Technological Crutch

As I stood on a street corner near Washington Square Park waiting for the NYU bus, I found myself feeling sick.  Not from the smell of the local "meat" vendor down the street - though, it has been known to make a stomach churn by the mere smell of it.  I found myself feeling sick because all I could observe around me was a crowd of students "plugged in" to technology.  In a crowd of about fifteen students, not a single person (barring the sociologist within me) wasn't texting, surfing the web on their smartphones, or jamming out to their iPods.  Far be it from me to want some sort of interaction while waiting for the bus.  It's odd to deconstruct the scenario because, in my mind, the rise of new media and technology is both a godsend and a curse.  The reasons for why it's truly a gift are evident in my blogging efforts and so much more (including my lover - Google).  The reasons for calling it a curse are a bit more difficult to identifiy.  In essence, it brings about a whole new mode of analyzing human behavior.  Previously, it had been assumed that human behavior yearns for human interaction.  Typically, when we enter a new group of people, we seek out those with whom we have something in common.  For some reason, making this connection provides us with comfort and, regardless of whether we have actually made a further connection with these people, we feel connected to them from there on out.  So why, I ask, was everyone in this group of NYU students (who all share a rather large connection relative to the rest of the world) avoiding social interaction?

As a Media, Culture, and Communications major, I feel the line behind which my loyalties lie is rather blurred.  On the one hand, I feel elation when I discover the latest "app".  I revel in the fact that the rise of social media (much like my own blog) is managing to reshape our reality as we know it, finally giving us power and control to have an active stance in items such as the news.  In other words, technology has become my baby for whom I care and observe as if every moment of its life were to be valued.  On the other hand, the sociologist within me is confuddled (go ahead - Urban Dictionary it).  I can't help but be intrigued by the new human interaction trends that I'm observing on a daily basis, but I also can't help but wonder if it's a move in the right direction.  It's one thing to have technology advancing our world and another to have it replacing it.  Are we using technology to aide us in our constant endeavors to make things ever-more efficient?  Or are we simply using it to enable our independent, hide-in-our-shells, avoid-the-world life styles?

Simply put, when the younger child starts to beat up the older child...whose side do you take?

Somebody call MLK.

If you're living in NYC, right now, you're feeling the heat.  I don't mean the weather - which has, in fact, transformed me into a sweat-dripping college student - but rather, the "Islamaphobic" heat.  You can't walk more than ten blocks without seeing some sort of sign of protest - whether it's a picket, a rather unoriginal poster, or talk from the Archangel himself who claims Islam is of the Devil (and then proceeds to tell you where to go for cheap knock-off purses).

As a proud Muslim-American, myself, I have to say the whole thing makes me sick.  I'm not entirely sure how it's possible to be making such progress in areas such as technology (foursquare can attest to that) but be so backwards and regressive in areas such as civil rights.  I'm from GA, so let me be the first (or the 817th) to tell you - prejudice is not something new to this world.  We've lived through these struggles before - plenty of times, in fact.  Each time, it results in horrific circumstances - whether it means brutally killing those that are different than us or simply harassing them to brutally kill their spirit.  I like to think civil rights leaders, such as Martin Luther King Jr., did not struggle in vain.  I like to think that we learned from the messes of our ancestors.

But at the moment, I'm at a bit of a stand-still.  For the first time in history, we have an African-American president (and one for whom I very proudly cast a ballot).  At the same time, there are people being persecuted all across the United States because of the color of their skin and the religion which they practice.  Doesn't this go against the very idea on which this country was founded?  Freedom of Religion.  Isn't that what Thomas Jefferson said in 1779 - more than 230 years ago?  

"[N]o man shall be compelled to frequent or support any religious worship, place, or ministry whatsoever, nor shall be enforced, restrained, molested, or burthened in his body or goods, nor shall otherwise suffer, on account of his religious opinions or belief; but that all men shall be free to profess, and by argument to maintain, their opinions in matters of religion, and that the same shall in no wise diminish, enlarge, or affect their civil capacities."

It seems to me like Muslims are being set up to fail.  "Be American and integrate into society.  Oh, but you can't have your freedom of religion and you can't have a place of worship.  And don't be surprised if you get harassed along the way."  I love this country - for all its wonders and flaws - but there's a lesson to be learned in this (and one that it would seem should have been learned a long time ago).  America is better than this.  It's better than riots and bigots, ignorance and hatred.  It stands for something amazing and wonderful in my mind - it always has.  And yet, the current state of this country has done something else entirely.  It has molded and changed the way I feel.  It has shoved me aside and placed me behind bars for being guilty of nothing other than loving it.

America, you're breaking my heart.

Facebook - noun, verb, adj.

The world has had its share of grand innovations - Edison and the light bulb, the Wright brothers and the airplane, Salk and the polio vaccine. Today's day and age brings about yet another grand innovation: Facebook.

Facebook, one of the world's largest and fastest-growing social networks, has become more than just a way of keeping in contact. What began as a site for networking has become so much more. Facebook is…well, Facebook. 

It is a noun: "I just love Facebook!" It is a verb: "Oh my gosh - I don't know him. Let me Facebook him." It is even an adjective: "I can't believe you said that! It's so Facebook!" 

When asked what word first pops into your mind in association with "Facebook," the following words and phrases may enter your realm of thought: waste, helpful, time-consuming, addiction, time-machine (hey - I don't ask questions, here), calendar, life, enjoyment, daily ritual. 

Of course, some of these words are shockers - others are not so shocking at all. 

Facebook has become a daily part of our lives, something to check at least once a day. Maybe more. To be honest, I think a large portion of us would be completely lost without Facebook. 

What would we do in those spare moments that bore us to death? What would we do without our status updates about the newest exciting moments in our lives? What would we do in those moments that should be spent reviewing test material but instead are spent as an escape that can only be fulfilled by Facebook? 

Facebook has become…oh, excuse me - it's time for a Facebook break. Be right back.

I apologize - I'm back and fully attentive. For the next ten minutes, at least. In an A.D.D. world, Facebook fits right in. With the expanding technology and the need for convenient contact, it has found its niche. But where do we fit in in the grand scheme of things? Are we to be the masters of this contraption or the slaves of it? 

To say I have survived the temptations of Facebook would be a complete and utter lie. I did, for a while, resist the new wave of Facebook mania, but the summer before my senior year of high school, my last bit of strength got up and walked away. It didn't take long for me to get hooked on the wonder that had become Facebook.

Of course, the sane part of me still resisted the multiple applications requesting me to be someone's vampire lover and to take a quiz on whether or not I was in love with a fictional character I had never heard of. But the wonder had taken over me in ways that I was not prepared for. Before I knew it, I was spending hours at a time on Facebook without even blinking my eyes. 

I know what you're thinking - what on earth can a girl do on Facebook for hours?! Or maybe you're not puzzled by the previous question at all. Perhaps you, too, are guilty of spending an obscene amount of time writing on others' walls, scanning recent photo albums, selling your sheep on Farmville, and sending out far too many bumper stickers for anyone's own good. 

Whatever the case may be, I suddenly had to push aside normal things in my life to make room for my new friend - Facebook. Senior year was no breeze; I was youth minister at my mosque, I was the team captain of my mock trial team, I had the lead in my school play, and, to top it off, I was taking four AP courses. So why was I wasting valuable time on Facebook? Simple - everyone else was doing it.

As I soaked in the summer sun and looked forward to an exciting new year in college, I wondered where the blurred line between resourcefulness and waste of time was and how long ago I had crossed it. My time spent on Facebook could have been better spent on studying for my senior classes and college applications - things that were obviously affected by my new time-absorbing pastime. 

So what am I to do with this agonizing revelation? I suppose my goal is to get the most out of this useful networking tool. Somehow, I have managed to find that blurred line and have, with much effort, stayed on the end of resourcefulness. Here's hoping Facebook and I are able to keep a safe distance - I've heard it can be quite the jealous lover.

© Nureen Gulamali

Marked-Up

Sometimes, I wish I could just...write.  Allow the words to flow out of me and for that to be that.  Unfortunately, the only writing with which I can do this is my personal writing (including this blog).  But I wish...that I could always write freely.  Write of me.  Letters, papers, essays - it's not me.  It's formalities.  It's structure.  It's editing.  It's peers.  But it's not me.  It's this sense of rote learning and rote teaching.  I don't want that.  I want...to be able to write what I feel and think - to be able to hold it out and say, "This is it.  This is what I want to turn in.  This is me."  It doesn't work that way.  MY writing will not get me where I want to go, I'm told.  Get someone to edit it.  Have your brother look over it.  Get to the point.  Take out the nonsense.  What you want to say and how you want to say it isn't going to cut it.

It's always going to be this way, isn't it?

Sweet Dreams

2:17am

I've had trouble sleeping ever since I was little.  The reasons may have varied, but the problem still existed.  Don't go getting the wrong idea - I wasn't some doped up baby that was addicted to sleep aids to try to get some shut-eye.  Actually, I was never allowed to take a sleep-aid.  Huh - that probably could have solved this whole mess, couldn't it have?  Ah, well.

When I was a wee five year-old, I would lie awake for hours on end with the covers over my head.  Why, you ask?  I feared some man would pop out of my closet or my window and end up being an axe murderer.  Thank you, cable television.  At any rate, my mother's advice was to turn and sleep on my side, facing the wall.  Where the advice came from, I have no idea, but I suppose there was some logic in it.

When I was about ten years old, I suffered from a recurring nightmare - a very, very, very odd nightmare (let's just say it consisted of gigantic spools of thread and a grandmother wearing a football uniform).  I would apparently venture into my brother's room, drag him out of bed under the pretense of being too scared to walk down the hall to the bathroom alone and then jump down and scream, "He's coming!  We have to run!".  I would then fall to a complete breakdown and would end up crying myself to sleep with my mother.  I was an odd child, to say the least.

When I was fifteen, I suffered from boy-mania - though, I wouldn't dare tell my parents this (I cringe as I write this, in fear that my father may skim it and come down to yell about not focusing on studies.  I was studying...it just included studying boys).  I would lie awake in bed for hours thinking about the romantic adventures that were to grace me someday (though, it never really happened).  My father (who would simply say "You're thinking about too much.") suggested that I think of an imaginary chalkboard and to take an eraser and wipe away all of the thoughts.  Well, the chalkboard thought didn't work so well...the screetching killed me, inside.  So with a few key adjustments (to a modern day whiteboard), I gave it a try.

When I was seventeen years-old (and a senior in high school), I was stressed out of my mind.  Instead of lying in bed having wandering thoughts, I was up all night working, studying, stressing, and, of course, Facebooking.  My brother's solution?  GET OFF FACEBOOK.  If you know me, you know that I completely disregarded this piece of advice.

And now?  Now, I'm lying in bed, at age nineteen, writing this in my head (transcribed the next morning).  That's my new problem (along with a mixture of all of the above problems which continue to plague me - minus the nightmare.  I beat that spool of thread into the ground.).   I write.  I write at night when all of the lights are off and I'm warm and cozy in my bed - the thoughts just come to me.  And so, instead of drifting off to sleep with a smile on my face, I am forced to play out the ideas that pop into my head.  Half of them don't even make it to paper (or to computer screen, rather), but just in case, I write it all out in my head.  Doesn't seem like such a bad alternative in comparison to my past sleep-depriving activities.  What advice shall be thrown my way, now?  Anything?  Bloggers?  Perhaps there is no advice needed, this time.

So, I say to you, sweet dreams and good night.  I'm off to a land filled with words and baggy eyes.

Hello and Good Night!

I was wondering, how come "good morning" implies "hello" and "good night" implies "goodbye"?  What if I was leaving somewhere in the morning - would I be able to say "good morning"?  And if I walked into a place at 10pm, I can't say "good evening", so would I say "good night"?  Why is "good evening" so special that it gets to imply "hello" even though it is later in the day?  Poor "good night".  

I'll tell you about value!

I just got back from attempting to sell my textbooks back to the SMU bookstore and was shot down repeatedly with the following phrase, "Sorry - these books no longer have any value.  We just got new editions."  That is simply the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.  Not only was I upset that I wasn't getting money back for some pretty expensive books (luckily, I'm not a chump and I bought my books off of Amazon), but what the salesperson said really got to me.  No value?  I've always been taught by my family that knowledge is the most valuable thing you can ever have; An education is the one thing no one can take away from you.  And yet, here, this young lady looked at me (while quite obnoxiously smacking her gum at me) and told me my books had no value.  I know, I know - it's not her fault.  She only told me what the computer dictated to her, but I will tell you one thing, I will not sell my books to anyone/anywhere that does not find value in them.

There's a Penguin On My Window!

My roommate and I have a problem - we love to decorate.  Call it our mother instinct to nest, but our entire room is covered in pictures of friends and family, magazine cutouts, and fun memorabilia from the semester.  An outsider might walk in and think it looks like a cluttered chaos, but to Katy and I, it's home.  She recently received a "Christmas" package from her mama and we each were surprised with penguins (among other things) for our windows!  Maybe not so exciting to you, but to Katy and I, it was like Christmahanukwanzaakah.  I know our obsession with decorating may seem obsessive and eclectic, at times, but it's such a wonderful feeling - making a foreign place feel like home.  You call it a quirk - I call it a gift.  

Happy Holidays - May you spend it with loved ones in a place

you, too, can call "home".

Sandimation

My cousin showed me this link (I have an awesome family - I know) and it really touched me - not in the way that the rest of the Ukrainians were touched, but rather, I was touched (I really should stop using that word) by the beauty.  This Russian young woman has a talent like nothing I’ve ever seen before - it isn't like singing, dancing, or acting...it's rapid sand art. The images she creates are beautiful and her technique is amazing.  It just got me thinking - talent is not always what we initially think about. Nor is art.  And yet, there is no denying that the woman is talented and that her creations are, indeed, art.  It is everywhere.  And it is beautiful.

America - Salad Bowl?

Yesterday, Best Buy released a "Black Friday" advertisement that had, in absolute small lettering, a message stating "Happy Eid Al-Adha".  Eid Al-Adha is primarily considered a Muslim holiday, however, it is in fact a universally monotheistic holiday.  The day commemorates the revelation from God to Abraham to sacrifice the thing most important to him to God.  Abraham, in sadness but absolute devotion, decides he must sacrifice his son.  At the last moment, God replaces Abraham's son with a sheep - showing God's mercy and His appreciation for Abraham's loyalty.  If one knows the Old Testement well, they will realize that this story is consistent with the story within the Qu'ran (with the exception of a few minor details).  Today, Muslims celebrate this holiday by eating only 1/3 of their meal and donating the rest (or the equivalent).

So why, then, were there 57 pages of comments on the Best Buy Community Forum complaining about supporting a "Muslim" holiday?  What is so wrong about that in a nation that prides itself on being diverse and open and FREE?  I saw comments on there about how the Muslims should stop trying to take over this country and go back to their "pig of Middle Eastern countries".  I am not only shocked, but extremely hurt.  In all honesty, even if I was not Muslim (which I am), I would be deeply disappointed in America.  I was born in this country and think of it as my home - it is just as much MY America as it is others'.  And yet, it's ok to have stores say "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Hannukah", but once we progress past the familiar and old ways, it's un-American?

To say the least, I am fuming.  So much so, in fact, that I find myself wanting to block the page of comments so I will stop reading them and angering myself.  I have always been taught not to judge by small indicators - such as this relatively small group of people commenting on such a trivial matter.  However, it is ignorant people who are close-minded and hypocritical that make me wish (at times) America would live up to it's name of "The Salad Bowl".  Until then, I suppose.

Pie-ty.

As a child, I had a pie-phobia.  Confused?  I don't blame you.  I was...an odd child - picky, to say the least.  Pie was (along with meat during my vegetarian phase) one of those things that I did not understand.  It's like a caged cake!  At any rate, I refused to eat any kind of pie - apple, pumpkin, blueberry, you name it.  As I grew out of my silly childish reasoning, I continued to steer clear of pie - not by refusal, but because the opportunity never happened to cease me.  As Thanksgiving rolled around, this week, I found that my cousin was an amazing chef and wanted to bake some pies (apple and pumpkin, to be exact).  What a dilemma - pies?  Me?  Naturally, I wanted to help - to pass up this opportunity to play "cook" for the day would be crazy of me.  And so, I baked.  I baked and I learned.  And you know what?  It was fun.  Absurd, I know.  Now, I've never been a fan of pumpkin, but this pie...well, I probably shouldn't talk about it.  Don't want you salivating all over your keyboard.  So, I abandoned my silly childish pie-phobia for family and for...well...pie.  What perfect timing.

Dreams

Close my eyes

Float away to a distant land

Thoughts encompass my every being

Deep breaths to keep from drowning

I can feel it now –

The breeze so subtly graces my hair

And nibbles at my face

I can feel it now –

His warmth lights my face

His fingers interlace with my own

I can feel it now –

His eyes look deep into mine

Giving me reason to see

I can feel it now –

His lips kissing my cold cheek

Turning them from icy white to rosy pink

I wince and my eyes begin to flutter

I can feel it now –

The wind cruelly turns on me

And bites harshly at my face

I can feel it now –

The light slowly disappearing

Leaving me in fearful thought

I can feel it now –

Slipping away slowly

Taking away every once existing trace

I can feel it now –

The happiness he’s brought

Leaving my very being

My eyes are pulled open

And I come back to reality

Thoughts encompassing my every being

Shallow breathing serving only as indication –

Dreaming should be left to dreamers.

© Nureen Gulamali

_____________________________________________

We all have dreams that take over us - engulf our being.  I wrote this after experiencing a dream involving a friend who passed away in my childhood.  The poem is not written based on the actual events that occurred in the dream, but rather the feelings.  It only seemed fitting considering we base much in our lives off of feelings.

Psst - Pass the Note!

A good friend of mine that I have been fortunate to have since middle school, recently reminded me of something I have oddly enough forgotten.  The art of note-writing.  Ok, so, in middle school it wasn't so artful.  But it certainly was a thrill!  There were about a thousand different ways to fold those things - I think the folding was almost as much fun as the writing.  And ohhhh the thrill of trying to get it to your friend without getting caught - exhilarating!  But what now with these little kids having cell phones in 5th grade?  Do they just sit across the room texting the whole time?  You can't fold a text.  You can't pass a text from Mary to Sally to Andrew to Paul (well, ok, I suppose you could but you'd be stupid to).  Where's the fun in that?  Come on!

Move With the Music

My senior year of high school, I was rewarded with a great responsibility - a car.  Well, sort of.  I did not get a car of my own, but I was allowed to drive my father's car to school and back (he had a home office) and let me tell you, it was the greatest feeling on earth.  Even if it meant sitting in traffic to get someplace that should only have taken me ten minutes to get to (but, in fact, took me thirty), I reveled in every last minute of it.  I like to think that the thing that I loved most about driving the old Camry to school was the music.  It gave me an opportunity to get whatever stresses and frustrations I might have had out with the music.  If I was feeling excited, Snow Patrol was excited with me.  If I was feeling angry, Three Days Grace was banging their heads with me.  It was exhilarating.  I even found myself tearing up to the lyrics of a song that especially connected with my present-self, several times.    I don't think much else can move me in such ways (perhaps a really good book or movie).  And so, my dad's 2001 Camry and I bonded over one common friend - music.

Black Memories

They continued along the path of the shimmering lake – his every three tiny footsteps matching her one.  And yet, he kept pace.  His heart-beat, his breath, his tiny feet quickening – all to keep pace.

His arm stretched upward as it linked with hers.  His tiny hand, tiny fingers, remained engulfed in the sea that was her large palm. 

            He won’t let go this time.

He looked into the lake, mesmerized by his reflection.  Her eyes looked into his own through the reflection on the black water – her eyes warm, loving, inviting.

            He stirs in his bed – tossing and turning.

They noticed a baby turtle – overturned, its tiny limbs squirming and wriggling in the air.  He tugged on her long swaying dress with a look of sadness.  Save it.  Save it.  Her eyes looked down at him and she smiled.  She signaled at him to stay put.  He would not move.  He felt her grasp loosen until, finally, his tiny hand lacked protection.  He was alone.

A sharp pain shoots through his body.  His eyelids flutter in madness – wincing in deep pain.  Wake up.  Wake up.  He cannot awaken.  He is stuck in this hell indefinitely.

She approached the edge of the lake – crossing the fence and the sign that warned against her next move.  All for him.  Carefully, she stepped on an unstable rock, attempting to flip the flailing turtle over.

Black.  All he can see is black.  The movie playing in his head nears the end and all he can feel is fear, agony, and black.

The black water stirred below her pale feet.  Her arms moved about like those of the turtle.  Somewhere in the near distance, a little boy screamed in pain – a pain that would forever be embedded in his mind.  Her face quickly changed to a pallid color – her smile wiped away and replaced with a look of distress.  Slowly, as if in a film, she fell, her now tiny and frail body engulfed in the black monster.

Gasp.  He awakes, heaving.  He finds himself breathing one hundred miles per hour.  His body is drenched in sweat.  His ashen face is stained with tears of anguish.  His agony forces him to wish his exhausted eyelids to never again close, again.  Because, in the end, he can’t let go.  He can never let go.

© Nureen Gulamali

___________________________________________________________________________

I really can't say where this story popped out from - a very muddled mind, indeed.  I suppose I was feeling a sense of living with one's regrets - even those that we are not directly responsible for.

Make a Wish

It's November 11th - otherwise seen as 11/11.  I'm quickly reminded of my friend Emma who, even when in deep conversation, will snap and tell everyone to make a wish at 11:11(am or pm).  Naturally, she's adorable.  Her beahvior really brings into light an important issue in my life, though.  I am (for the most part) the person that will chuckle and refuse to make a wish because I know it won't work.  Debbie Downer, right?  I could really care less if i'm a party pooper in that sense, to be honest, but it has brought light to the fact that I'm not as hopeful as I want to be.  No, there is no "11:11" god out there that will grant my wish - and there's nothing you can say to convince me otherwise.  But what's the harm in making a wish, anyways?  It's not likely that it'll come true (at least for the sole reason of wishing for it), but what's wrong with hoping?  There is so much I want in my life and I know I must work for it, but what good will the work do in the absence of hope?

Letter To My Past

Dear Little One,

First and foremost, I feel the need to tell you the most essential thing within this letter - you are beautiful.  You are not, by any means, perfect - nor will you ever be.  This is not something worth striving towards - perfection is unattainable and improbable.  For anyone.  You are so strong in so many ways and your heart is truly beautiful - if nothing else, please focus on your inner beauty.  Life will be hard for you.  You will cry, scream, pain, mourn, and regret.  You will lose so many that you love - to life and to death.  But fear not, little one - these are all emotions that one finds necessary in life.  You will grow from your experiences.  You will thrive.  This is not to say that any successes will come without hardship - you must work for everything that is worth fighting for in your life.

I warn you as I would have benefited greatly from such a forewarning - you will be broken down many-a-times.  It will not be easy.  You will feel...like giving up.  Do not.  Stay strong.  Remember your family, your friends, your future - for even when it seems bleak, it can hold so much.  You determine your fate - you must take the path less taken.  You must stand up for what you believe in and know who you are.  You will not know right away - it takes time to find yourself.  But when you do find yourself?  Embrace it.

You will yearn to be loved.  Do not let this control you.  Do not settle.  You will have several wonderful people come into your life...and then walk out.  This is not a bad thing - it is simply a part of life.  A part of who you are - who you will become.  Good things come to those who wait.  I am still waiting, but I promise, you will be loved by so many wonderful people that the wait will seem effortless.

Lastly, you mustn't compare yourself to those who surround you.  Though tempting it may be, it will only hurt yourself.  Everyone is different in their own way - you are wonderful for being you.  Not for being your brother.  Or for being your best friend.  For being you.  Where you have a weakness, you also have a strength.  Love your strengths and improve your weaknesses.

I wish I could tell you so much more, but I feel that in order for you to grow to the best of your ability, I must refrain.  Remember, you must never give up.

Forever and Always,
Your Wiser Self

Trick or Treat?

My twelve year old cousin just asked me if I was going Trick-or-Treating, tonight.  I regretfully had to tell him that I would not be because I have not been "allowed" to trick-or-treat since I was in 8th grade.  He gave me the saddest puppy dog face in the world.  When I asked him why he looked so down, he said, "Am I going to have to stop being fun like you, too, soon?"

Being an "adult" sucks.

Religi-os-ity

I have a bone to pick with religion.  Well, not religion - followers, rather.  It has recently become more and more aware to me that many "pious" people around me are, in fact, not pious at all.  I know what you must think, "Who does she think she is?!  She can't decide who is and who isn't religious!"  Au contraire, mon amie.  I have, for instance, engaged myself in multiple conversations that revolve around religion (I actually very much enjoy interfaith dialog).  In each of these conversations, I have found two types of "avid religious" people - only one of which tends to aggravate me.

The first type is the informed religious person - this is a person that has their faith instilled in some sort of basis in which they are properly informed (based on experience, religious teachings, exploration, and the sort).  The fact that they are so enthralled in their faith and religion is actually quite an intoxicating thought - especially (and specifically) when they have opened themselves up to the world.  An important thing to keep in mind is that this person does not necessarily believe in a specific belief system, but rather may also be agnostic or even atheist in belief.  Their ardent (informed) beliefs are just the same intoxicating.

The second type of person is the uninformed religious fanatic (which is not specific to any one religion).  This person is extremely religious, as well - or so one would think. The difference is revealed in the conversations in which they regurgitate information regarding their faith and religion that they clearly do not understand.  If they do not understand or know it, however, how can they be so religious?  I will admit, religion has shown a trend to become more prevalent in times of need (whether they be war, poverty, or moral trouble).  Perhaps we get our sense of "religious-ity", as I call it, from our parents, then.  Think about such a statement.  Thought it is provocative in nature, there lies some truth in it.  If mommy and daddy taught us the things we know today, great.  But the problem lies in spoon-feeding something as powerful as religion.  If all we know is what mommy and daddy taught us, however, it quickly becomes evident that we are living in a skewed world.  Religion is a wonderful thing - a powerful thing.  It has the ability to persuade, save, and conquer.  Hence, because it is such a powerful thing, we must be diligent in nature to ensure that what we are putting absolute faith in is something of which we are clearly informed.  Explore the world, do research on your own, talk to people of other faiths, open yourself up.  I am not telling you to abandon your religion in search of other faiths.  I am asking you to be justified in your beliefs.

It is like Plato's allegory of the cave - if you never venture into the light, you cannot stake your beliefs in the dark.  You may find that you still prefer the dark and may even find that your love for the dark cave has only increased - great.  But until you expose yourself to the light, your love for the dark is jaded.

So, for God's sake - throw the spoon away.

Weep, Weep, Weep

Weep, weep, weep says the weeping willow tree,

A pinch, and a punch, and a kick right at thee.

Mew, mew, mew says the bony agile cat,

Ah, ah, ah – you won’t put up with that.

Moo, moo, moo says the grazing spotted cow,

You’re blinded by emotion – Revenge has control, now.

Woof, woof, woof says the domesticated dog,

Be careful with your actions – what you doubt must be wrong.

Caw, caw, caw says the black and tortured crow,

Wither in regrets and reap what you sow. 

Bang, bang, bang screams the cocked and loaded gun,

Fill your eyes with tears at what anger has done.

Beat, beat…beat cries a sad and dying heart,

What they say is wrong – you mustn’t finish what they start.

© Nureen Gulamali

I wrote the above piece after recalling the passing of a loved one.  It is not something I wish to recall, and yet, it haunts me quite often.  It is not something that should not go unremembered.  We cannot act upon our vengeful impulses; a single moment's actions has consequences that are unthinkable.  It is not a story.  It is life.