Tuesday 30 June 2015
There’s a strange feeling around, like the silence before the storm or perhaps the silence when you’re in the eye of the storm, you can feel the general uneasiness of the conscious people, those who know the world is broken.
I have to keep going, have to keep fasting, keep working, keep living deafened by the ticking of my biological clock and the shootings of innocents, I continue planning my future holidays steering clear of certain areas of the world where as a woman I am not really tolerated and realise soon there’ll be nowhere safe, I continue planning my life as if there were no Wars, no double standards or apartheid occupation in the 21st century and have to keep smiling and be happy.
Feels like a full time job trying to keep as a normal life as possible, to feel the need to adjust certain aspects of your life so that your own friends can see you as the same person you always were and not this Muslim potential explosive person who they look at with bewilderment and suspicion.
Sick of this topic, so let’s just change the tune!
Day 13 of Ramadan today, only another 16 to go! Piece of cake!! I’ll just spend my time reading the news through the main source: Facebook, read irritating comments and dumb opinions that offer nothing but agreement with the first opinion for lack of a better one like “No comment” and “totally agree” and “you said it all” and “ha ha ha”.
Watch funny videos posted every 3 seconds on various topics, failed hidden Cameras and Muslims trying too hard to show the good side of Islam by overdoing charity and trying tirelessly to mend their tarnished image!
I stalk some old friends on facebook; I find therapeutic the routine they give me, I wait for their 5 daily selfies, posted generally in the changing room of a Luxury shop, at a restaurant, in a bikini at the beach, in the car carefully positioned to show off the horse-logo and of course in bed because they wake-up looking impossibly fresh and gorgeous. They look good; they’re rich and have more money tide-up in promiscuity futures, they lead extravagant lives full of luxuries, careless fun and beauty, free of Don’ts and Harams (sins)! They make me loathe my self-destructive thoughts, religious-guilt and deep existential questioning; I am jealous of how careless they seem so I find it easier to question what they would be like if they looked on the outside as they did on the inside. Jealous much!?
Online shopping also proved a good time-killer; I don’t always press on the Purchase button but I do so enjoy to collect items in the basket and drool over them before my anti-consumerist broke self takes over, I shake off the shopping urge and resume actual work which I hate passionately and carefully.
Of course blogging and whining also helps!
Dz-Chick…pressed on purchase eventually!
Thursday 25 June 2015
Today is day 8, and like every morning I had to fight the urge to go and buy a large coffee and a chocolate twist! I don’t even eat chocolate twists in normal days (non-Ramadan time), it’s fascinating the things you do during Ramadan that you don’t do in regular times…
Like fast, pray? , stop drinking, stop
sleep at normal godly hours, and quit masturbating? , trying not to think about
sex, don’t tell anyone to f*ck off
when they really out to, be tired and have bags under your eyes without your
boss blaming it on Ramadan and generally just behaving like yourself, without
the guilt and forgetting the hunger, thirst and general depravation! Another thing
you do in Ramadan times is attempt to cook; actually concoct a recipe not just
bang a salmon fillet in the oven!
I generally call my mum at the beginning of the month to enquire about recipes, the same she gave me last year but it’s nice to hear them again from her, I have them written in a notebook entitled fondly “Les Recettes de Mama” but I still ask her every year, it’s like a ritual to call my mum and ask for her help when I am sure I can probably (NOT) work it out myself. Then I attempt to cook it, take a picture of it (if it looks good) and send it her to make her proud, although admittedly the last time I attempted to make Galette bread (which is a round flat bread) it came out triangular.
There are a few Algerian restaurants in London! Just ask google
Tuesday 23 June 2015
It’s starting to grind, the number of Muslims who think they’re God’s answer...well to everything…
Every Muslim nation thinks Islam emanated from its bosom, the Arabs by right of birth as they seemingly and sanctimoniously hold the ultimate right to Islam, in fact if you look close, they all bare the sign somewhere on their scalp or their nether regions; they are the chosen ones! The Asians and African and the rest of the Muslim nations don’t really count, I mean they can’t even speak the lingo!! Each nation practicing a different Islam to another and calling it the Prophet’s way, throwing in some backward customs, some charlatan hokey pokey nonsense and a bit of spice and call it Religion! Enough already!
I am sick of these pseudo-Muslims, who brandish their religion so proudly yet so wrongly it does nothing but push people away and alienate Muslims and non-Muslims alike.
Enough with the over-zealous bogus piousness, enough with the hypocrisy and the deluded sense of self-greatness, enough with the backwardness, enough with the “I am Muslim, therefore I am perfect” bullshit, enough of fasting all day and eating for a small country all night, enough with the fake social media charity, enough with the antagonisation of other faiths groups, enough of turning people against us and leaving it to others to answer for your mistakes, enough of playing the religion card on every occasion, enough of playing victims when you’re fasting and making the whole world uncomfortable just because you can’t stand to see someone else enjoying a coffee or a pizza! What are you 4? Enough of your shit already! We get it you’re Muslim and a shit one at that.
Keep it to yourself; you’ll do us all a great favour.
Dz-Chick…6 days in!
Monday 22 June 2015
I rationalised it as a challenge, if not by faith in something out there than by faith in me and my abilities to complete what I started and maybe my faith in God will come back as they say practice makes perfect.
Around the office, only my French colleagues seem to be aware of Ramadan, it made first page on Le Monde, big news in France! it’s the time of year they can hope to catch Muslims slip up or lose it or something and point out really how different/weird/crazy/uncivilised they are. In the office they come to ask questions, of the annoying kind like “Alors, tu as faim?”. I feel like I have to prove something to them, like I am unphased by my strong desire to march into the kitchen and ingest a café late fresh off the machine, unphased by the interminable hours I have to fast and yet remain chirpy and alert just to prove them wrong and prove to myself that I am strong. In the end it’s more exhausting to act for their benefit and put on this smiley nonchalant face than to actually fast. Hmmm I see a negotiation plan is born here…
My English colleagues on the other hand, are still offering me cups of teas, totally oblivious to Ramadindong and frankly it’s refreshing, I’d rather take the cup of tea and smile than go through the usual explanation and the awkwardness of it all, of people not knowing how to react and the follow-up questions like my favourite “what not even water?” . Yep, just air and good will...
...And London weather permitting, a beautiful promissing SunSet...Ahh Ramadan Porn!
Dz-Chick…5 days in!
Friday 19 June 2015
Everybody seems to be concerned about Ramadan, more so than me, my boss who is a royal bitch has a massive issue with Islam and isn’t afraid to say it, he keeps calling me into his office for lectures on how Islam has a problem with modernity, how none or very little Muslims ever won Nobel Prizes…he says a bunch of other awful things too but it’s harder to repeat and be funny!So my Boss is Uber gay, so naturally he thinks the whole Muslim world wants to stone him to death, I am also pretty sure he’s subscribed to some fascist website of sort that keeps him updated on all matters “Islam” , because he always has all the scoops on anything even remotely related to it, the decline of the Muslim world or Muslims causing trouble and he doesn’t shut up about it, he comes out gloating, pointing and laughing, making jokes, some people laugh awkwardly whilst gaging my reaction, others just laugh and shake their heads at the same time, thereby condoning and reprimanding which really cancel each other out, so nobody says anything and it really doesn’t matter because he’s actually really funny …but also because he’s gay and one must be careful apparently not to offend minority groups …ah the irony!
Dz-Chick...Love thy gay neighour!
Thursday 18 June 2015
This year like the last few years, I find myself questioning my faith; questioning my motives, questioning the whole thing! Why do I have to starve and deprive myself, why do I have to only be with someone of the same faith or be sad and lonely forever and ever, why can’t I enjoy a glass of wine from time to time (don’t worry I do), why so many Dos and Don’ts? Why so many sacrifices, why is it so difficult and complicated to be a Muslim.
A lot of the times I have to have a talk with myself in order to regain perspective and decide it was important and that I stick to it for reasons that I tell myself I understand and accept. If Islam is the religion of submission, I want to submit and cease all questioning and probing but I can’t, is it because I am getting older and all this religiosity is taking its toll on my body or is it because of the prevailing discouraging anti-Islam and extremist era we’re living in?
Am I a Muslim because I was born into a Muslim family? Or I was truly born a Muslim like everyone else is believed to be? Am I a Muslim because it’s easier to comply and submit than to face the threats of hellfire and the family disownment or I am simply too cowardly to want to truly know so it’s easier to just keep my faith or semblant of just to avoid hellfire, just in case it exists!
But I persevere, I fast, it’s Ramadan day one and I am going through the motions, hoping it’s out of faith and not out of tradition, total guilt and contriteness, every year I hope to revive my connection to someone bigger than me who will tell me everything will be ok.
The thing is I understand why we are here on earth; I just can’t accept that that’s the only reason.
Dz-chick....hoping to regain it by mid-month
Thursday 11 June 2015
When I went to work this morning it was the 10th January; then a hundred hour later I looked at the clock to drool over my favourite digits of the day (18h00) flashing at me in that glorious fluorescent green and was met with the 11th June…Where did it go? Who stole January? Give it back!! Give it back I say!
So I started thinking (more thinking aaaahhhh) about the notion of time, I researched Einstein because I always fancied myself a woman of science (Tozz*). I wanted to understand what makes time feel like it’s passing quickly, flying by and leaving me with unfished tasks, unticked lists and an unfulfilled life …so I started to read about theories!
Apparently this can be down to the different methods the brain uses to judge the passage of time, like the more fun you’re having the faster time is perceived to pass and the more bored and anxious you are, the slower it seems to be, but in reality it’s about the memories you’re making during the passage of this time, so if you are sitting in a waiting room and you’re at all thinking you’d be repeating previous thoughts and it will seem like nothing really happened, a waste of time, and that’s a fact, nothing did happen, nothing new, it’s the same memory so the only indicator of the time is really the making of new memories like it’s 4 o’clock, now it’s 5 o’clock then you look again and it’s the 11th June.
So if this is in any way sensical and if I go by my random yet effective analytical methods, it would mean that my life is a busy one, full of joy, new memories and stuff! This would explain why time seems to be flying so rapidly and extraordinarily, or there’s a time thief lurking around me stealing my precious time and not giving me memories in exchange!! Well come to think of it, thieves never give you anything in exchange except for grief …and germs!
So that led me to think about how time is somewhat subjectively constructed within the brain…bla bla bla….Gawd I am boring myself!
So the point of this is really to say, I am kind of bored and time is not playing fair! Bored of constructing the same memories or similar ones to the point of having a life of Deja-vus and jaded repetitions, bored of fooling myself into thinking I am leading a worthwhile life (ok maybe I am too hard on myself), bored of waiting for change when I am not doing anything about it and frankly I am boring myself with these same repetitive thoughts and the same faces in the same trains in the same places, even across the globe in distant continents and different time zones, finding the same faces with the same annoying angry ungrateful and uncultured features fill me with dread – thank you shallow globalisation, you bitch!
So whoever stole time; stole particularity and individuality and turned us all into a mushy cloned mess which is getting in the way of my happiness and making me cranky and random. Thank you again mushy cloned brains!
Anyway, I better get on with some stuff or time will never move and I wouldn’t have marked its passage like a needy little achievement-hungry little brat ! Also you know what they say “A watched pot never boils”…
Dz-Chick….time really is of the essence------------------
*Tozz = a noise that could mean “yeah right”, it could also mean fart but I am too much of a lady for that shit! Obviously...
Tuesday 2 June 2015
What I want to be when I grow up? Mmm…A pilot …or… a military doctor…I ran out of choices that I liked enough to admit I want to do and that I felt complied enough with the list of "things to be" when you grow up, the list that society has written in the fabric of its own flesh, a Doctor, an Architect and a Lawyer. That's it, everything else would mean you'd struggle through life and your mother would struggle to be proud in the midst of the social gatherings and crumble under peer pressure until financial capital or gain is attained in the hope of readdressing the situation and regaining some social standing.
Well, I never became a pilot or a military anything, what if I got it wrong? What if somehow I missed THE THING that I was supposed to do with my life? This thing that I was supposed to just know at the age of 16 when I still didn't work out my own body or what my little pinkie was for!
Years later I still don’t know what my pinkie is for and find myself forever struggling with this intrinsic urge to go somewhere, to find myself as the hippies would say, the need to get lost, the need to wander…maybe my calling is to be an explorer!
I would pack my backpack and bare essentials, lots of tampons since I seem to have my period every two weeks (what's the opposite of menopause?), a strong deodorant, cotton wear, a map (of the world), some money and other stuff that would save my life or at least make it as comfortable as possible then go into the wilderness. I’d walk and walk for days, stop off to set up my tent, cook some dehydrated food or live off the land where possible (I can’t hunt or fish to save my life and I am scared of cockroaches), I write my travel journal and think about life, wonder what my family are doing and if they understand what I am doing and why?
I want to get lost so badly, start new, I dream of this often and everywhere I look, I see what I take as signs, I want them to be signs, like a divine intervention guiding me somewhere I am supposed to be…Every time I open my cupboard I give a nod in the direction of my ginormous hiking boots as if to reassure them that I didn’t forget about them and that I was working on it, I put on my painful courts (they’re shoes with heels for you boys) that give me bunions of indiscriminate colour and shape, and wish it was time to ditch the heals and don my safe hiking boots again.
I took them out for a walk, I wore them to the cinema, I even went to watch “Wild”, then I went home to watch “Into the Wild” on dvd, then read snippets of other wilderness books and explorer tales, by then I was so enthralled with the idea and challenges of getting lost that I managed to force myself to watch the excruciating “The Island with Bear Grylls” and if you can watch that, you can probably do anything ...probably (you know …because it’s so shit)!
But then I'll miss facebook, I'll miss all the attention from friends and strangers, attention that is wanted and sometimes provoked and the likes we're all seem to be getting addicted to albeit in denial about, we crave them like a fix we have to score. I guess I will miss my comfort and my friends and my family, or will I?
Perhaps I am just using this as a pretext not to take the plunge and disconnect, because I know my parents will never understand why I feel the need to do it, my parents who I use like a shield from the eyes of God like he can’t see what I do because they’re my protection, I will be forgiven all sins because they’re my salvation, I often wonder if I didn’t have my parents would my faith be stronger? What would stop me from going where I want to go but not sure I want to go?
My friends will probably think I am attention seeking, then I feel guilty for things I didn't do as per usual (pathetic really), then will probably start doubting myself along with my motives, I will doubt myself like I do so many things and will give up and blame it on society.
Why do I feel so shackled and unfree? Forever struggling with choices! Does everyone else feel the same? We who proclaim our freedom, are we truly free? I am single (yes still), I have no responsibilities that I can’t shake off, no commitments I can’t break from, yet I feel like to make the move would be to let down so many people and the pangs of guilt would kill me slowly, so I sit miserably still to make others happy and forget my dreams and wants, afraid of upsetting or offending others whilst ignoring my own desires and feelings! Resenting myself instead of others in that giving, generous and modest way we’re brought up to be, the way that eats at you slowly until there is nothing left but bitterness and regrets of not packing up when I had the chance to.
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