Free Almost

Free at last!! I can't believe it!! Finally I'm free!! This summer has been difficult to say the least.There were floods and no elec and computer deaths, but I survived because someone threw me a life preserver. So now all of the things I have wanted to do but couldn't I shall do. My  bondage has been broken. My silence unleashed. I know my words. My voice is unafraid. For now it is free.

It's Ramazan (or Ramadan depending on your accent) for us now. For those who may not know what that is, it's a month on the Islamic calendar where muslims from all over the world fast from sunrise to sunset for 30 days. I will be honest about it. I don't fast. At least not in the traditional physical sense. I have sugar probs and other health issues which keep me from doing so, but the reality of Ramazan is much more than abstaining from food and drink during the day. A lot of people including muslims don't know that if you back bite, gossip, become angry, and/or tell lies then your fast becomes void and you might as well go ahead and eat and drink because the only thing you'll find at the end of it is thirst and hunger.

Whenever I see people "celebrating" during the month of Ramazan it saddens me because the true meaning and spirit of the month is slowly becoming lost. It is suppose to be a month of reconnecting to your spirituality. A month of cleansing yourself of toxins and other bad habits that have made your body and spirit impure. It is a month to center yourself. To find the parts of you that get lost throughout the year. A time to slow down and reflect upon all you have. A time to remember there are those without and a time to give and share with friends. However for the most part I don't find this anymore.

People are too busy staring at the clock waiting for it to tick over so they can gorge themselves on special treats and foods only served during this time of year. Then they promptly forget about the thirst and hunger that filled their bodies throughout the day. Sometimes I just want to tell them there is really no point in fasting in the day if you're behaving like that one clock tick after sunset but it's not my place. Not my judgement.

I worry about me. Trying to find myself. I have much to be grateful for this month. Much to remember and many pieces of myself to gather. As the month goes on I'll be posting things. Things you may or may not know and trying to give perspectives that you might otherwise never see. Feel free to ask any questions about anything and I'll do my best to answer them.

Food Fit for a King

Living overseas, I have learned that things don't always have the same meaning over here as they do back home. Sometimes it's the oddest things that will have a total opposite meaning here. This is what I learned just the other day when my husband came home and said, "Cook this for me. I want to see how it tastes." 

I looked at what he was holding, then back up at him and then back to his extended hand. "What?" he asked like I was the one that had suddenly lost my mind instead of him. "But you don't eat that food" was all I could manage to reply. 

"Yea I know but I am curious. Will you fix it?" 

So being the dutiful wife that I am I went off and fixed it. I brought him the bowl and he looked at it. Sniffed it. Took one teensy little bite and curled up his nose. "Take a bigger bite" I said while trying not to laugh and he did. Then promptly handed the bowl to me and said "Here you eat it". 

At that point I couldn't stop my laughter any longer and as I sat there eating what I knew he wasn't going to eat we had the strangest discussion. You see this food he was suddenly so curious about is food of the "wealthy" overseas. Only the rich and "well-to-do" families can actually afford to eat it on a regular basis. One package costs more than what we spend to make an entire meal for 5 so it's definitely not something we would be able to eat often. Except that I am actually the only person who likes it so it's not that big of  a deal. Occasionally I get a craving for it and will buy a package, but beyond that no one else likes it. However every time I eat it I can't help but laugh. If  those poor, starving college students and Wal-Mart shoppers only knew that somewhere in the world they would be considered "rich" because this food was the only thing they could afford to eat. You see this food fit for a king is nothing more than: 

Yep, that's right. Ramen Noodles. This is the food of the well-to-do. Who'd have thunk it?!

Culture Shock

no this is not me

I often wonder about what it will be like that first moment. So many years have passed and living overseas has changed me so much. I wonder if there will be that connection between us. If the things I taught to them when they were little will still be buried away somewhere within theirselves or if it has simply disappeared. 

Days like today make me very contemplative in regards to my children. So much time has passed and there is so much that I wish for them to know, but they have been raised in that backwoods redneck small town mindset. I know because that is how I was raised, but the fact that I was able to see beyond that gives me hope that maybe some day they will too. 

Days like today make me regretful for the time that I have lost with them but also thankful for the lessons that I learned during my journey. I have gained so much understanding not only about the world and its people, but more importantly about myself. However that brings about extreme guilt. How can I feel any happiness about the journey that has taken me far from my children? Yet the journey is what has made me a better person. A person that I hope they will one day be proud of. A person that someday they will at least consider a friend if nothing else. 

Days like today are bittersweet. They should be joyous, but they are tainted with the sourness of knowing that it is a sweetness my children have yet to taste. I hope someday I will be able to share it with them.

13th Rajab

Not Your Typical Military Family

Normally on Saturdays, I feature an Indie author, but with the holiday on Monday I thought people might be off enjoying the weekend so Saturday Spotlight will be back next week. Since Monday is Memorial Day it seems like the perfect time to talk about how I betrayed my military family. At least according to them. 

My grandfather served in the Korean war. He was a communications officer. He didn't talk about the combat although he did have a few shiny medals that they pinned on his uniform. I don't know what he did to get them because he didn't like to talk about it and I didn't like to pry. All of his brothers served in the Armed forces as did their sons and their sons' sons. 

My cousin, whom I was often accused of playing kissin' cousins with, unjustly I might add, served two tours in Iraq.  He was special ops. During his last tour, he was MIA for almost six weeks. Then one day a couple MP's showed up on his mother's door saying he was in a mental hospital in Kuwait. Three weeks later, he was sent home under suicide watch, but the MP failed to show up and he killed himself. His mother fought and got him buried with full honors. His younger brother was called home. He had just begun his first tour of duty. He was stationed in Afghanistan. 

Then I also know the other side of war. My ex is from Iraq. His niece and nephew were killed when their house collapsed on them during a bombing raid. I know women who watched as their sons were dragged off never to be seen again, saw their daughters raped and tortured. I know men who were imprisoned, tortured, and beaten for no reason other than daring to have an opinion that differed from the government's. 

Whenever I walk the streets of my backwoods, redneck, Bible belt hometown, I am called a multitude of names, traitor being one of the few I can write on my family friendly blog. I am called these names because I chose to exercise my right of freedom of religion, my right of freedom of speech and my right of freedom of expression. What I find most ironic is that I am considered the "traitor" for choosing to be "different". However I feel that I honour the men and women who shed their blood fighting for my right to be different. If no one exercises their rights, then those men and women would have died in vain and to me that is the real treason.




Note: If you're having problems commenting on mine or any blogs, I have heard one way to fix it is to completely clear your cookies and cache and then restart your computer. Also make sure the "keep me signed in" box is NOT checked. If you're having problems, then maybe this would help to fix it. Or not. Stupid bleepin' blogger. 

Will You Marry Me

If this is your first time to travel across the pond with us, then you read about the guidelines HERE.

Since wedding season is coming to a close here, it seems only appropriate to tell you about the weddings here. I had heard much about them, but my first real experience was last October when my second to youngest brother in law married. My wedding was NOT typical or traditional so his was the first time I had witnessed one of these events first hand. 

There are certain times during the year when people don't get married and this is due to a variety of reasons. Some have to do with religion others have to do with the heat. I mean seriously who wants to get married when it's 50 (122 F) outside, and that is without humidity. Weddings officially are 3 days, but guests usually start arriving a few days before and stay a few days after so at the very least people are in your home for about 7 days. 

The first day of the wedding is known as the "Mehndi" ceremony. The bride will have a mehndi ceremony in her home hosted by her family and the groom has one in his home hosted by his family. This is basically a big "reception". For those who are not religious, there will be music and dancing. For those who are, then there will be qasidas and clapping. The bride/groom sits on a "stage" in front of the guests. The guests will come and sit with the bride/groom to have their pictures taken and to give a monetary gift. The bride traditionally wears yellow for this day. 

This is also the day where the "mehndi" (aka henna) will be applied to the hands, arms, and feet of the bride. Before the designs were done only up to the wrists, but today it is often applied as far as just above the elbow, on the tops and bottoms of the hands, and tops of both feet. Designs are intricate and extremely elaborate. 

The second day is when the actual marriage ceremony takes place known as the "Nikah". This was the only part of the wedding traditions that my husband and I allowed to take place. He and I both do not particularly like to participate in cultural aspects of things so our wedding was very different than the "normal" wedding ceremony. 

Traditionally,  on this day the groom's family, (mother, father, bros/sis, aunts/uncles, cousins etc) will travel to the brides' home where the marriage ceremony will take place.When the groom's family leaves to go to the bride's home, it is known as "Barat". Usually the groom's family will rent a special car for this occasion as well. This will be the car the bride and groom will ride in after the ceremony when the groom brings his bride back to his family home. 

After the bride and groom have been officially married, the bride's family will provide a dinner for the guests while the sounds of the dohl can be heard for miles around. 

dohl

The bride typically wears red on this day. Red is considered a symbol of fertility and happiness and this is why  the brides wear red instead of white. White is (in certain traditions) considered a symbol of mourning and sadness and this is why brides do not wear white to be married in. 

traditional bridal gown

After the nikkah ceremony is completed, the bride prepares to leave her family home and travel with the groom to his home. This event is known as "Rukhsati". It is usually a very difficult time on the bride as this is most often the first time in her life that she will have left her family's home. Once the bride and groom return to his home, there will be more celebrating throughout the night. 

The third day is known as the "Walima". The first two days are often held in the family home, but the walima is almost always held in a rented wedding hall or hotel. If you compared this to a typical western wedding, then the walima would basically be the "wedding reception". The bride and groom sit on a stage and everyone comes to have their pictures taken and offer their congratulations to the newly married couple. An elaborate meal will be served to the guests at the walima as well. 

During the walima the bride often wears red, but the dress will be different than that which she wore for the nikkah. Traditionally the groom's family presents these dresses to the bride as gifts a week or so before the event takes place along with the jewellery the bride will wear during the wedding. 

traditional bridal set

If by now you hadn't realized, getting married is VERY expensive. It is something that parents start saving for years in advance. Little by little they purchase jewellery set, dresses etc and keep them in storage. This way when the event arrives, some of the major purchases have already been taken care of. Even though my husband's family is more conservative and their weddings are more religious oriented, they still follow this basic 3 day guideline. One thing about living overseas I have noticed is that while in many ways we are very different, in most ways, we are very much the same. 

Power of the Written Word

Via: www.pharmacy-technician.net

Getting feedback/critiques of your work is always nerve wrecking, but it is essential if you want to grow as a writer. Some of the most common comments/feedback I get are that my writing is powerful, emotional, and that I am "brave" for having the "courage" to write about such things. The last part of that comment is always so shocking to me. I don't see myself as brave or courageous. I write about my life the same as anyone else does. Every person who blogs writes about their life in some form or fashion and I am no different. It just so happens that this is my life. 

I realize my life isn't "normal" and that I have experienced things in a way that most people did not, but regardless of all that my life is, I still can't see the bravery or courage in doing the same thing that so many others do. All I am doing is writing about my life. Nothing more, nothing less. It really isn't brave. 

Across the Pond - Roti

Now that the A-Z challenge is over I am trying to get back on my bloggy schedule. Before the challenge I had started a weekly edition of "Across the Pond". If this is your first time to walk across the pond, then you can read the guidelines here. If you are unable to join us, then you can always wait in the Q with the Sabzi Wala.

Roti

I mentioned in one my last few challenge posts that we make bread 3 times a day. Most people had a hard time comprehending it so I thought it would make a great "Across the Pond" post. We have bread with every meal and I know what you're thinking; CARBS, but you would be surprised at how THIN everyone in my husband's family is. Which is totally unfair but that is another post altogether. The bread we eat is called "roti" and it is a flat yeastless bread that is "baked" over a gas stove called a "chula".

chula

This one is a bit more modern than the one we use. Ours sits on the counter top. We don't have an oven so all of our food is cooked on the chula. Breakfast roti is called "prata". The difference between roti and prata is that prata is fried in oil where as roti is more like "pita bread".  The food is eaten by hand with the roti instead of silverware.

how to eat using roti

The fact I can actually do this and eat as well as anyone else shocks everyone. How and what do I eat are the two questions EVERYONE asks me. I have no idea why this is so amazing to people, but everyone is just amazed by this fact. 

I would attempt to explain how roti is made but I found this video on youtube. It was easier than trying to explain each step. There are a few differences as to how we make the roti though. We use a tsp of salt in our dough and they don't in the video. At the end they add oil on top, but we don't. Other than that it is basically the same process. Also in the video, they call the flour "chapati flour" which is basically whole wheat flour, but any flour would work.

This is how roti is cooked in the home, but my favorite roti is the ones that are cooked in a tandoor. All of the roti from the bakery, restaurants, or street vendors is cooked in a tandoor. To me, a tandoor looks nothing more than a hole in the ground with a fire at the bottom, but it is actually a clay oven which is heated by charcoal or wood fire. The roti is placed a long side the walls of the oven and baked. It makes the bread extremely soft and delicious.

Here is a very short video of how roti is cooked in the tandoor. It's only about a minute long but you can get the idea of how they get it in and out as well as see the coals at the bottom.

Two roti is normal serving size for an adult per meal (at least in our household). Until I came overseas I never realized exactly how LARGE the serving sizes in USA are. When I went home to visit a few years ago, it was definitely culture shock. The serving sizes overseas are less than half what you get in the USA. A medium sized soft drink from a fast food place here is smaller than the small size in USA.

sample meal serving with roti

I hope you enjoyed learning how bread is made across the pond.

PS: sorry about the false start earlier. I was trying to save the post but blogger had other ideas (insert eye roll here)

Un-Mother's Day

I am not one that celebrates "days" regardless of what the "day" is. I have never been one that remembered "days' nor do I expect gifts or acknowledgement simply because of a "day". I am awesome every day and I don't feel that appreciation of my awesomeness should be limited to one "day". However, there are a few days that make me catch my breath, and this past Sunday was one of those. It is a great reminder of why the dull ache sits in my chest. It makes it hard to swallow the guilt and regret that I have. 

It reminds me of just how much I have lost and how I will never be able to get those lost things back. They have been captured by time and no amount of sorry and if only will bring them back to me. They are simply gone. 

There isn't a moment that goes by where I don't think of my children. In my mind's eye, they are still the little angels I saw looking back at me from the rear window of the car as I stood in the motel parking lot. That image of two little hands waving good bye haunts me. I don't know if I will ever get the chance to make amends. I hope and pray that some day I do. That someday new memories will replace the years of emptiness, but that hope does little to ease the ache and longing of my heart. Even though there were a great many events which lead to this separation, I blame no one and no thing except myself. It would be easy to blame my bipolar and say I had no responsibility for my actions, but that isn't true. While it might make it easier to accept and understand my actions, it does not excuse me from the consequences. 

I waited to write about this because I didn't want to take anything away from any one on that "day", but I know I am not alone. I know I am not the only mother without her child(ren). I know there are many others like me who feel joy for those mothers who can hug their children and at the same time feel the ache of empty arms. That is why I wanted to share this. For them. For the silent voices that are unable to express the pain of their decisions and maybe give a bit of understanding to those effected by those very same decisions.

Possible Plans Maybe

I have been thinking about changes to my blog structure. Basically I wanted to have a sort of schedule for my posts. Nothing really set in stone, but just a sort of guideline. Just a way of organizing the chaos that is my thoughts. This is also the reason I hadn't really posted much this week. I wanted to get my schedule up and running and well this week was sort of kapooey for that idea. So I thought I would take it easy and relax a bit after the marathon month that we all just went through. So here is my tentative schedule. Lemme know what you think. 

Saturday:  Saturday Spotlight - This will be a featured interview with an Indie Author. Don't know what an Indie Author is? Then check back on Saturday where I explain it and meet my first Saturday Spotlight guest. 

Sunday - off (unless something totally awesome pops into my head that I must tell you about immediately)

Monday - Indie Ink writing challenge

Tuesday - TRDC Memoir prompt - I thought I would use this writing prompt to accomplish two things. First improve my writing skills and second to shed light on abuse of all types. 

Wednesday - off (again unless something out of this world occurs)

Thursday - Across the Pond - this is a weekly series I started awhile ago, but kinda slacked off on during the challenge. I have lived in several countries and visited many others so I try to share my stories of how people actually live. Things you wouldn't necessarily know if you were just a tourist. 

Friday - Friday Find - because I love sharing new blogs with everyone I thought I might do a post where I tell you about some of the blogs I found during the week. Maybe not necessarily a new one but even an old one that posted some amazing thing that I thought was awesome and wanted to share. 

So this is what I am thinking. Yes? No? Sounds good? What do you think?

e (X) hale & Y (awn)

Hello. My name is Dafeenah and I am a cheater. It's so good to finally get that off my chest. I was so proud of myself for actually posting on time throughout the entire month. Even if it meant having to schedule some posts, still I got them in all on time until yesterday. My MIL and SIL went out of town 3 days ago (4 actually by the time you all read this) and so I have been doing all of their work plus mine. Which leaves me zero hours in the day for blogging especially with electric issues. This would be the part where I eXhale and take a breather for a few minutes just in case it's not obvious.

I admire the women here. I couldn't do what they do EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. and having to do everyone's work for the last few days have left me eXhausted. Although my hubby did buy bread last night so I wouldn't have to make it for dinner which is a huge help. Making bread is one of the things I despise and having to do it 3 times a day makes me slightly homicidal. Although he did laugh at me last night when my BIL came and asked me to cook something special and eXtra just for him for dinner instead of what I was cooking for Shahjee and me. I pretended not to understand and went on my merry way. I may or may not pretend to understand on occasions where they ask/tell me to do something I am not particularly interested in doing. Don't judge me. You know you would do it too. So anyways, my 5 mins breather is over so I have to go. I realize the last few days have been less than inspirational and I am hoping once things settle down here that I will be able to return to my normal blog self. If you need me, I'm the one yawning and leaning on the wall over by the kitchen. *waves*  

Here's a lil something to quench your thirst and entertain you while you wait There's nothing like a good ole Mountain Dew:

V (iew through a child's eyes)

This is my third week participating in the Indie Ink Writing Challenges. There are some amazingly talented writers there. This week I received my challenge from Andrea. My challenge was "you're 12 and got the task at school to write about your family". I challenged Leah and you'll be able to read her reply at her blog here.Your feedback is always welcomed.

Growing up living in my grandparents house, we didn't have much. There was no indoor plumbing. Instead you just picked an unused spot out back in the weeds. If you had to go at night, there was an old tin can at the end of the front porch. It was too dangerous at night to use the weeds. A snake might crawl up your pant’s legs and try to take a bite outta ya. At least that is what Pa use to say.

 I wasn’t allowed to use the weeds at night.

Our water came from a well at the side of the house. In the winter it would have to be heated on the stove. Then Ma would quickly fill the bathroom sink so I could take a bath.

It was fun when Ma helped me wash my hair.

We didn’t have a normal washing machine. Instead we had one of those old timey ringer washing machines. My arm got caught in that thing more times than I can remember trying to get the sheets through the ringer. We also didn’t have a dryer so clothes had to be hung out on the line.

 Sheets take a long time to dry in the winter.

You also had to be careful where you walked. Some of the floor boards weren’t too sturdy and you could fall through. Like the time my uncle forgot and stepped on the wrong one and fell through the attic. I never laughed so hard in all of my life. Me standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up at his legs dangling through the ceiling. Him yelling at me to get Pa. Me doubled over, tears streaming down my red face, trying my best to suck air back into my lungs. I thought I was gonna suffocate right there.  Finally, air seeping into my lungs just as Pa came to see what all the ruckus was about.

Times were tough. Dinner sometimes was just cornbread and buttermilk. I liked those nights the best. Filling my glass up with ice cold buttermilk. Then crumbling the freshly baked cornbread into it. After each spoonful, taking a bite out of a crisp green onion that I had just picked from the garden. Much better than the nights when we had poan bread and salmon patties.

I didn’t like poan bread. I tolerated the salmon patties.

Saturdays were the best. Pa and I would go to visit Pa’s sister, Aunt Giddie. Her house smelt like dog piss, but she made the best turnip greens and macaroni salad I had ever eaten in my whole life. As soon as she would hear our car pull in the driveway, she would start fixing my plate. By the time I walked in the door, she would be saying, “There’s a plate on the table fer yee. Help yurself. The rest is on the stove”.

 Aunt Giddie didn’t get any visitors except on Saturdays when Pa and I went there. I didn’t really like Aunt Giddie, but if I went there, then she would always let me take an extra piece of chocolate pie home with me for later. Along with a big bowl of macaroni salad.

 I loved macaroni salad.

Some people called us poor. Others called us “white trash”. I didn’t mind because on Sundays I got to go exploring in the woods or fishing with Ma, and when we would get back, there was Aunt Giddie’s extra piece of chocolate pie waiting on me, and sometimes Ma would even make her homemade banana pudding.

Homemade banana pudding is my favorite. It's the only dish Ma knew how to make.

S (tylin' A-Z)

Someone thinks I am stylish! Mercy, you may know her from Mercy's World, but what you might not know is that she has a secret identity called Rogue who writes by night and is a slammin' cook by day. Well Mercy a.k.a. Rogue gave me this lil lovely right here. 

Hee hee! I have been called many things in my life, but "stylish" was not one of them. Thank you so much, Mercy err, Rogue whichever you are for making me feel like one of the cool kids. The rules are written on her blog and being the awesome blogger she is, she followed them, but rules and I don't get along so well so here is my version of the rules.

First I will tell you about some awesome blogs to visit because visiting new blogs is always awesome:

1. Beverly @ Writing in Flow   (an amazing writer who gives great tips and suggestions)
2. Chris  @    Chris Phillips       (an extremely funny guy, if you want a laugh then visit Chris)
3. Pencilgirl @ Conquering the World (found her recently through the A-Z challenge, another amazing writer)
4. AbsolutelyPrimed @ Overdeveloped Under Exposed (you never know what you will find at her blog, from "musings with murderers" to strange fetishes she covers all the bases and makes you laugh through the whole freaky ride)
5. Aimee @ Pleasantly Demented (another amazingly talented writer who can cuss you out but make you think it's a compliment)
6. Haven @ Beyond the Borderline Personality (she shares her journey with living with BPD; she has great info for anyone who either has a PD or knows someone who does)
7. Sapphire Dragonflies @ Sapphire Dragonflies (another amazing writer, she keeps it real and that is what I love the most about her)

Now for the second part of the rules I am suppose to tell you 7 things, but I found this neat meme over at Mean Girl Garage. So I thought I would do it instead because well I wanna.

A. Age: 30s
B. Bed size: No bed
C. Chore you dislike: Ones that I have to do
D. Dogs: are smelly
E. Essential start to your day: Washing my face and checking my email
F. Favorite color: blue.
G. Gold or silver: Silver.
H. Height: 5’3. yes I'm short but I can still ride the big girl rides so HA!
I. Instruments you play(ED): Does moonshine jug count as an instrument?
J. Job title: Queen of the Universe
K. Kids: 2 one of each
L. Live: Depends on what time of day it is
M. Mom’s name: Mum out loud (bitch in my head)
N. Nicknames: Bitch seems to be the most popular not sure why
O. Overnight hospital stays: neither of us has the time for me to list all of these
P. Pet peeves: Stupidity.
Q. Quote from a movie: “You met me at a very strange time in my life" - Fight Club
R. Righty or Lefty: Righty tighty
S. Siblings: Nope. why mess with perfection
T. Time you wake up: an hour or two after I fall asleep
U. Underwear: Nope. too restricting
V. Vegetables you don’t like: Ones I have to eat
W. What makes you run late: You obviously don't know me. I do not run late. Late is not an option.
X. X-rays you’ve had:I have broken almost every bone in my body at one time or another so pretty much All.
Y. Yummy food you make: All my food is yummy I don't make non yummy food
Z. Zoo Animal Favorites: Black panthers




So there you have it! Me and my stylish self are going now. Thanks for stopping by!

R (oller coaster)

I love roller coasters. The faster, the higher, the more dangerous they are, the more I love them. I am certain Freud would have a field day with that because "roller coaster" is the perfect example of my life. It takes twists and turns when I least expect it. I never know when the drop is coming, but I know it's there and at some point will eventually  happen. No matter how much I prepare myself when it does come I scream the whole way down, but it doesn't stop me from getting right back in line the minute the ride is over just so I can do it all over again. At least the second time around I will be a little bit more prepared for when the bottom drops out from under me. It might still be scary, but I know that eventually it will be over and I will make it through.

When I was 14, I got stuck upside down on a roller coaster. It took them 20 mins to get the ride going again so that we could get off. I was devastated because it was the first night of the local fair.  The fair was the highlight of our small town existence and to not be able to ride the roller coaster every night for an entire week was beyond bearable. The next night when we returned to the fair and I saw the roller coaster up and running I was ecstatically happy. My friends thought I was insane and refused to ride it with me. I didn't care. I rode it every night. It was an amazing feeling of freedom. I felt like I was flying. I loved every minute of it. There is nothing like the thrill of riding a rickety ole town fair roller coaster.

the world's fastest roller coaster: Formula Rossa

Q (awwali) & Q (asida)

If this is your first time going across the pond, then you can read the trip guidelines here. If you don't want to take the trip then you can have some biscuits and wait in the Q with the Sabzi Wala. 

Because of the A-Z Challenge I hadn't really done an "official" Across the Pond post although a few of my posts could qualify as such. I thought with Q I would take you across the pond and introduce you to a type of  popular mainstream/traditional music. I had never heard of "qawwalis" before I came overseas. They are very popular amongst the locals here. Wherever there is a celebration, there will be qawwalis regardless if it's a wedding, a religious holiday, birth of a child, buying a new home, etc. Whatever the occasion, qawwalis will be the music of choice. One thing I found interesting while looking up facts about qawwalis to share with you is that most sites translate the word "qawwali" as "Islamic song".  In Islam, all forms of singing and music even if it is about the religion or religious personalities are forbidden and against the teachings of the religion. Therefore, there can be no such thing as an "Islamic" song which is interesting because the majority of qawwalis are about Islam and/or Islamic personalities. 

Qawwali refers to a type of "devotional music". It is popular throughout Southeast Asia particularly in Pakistan. Its origins date back more than 700 years and can be traced back to Persia (today's Iran and Afghanistan). For the most part qawwalis are written in Urdu and Punjabi although there are some that are in Persian and Siraiki. The sounds of the regional and more traditional qawwalis vary greatly from the more mainstream ones as in the second video I have listed above.

Qawwalis were made popular due to the work of the late Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan (first video). Most qawwalis are between 15-30 mins long. However Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan does have two qawwalis which are over 60 mins long each. The longest commercially released qawwali was just slightly over 115 mins long (Hashr Ke Roz Yeh Poochhunga by Aziz Mian Qawwal). Traditional qawwalis are usually accompanied by the tabla, dholak, and clapping. In more mainstream modern qawwalis, these instruments are used as well as harmoniums, sarangis, and rababs. Even the audience is considered as a participant in the "singing" of the qawwali.

tabla

dholak

harmonium

When a "qawwali" is recited without music/instruments and/or singing, it is known as a Qasiday. Qasidas are allowed according to the teachings of Islam. There is no real translation for the word qasida, or qawwali for that matter. Since qawwalis are forbidden according to Islam, many substitute qasidas in the place of qawwalis in their celebrations. Punjabi qasida groups consist of 3-5 recitors. One being the "lead" and the others being the "bazoo" (arms) or back up to the main/lead recitor. As with qawwalis, the audience is encouraged to paticipate in the qasida.








While only some qawwalis are about religion/religious personalities, it can only be considered a qasida if it is about a religious personality in Islam particularly the Prophet (saw) and His Progeny (asws). Qawwalis are only for joyous celebrations. Qasidas are recited in both times of joy and extreme grief and sorrow such as the qasida below which is about the slaughtering of the Grandson (asws) of the Prophet (saw).

I hope you enjoyed today's trip and will join me again whenever I take you for a walk "Across the Pond". 

O (ctopussy)

First to announce the winners of the giveaway. Since 5 is my favorite number, I decided to choose 5 winners.  I used Random.org to choose random numbers and then opened my followers list counted down til I found that number and Surprise! You're the winner! So in no particular order

Ratz at         What Can I Say

Michelle at    Everyday is a Discovery

Karen at       Following the Whispers

Joyce at        Catch My Words

Jill at             Wicked Wicker

source

Now for my O word. Octopussy. My favorite Bond was Pierce Brosnan although Sean Connery's accent is by far my favorite, and like the saying goes, behind every good man is an even better woman, James Bond was no exception. The Bond girls had both brains and beauty. If it had not been for the Bond girls, then 007 would have been 00dead on many occasions. My question however is; where are all of the Bond girls for today's youth? 

To be a role model today, it seems all you need to do is first have a sex tape and then you're guaranteed "stardom, role model" status. It makes me very sad that girls are looking up to people like Paris Hilton, Snookie, and anyone with the last name of Kardashian. 

Where have all of the Bond Girls, Charlie's Angels, and Wonder Women gone? They didn't disappear so why are they being ignored? One of my all time favorite musicians/singers is Pink. She sings about real things that young girls/women today are facing so why is it the only time I see her in the papers is when she is being called "ugly" for wearing a flowery dress? 

Her songs, like Conversations with my 13 year old self, F'ckin' Pefect, and Raise Your Glass,  carry a powerful message that girls today need to hear. Why is it she isn't given the same level of coverage as Britney Spears? Avril Lavigne, Christina Aguilera, and Gwen Stefano are three more amazing role models who young girls could look up to. They aren't without their faults and their lives aren't perfect, but that is what makes them good role models in my opinion at least. They have made mistakes, but they have at least earned their fame. They worked hard for it. They used their intelligence and the fact they are hot is just a bonus.

On the surface, women have come so far, but in reality we haven't gone very far at all. There really isn't anyone to blame except ourselves. 

N (iche)

This is probably the word I have heard  the most since I began blogging and the one piece of advice I have been given repeatedly by other bloggers. They all agree to be successful in the blogsphere, a blogger needs to do two things; find their niche and be true to yourself. 

So for the last couple months I have been trying to follow their advice which is what led me to the A-Z challenge. I thought it would help me narrow down what it is I want my blog to be.

I very obviously am not a mommyblogger so that one is a definite no.

I don't have a finished novel (or even one in the process ) and don't really consider myself a "writer" but I love to write. So while that niche is more my size it still isn't the exact fit.

Then yesterday Kim left a comment on my blog. She writes over at The Child. She is an amazingly talented writer. She writes about the raw truth of the world in such vivid detail, and that is why I love reading her blog. But yesterday, she left a comment on my post that said,

"I'm so grateful you are sharing the important stuff. I'm tired of going to people's blogs and reading about nothing."

And from that one comment I think I finally know what my niche is and I have a clearer idea of what direction I want my blog to go in. I have survived through such events in my life that even I have a hard time believing they are real. They seem more like events you would see in a movie or read in a book. I think it is important to share those with people. Not only will it benefit others who are in similar situations, but it can help those around them spot the warning signs and know how to help, but at the same time I don't want to be just an advocacy blog . I want to incorporate that alongside my writing. I don't plan on making any real changes until after the A-Z challenge, but I definitely plan to sit down and really think about what it is I want for my blog and come up with a plan of action. 

I think by being more open about my past that it would allow me to grow more as a writer. Now I write very vaguely because I don't want to "scare" anyone, but people need to be scared. It is reality and ignoring it won't make it go away. 

This makes me even more super excited about blogging. While I love Seinfield, I hate writing fluff. If I just kept writing fluff, then I know eventually I would quit blogging altogether. It feels nice to have maybe finally found my place in the blogsphere. I will of course have to spruce it up a bit before I invite you guys over.Woo-hoo! I found my niche and no one was injured in the process. At least not yet anyways.

I would also like to share with you all another blogger that I found through She Writes. She blogs at AlwaysMomof4. In 2008 her 19 year old son was killed in an auto accident and the other day she posted a link on the She Writes forum to a blog post of hers regarding her feelings about what would have been his upcoming college graduation next month. She is planning on tying a purple ribbon around a tree in her front yard to commemorate the event and was asking others to do the same. I told her I didn't have a tree, but I did have a blog and asked if it would be ok to tie my ribbon on my blog. She agreed so I designed this button and will have it displayed in my sidebar for the next month in order to honor her son, Jordan's, memory. If you would like to join the commemoration, then please grab the button in my sidebar and add it to your blog. To find out more about Jordan and the circumstances of his life and tragic death, please visit AlwaysMomof4's blog


In Memory of Jordan Moore-Fields 1989-2008 a life of consequence

L (ab-o-) L (ahjah)

No, it is not a the latest latte from Starbucks. Although it does have a nice ring to it, doesn't it? I'll have a grande lab-o-lahjah with whip cream on top please. Where was I now? Oh right, lab-o-lahjah. It means "style of speaking, tone" in Urdu. From the various writings I have done for workshops, challenges, and posts here, I have noticed that my lab-o-lahjah is sometimes not clear to my reader. I often want my audience to see the story from a certain point of view or only know certain things. Sometimes because it is controversial and I just don't want to get into it. Other times because it is just too painful to put into words, but a part of me needs to share it so I share what little I can and hope that you all will be patient until I am able to share the rest. 

The other day I signed up for the Indie Ink weekly writing challenge. This week was my first time participating and I was very nervous. There are some amazingly talented writers over there and I am hoping some of their awesomeness rubs off on me. For my submission, I wrote about a very painful moment in my life and while everyone understood and felt the pain of that moment. No one was able to understand why the pain existed. So I thought I would share the reason for that pain and maybe it would give my readers a bit of insight into why my lab-o-lahjah is the way it is. I apologize in advance because this post will be extremely Lengthy, but this is L so I guess that is ok.

I have mentioned before that I have bipolar. It is not something I talk about a lot but occasionally I do speak about it. I first heard the word in 2003. However, I had originally been diagnosed as "manic depressive" when  I was 13. Although, nowadays they use the term "bipolar" as a way of removing some of the stigma associated with manic depression. By the time 2003 rolled around, I was in my mid-20's, a single mother of two, and caring for an ill grandmother. My (now ex) husband and I weren't divorced yet, but he had been in and out of mine and my children's lives from the time of their birth in 1995 and 1996 until then. Then in 2003 my grandmother passed away and I took it very hard. I had a nervous breakdown towards the end of the year and really should have been hospitalized, but I somehow talked my way out of it and into outpatient therapy instead. This was a very bad idea. I was in the beginning stages of a manic episode which slowly grew over time. 

I moved to another state far away from my home, friends, and family. I worked two jobs and did the best I could, but I was stressed and in a very bad state of mind. For almost a year I somehow managed to hold myself together. Then in late 2004, early 2005, I began to lose my grip. 

I started having delusions. Visual and auditory hallucinations. I started being unable to tell the difference between fantasy and reality, and was starting to be unable to care properly for my children. I was yelling at them constantly. Yelling is too polite a word. I assaulted them with words. They walked on egg shells trying to not upset me. They were good kids to begin with. Amazingly intelligent, polite, and not the typical selfish bratty kids that I have had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting. We didn't have much. No TV. We slept on the floor. No movies or new toys except on birthdays. Their one and only real treat was on Mondays, my off day. I would take them to McDonald's for a McFlurry. It wasn't much but they always looked forward to Mondays. 

Then in April of 2005, I didn't pick them up from school. I simply "forgot". How do you forget? Well I don't know, but I did. When I showed up two hours late, they were sitting terrified and worried in the principal's office, and I gave some lame excuse about being ill and taking meds that made me sleep so I hadn't heard the alarm. The principal knew I worked third shift and slept during the day while the kids were at school and because they were good kids and had the appearance of being well taken care of, she didn't report me to CPS (child protective services). Which was standard procedure btw. Instead she gave a single mother who worked two jobs a second chance. Which I blew 12 days later when I repeated the incident. Again I made feeble excuses and she made it very clear there would be no third chance. Next time she would call CPS.

With the threat of my children being put into foster care sitting over my head and the ever increasing delusions and hallucinations I was experiencing, I phoned their father and told him that I was bringing them to him the following day. That he would have to take them for a little while because he was their father and it was just as much his responsibility as mine to care for them. Up until that point, I had never really forced him to take care of his responsibilities. He paid child support when and if he pleased. In the amount he felt he could "afford" regardless if it was actually enough to meet their needs, but that is another post altogether. 

He reluctantly agreed and I drove the 22 hrs back to my homestate where he still lived and in the motel parking lot. I said good bye.  A part of me knew it was going to be the last time I ever saw them. I don't know why I felt that, but I did. That was 2005. Since then I have spoken to them briefly a handful of times, but that is about it. After I dropped them off, I lost my hold on reality and fell off the map for quite a long time. Once I started to make my way back, I realized what exactly I had lost and fell off again. I have fought long and hard to regain my hold back on reality. It is a struggle that I face everyday. I live with the fact that most likely I will never see my children again. I miss them deeply. 

I don't regret sending them to live with their father. I was and am in no shape to truly care for them properly and as they deserve. Whatever wrong he did to me, he has at least given them the home that I couldn't, and that makes up for anything he has ever done against me. I do however love them and miss them very much, and I don't know if I will ever see them again. The only way I am not consumed by the pain that lives in the pit of my stomach is by writing. 

I write my pain away. Writing has become my means of survival. This is why my lab-o-lahjah is often consumed with pain and why sometimes I am unable to make the picture clear.

K (ara updated)

It's funny how a small circle of metal can cause so much trouble, but it can. I have worn karas for more than ten years.  When I lived in USA, I only wore one or two. Having lived abroad for close to seven years now, I have acquired quite a few more. Once they are put on, there is no taking them off. Well, the wrist ones are relatively easy to take off, but not the ankle ones. They do not come off, at least not without tremendous effort, several people, and a vicegrip.

I often forget how "different" it is to those living outside of here. However, I was very quickly reminded of this on my last visit to the US and was given the Very Very Important Person treatment at the airport when I was attempting to return back overseas.

 no that is not my arm

I get they are just doing their job and I get the reasons why they have to, but still it is difficult being treated as an outsider in the country I was born in. My favorite moment though is the look of shock and confusion on the officers faces as I hand them my passport and the blue cover instantly says I am "American" and a quick look inside tells them it is by "birth" and not naturalization which only adds even more to their confusion.The chun chun sound they make as they hit against each other when I walk also tends to make people nervous. The scarf doesn't help to lessen their anxiety either, but even with all of these "inconveniences" I wouldn't remove a single one.

Karas come in various shapes and sizes. Some are small and intricate with various writings and designs on them while others are large and heavy, plain and simple with no designs at all. They are worn for religious and/or cultural reasons. Some wear them purely for religious purposes as a symbol of the shackles worn by the family of the Prophet (saw), men, women, and children, who were shackled and chained. Then forced to march from the desert plains of Karbala, Iraq to the court of an evil tyrant in Damascus, Syria. An event that occurred over 1400 years ago, but is still fresh in the minds of those who believe; the same as if it occurred yesterday.

Others wear them simply because their mothers tell them to wear one so they do out of cultural/traditional obligation. Nowadays amongst the younger generation, it is also seen as a "fashion statement" or "cool" to wear them. The karas carry a different meaning and purpose to each person who wears them.  No two people wear them for the same reason. While on the surface it may appear as if they do, the truth of why they wear them lies in their heart and is something they do not share with others. It is a closely guarded secret between them and those they wear the karas for.


edited to add a bit more info as per suggestion by the Writing Goddess.



Some other random awesomeness that I am just tacking onto the bottom of this post:

I so totally almost forgot. I was given another award. I so have to get a speech all prepared instead of just wingin' it, but since I tend to procrastinate be spontaneous I most likely will continue to wing it. I was awarded the Versatile Blogger award for the second time this week. This time it was from Stacey from Nailpolish. You must check her blog out btw. Super fabulous. Now for the icky part of the awards.

The rules,uck.

• Thank the person who gave it to you. 

This I can do. THANK YOU!!! Now you all go visit her and say hi!

• Tell 7 facts about yourself

Well I already told you seven facts so I am just gonna post the link to those facts. Don't act surprised. You all should know by now I very rarely follow rules. 

• Pass it onto 15 other bloggers

I didn't do so well with this one the first time and I am pretty certain this time won't be different. So instead I will just tell you about some new blogs I found during the A-Z challenge and you can go visit them instead. Just cuz it's more fun that way. 

The Modest Peacock

Expressive Impressive

Giggle, Laugh, and Cry

     

F (lag)

On our roof, sits an alam (flag). Every night I climb the stairs to the rooftop. I stand there watching it, blowing in the wind. I think of what  it symbolizes and how it means different things to different people. 

To the beggar, it is a symbol that our house is one they will not leave empty handed from. It is a guarantee of food, water, clothing, and shelter in a city where very few doors open to the cries of a hungry child.

To the sick, it is the source of all cures. The place to come when all hope has been lost and the medicines of man have done all that they can.

To friends, it is a sign of unity. A common belief shared amongst millions. An unspoken understanding of brotherhood in a hostile land.

To enemies, it is a reminder their oppression will not be tolerated and that there are people who are willing to sacrifice their lives along with everything they have to stand up and fight against tyranny and evil.

To me, it is a place of rejuvenation. It is where I go when I feel lost and uncertain. When I don't know what direction to go or which road to take. As I stand there and watch it waving in the breeze, I feel a warmth spread through me. Its touch is familiar and comforting. I close my eyes and allow myself to become lost within its depths. When I finally open my eyes, I  still don't know which road to take, but I at least know that no matter which one I chose I will not be alone.

Labbaik ya Ghazi Alamdar (asws)!!