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.

The bond that comes with time...then fades away.

For the first half of my life, I spent a lot of time trying to build meaning full relationships with my grandparents - my grandmothers, in particular.  It was difficult to say the least.  For one of them there was a language barrier;  For both there was a culture barrier.  I did what I could to win them over, for what grandchild doesn't want their grandparents to look at them adoringly?  But no matter how hard I tried, I never felt like I was the grand-daughter they expected me to be.  Being the headstrong little girl that I was, my previously fleeting efforts to win them over turned into pointless defenses that were often considered impolite.  But what was I to do?  I can't say my decision to be somewhat cold and bitter towards them was either warranted or appropriate, but it occurred, nonetheless.  I quickly felt whatever closeness I had managed to savor fade away and I only grew to feel more and more estranged and bitter.  By the time I was fifteen, I had lost both of my grandmothers.  I was not as torn up as I should have been, but it was obvious that I was affected by these losses.  Now, at nineteen, I can see how stupid and childish my behavior was.  Every child has their fits and tantrums - it's unfortunate that mine cannot be resolved.  I know that they both knew that I loved them very much and I know the same with regards to them, but I would be lying if I said I didn't have regrets.  I suppose my purpose to this post is to warn - a warning I hope all will heed.  Life is short - you've heard it before.  But for every moment that slips away, you lose a moment of opportunity - whether it be education, love, service, or simply relaxation.  Do not let time out of your grasp, for once you do, it slips away far too fast.

Control Thy Pen!

I find that when I am upset (or anything to the extent of feeling negative) or lying in bed, my writing flows much more easily.  This is, as you can probably guess, problematic.  I am reminded of the famous poets that found their pens at work most after a heartbreak, death, or deep realization (for the worse).  Well, I do not want to have my best friend die, nor do I want to have to experience teen angst after my boyfriend gets tired of me to be able to write well.  At the same time, I often find myself writing poems or "eloquent" writing when doing the most inconvenient things - sleeping (almost), driving, showering, exercising, etc.  Why does my mind feel the need to punish me so?  Certainly I could pull over in the middle of the freeway, pull out my pen and pad, and write away.  Downside?  What good use would the writing be if an angry hitchhiker kills me soon after?  Exactly.

Don't get me wrong - to say that I cannot write on a regular basis would be a terrible mistake.  It is, however, common knowledge that many people find inspiration in feelings - usually of the extreme ends.  Let's be honest, how many people do you know that sit down after a regular day and write their best piece of writing?  I can guarantee you that those people are basing whatever writing they are coming out with on previous thoughts or emotions.  I am taught and told almost everyday that creativity flows through everyone on a daily basis.  But how do we control such a wild force?  It is apparent that in life, some are able to utilize and wield their creativity in both different ways and different increments, but how are we able to increase our various creative ways and the amount which is available to us?  Can I simply say with assurance in my voice, "Creativity, I beckon you!"  I'm going to have to say "nay" to that suggestion.  I know it's not like a piece of meat in which I can choose my exact cut, flavor, and amount, but to say creativity is uniform would not only be preposterous, but also "sinful" in nature.   I wish I could just disregard such questions, but I cannot.  Writing is who I am.  My very being.  The words flow through my veins.  They pump my heart and fuel my body's every action.  That's it, isn't it?  My "many ways" of being creative...is writing.  And then some, of course.  Theatre.  Music.  Art...not.  I will not say that my brain will not waste any more time on such a silly question as, "How may I manipulate creativity to be nicer to me?", but I will appreciate the wonderful gifts I have grown to think of as an innate part of myself.

Self-Destruction In Mid-Air

If I told you I was not one with my body at this moment, would you laugh?  Would you tell me that "out-of-body" experiences are things of the mythical worlds?  I looked down at my life, today.  Down - not at.  It was...enlightening, to say the least.  How can one be so destructive?  So...bitter.  I don't remember getting this way.  Life has handed me so many things - of which I have made both fruit punch and lemonade.  And yet, I can't help but see how I am pushing everything away.  It's ridiculous to see how hard I have worked for some things, only to screw them up in the end.  What can one do at that point, though?  Do you look back and say, "Wow - that was a mistake."?  Or do you look back and say, "I don't actually regret that at all...despite what one might think."?  And if you think the latter, what does that mean?  It's not that I don't value these things in my life.  I do - whole heartedly.  So, maybe the issue isn't that I don't care.  Maybe the issue is that I care too much.  Maybe it hurts too much to lose these things on something other than my own accord.  Maybe it's just easier this way.

Thirty Pennies For My Thoughts

Today, I bought mascara from CVS.  You can already tell this is going to be a fantastic story, can't you?  Well, long story short, they overcharged me.  Not by a couple dollars, but by a couple cents.  Thirty cents, to be exact.  So, naturally, I was a little irked.  Irked, though I was, I was not ticked enough to go back to wait in a line of five people to get to the counter and say, "I want my thirty cents back."  But in the back of my head, I heard my mother's voice telling me, "Nureen, you worked hard for that money.  It's their mistake, not yours.  Why let them get away with that?  Every penny counts."  It drove me nuts.  I wanted to go back in the line simply out of principle, but something was holding me back.  Highland Park was holding me back. 

I looked around me and was terrified that the rich Highland Park mothers would think I was crazy.  Well, I was - not for wanting to get my money back, but for being concerned with what they thought of me.  So what if a student that I will (likely) never see, again, thinks I am stingy.  What if it had been two dollars?  I wanted to go back because of mere principle and I didn't.  I didn't because I was afraid.  As I walked down the street back to my dorm, I felt myself becoming more and more upset.  Over thirty cents?!  No, with myself for not feeling I could stand up for something.  For being afraid of being judged.  Since when was I that person?  The person that is the prototype of anything and everything that walks the Earth.  The person that feels pride in being one's clone.  The person that strives to blend with their surroundings.  That is not me.  That won't be me.  Next time, I won't freak out because Highland Park Mommy is tapping her Pradas at me.  Next time, I'll stand in that line and get my money back if I want to.  Because "I do what I want."

Adieu

There are certain songs which,

Undoubtedly,

Remind me of you.

I wish that their aesthetic beauty would not be

Tarnished

Stained

Tarnished

By your memory.

But that is something I

Cannot

Will not

Cannot

Change with assurance.

If my heart beats out of rhythm

Ever more,

It will not be in

Thought

Vain

Thought,

Of you.  Oh no – not of you.

I will not love your memory,

Nor will I hate it.

Shall I see you in the

Roads

Dreams

Roads,

I will wave to you,

Not in greeting, but in farewell.

If you were to ask forgiveness

For the damage you have done to my

Heart

Soul

Heart,

I will kindly forgive you

And then, sweet boy,

My eyes will linger and read,

As they have far too many times,

Goodbye

Adieu

Goodbye.

© Nureen Gulamali

This poem was inspired by a single moment of true independence and the belief that, while one may have to wait to find something amazing, one does not have to settle for something terrible in the meantime.

Thunder

It moves in the night as swift as the black mamba –

Slithering through the Earth as it passes each soul.

Moving from one house to another, shaking it’s foundation to

The depths of its existence.

Where will it go next?  Who will it strike next?

Its presence is welcome in my house any day –

I feel it move through my body.

I relish in the fact that no matter what happens,

For just a second – in the slightest moment –

It is in control of my life. 

It holds its hand of fate over my trembling body.

And somewhere, someone, at the very exact moment,

Feels it move through them, too.

I am one with them for the tiniest second

On this giant space called Earth.

It moves us as one in the meaningless space that is our lives.

He is moved.  She is moved.  I am moved.

We are moved.

© Nureen Gulamali

I used to hate thunderstorms - I suppose because they scared me.  It's odd how things change, though.  I live for them, now.  It is a beautiful feeling when you are inside a warm room or car and can see/hear the deafening phenomenon and how it impacts everything around it.