless chit chat, I am decidedly as uncharming as they come. "How are you" "How is school" "No we don't have kids yet" "Yes I know we should" Is your husband a doctor? It. gets. exhausting. Don't get me wrong, I love hanging out, and meeting people. But sincerity is an essential component. A desire to have a meaningful conversation, not talk for the sake of chatter. Not talking simply to gather new information to run off and gossip about with others. After an hour of such chatter I feel as though my mouth is dry from the discourse and my soul slightly depleted from the exchange.

3. Tardiness. There is a saying called "Third World Standard Time" or "desi standard time" or "fashionably late" Essentially, if you are invited to a party at 7pm. No one, not even the hosts, will be ready at 7pm. 7pm translates to 9pm which translates to dinner served around 10-11pm. Which translates to Aisha whose mood is directly linked to food consumption or lack thereof (former: happy, latter: grumpy) growing decidedly of the latter mentality through and through. On a more serious note, the knowledge that all events and gatherings will start late encourage even those who would normally come on time to appear late as well.

4. The Fact that I am a particularly sensitive elephant. By which I mean I remember everything. If I heard the gossip that you began that involved me or a dear loved one, I can't pretend I adore you to pieces. But that is a way of life at desi parties: X said Y about Z. Z and X still hug and air kiss like they are buddies though later they will gossip viciously about one another. I can't do it. I am incapable. My mouth refuses to turn upwards to form the obligatory smile, my arms refuses to open in a gesture of embrace. Of course, if we talked about it and resolved the differences thats a different story.

5. The cliques. I can only imagine what it must be like to not be desi and have to try to find your place in desi society parties. As soon as you enter one the lines are drawn and the cliques are clearly outlined. Islam is about brotherhood and unity and togetherness but you'd be hard pressed to see these qualities at most desi parties. Instead a newcomer will stand at the sidelines attempting to strike conversation only to be rebuffed because the person they approached already has their own friends thank you very much and do not need another. And yes, I actually have heard someone actually say this to a girl who tried to reach out to someone at a party.

6. My time is valuable and I jealously guard it. If law school has taught me one thing it is that time is all that life consists of. No more, and no less. It should be spent with those who are sincere to me, and those I feel sincerity towards as well.

This post is cross posted at nisaa, a great new group blog for Muslim women.