To be a wife

"Do you really want to be a third world wife?"

He asked me the question more than once.

Whatever his intention behind the question, I'm no longer concerned. But to answer, I ask...

..."What is a 'third world wife'"?

...and I continue...

"If wifedom is in my future, then I will be a wife--whether in this world or a fifth world. Whatever world my husband exists in, I will be there as his wife. The world is irrelevant. The man and the union are what count."

I adore

I wrote this several months ago, but never published it--something I just discovered today. So, here you go...

I adore...
...for what you did
...and what you said
....and how you smirked

I adore...
...for who you are
...and who you're not
...and how you are

I adore...
...for how you know
...and how you glow
...and what you give

I adore...
...for what you take
...and what you hold
...and what you send

I adore...
...for how you look
...and how you see
...and what you imagine

I adore...
...for what you believe
...and how you think
...and what you shun

I adore...
...for what you hear
...and what you sing
...and how you serenade

I adore...
...for how you smile
...and how you smell
...and how you smother

I adore...

...for when you love

...and when you lie

...and how you rip

I adore...
...for how you stalk
...and when you grab
...and how you assault

I adore...
...for when you're addicted
...and how you recover
...and when you revert

I adore...
...for I cannot abhor
...but I try to ignore
...when I see the gore

Sounds and steps

Today was the first time I've run a half-marathon race. It was also the first time that I've run without wearing headphones and carrying my iPhone's iPod.

And I'm glad I did.

The wind was an obstacle during the run, but it was an instrument too. The harder the wind blew, the louder the rustling of the runners' bibs would be. I'd hold mine down with my hand so as to prevent it from tearing around the safety pins, but as soon as the wind would let up a little, I'd let go, and the remnant of the draft would enter through the left side, give a quick rattle, and exit through the right.

There was so much wind today, that the bib song happened several times.

The cheering was very motivating during the run, as were the runners' applause and "thank you"s. Baltimore natives and runners' family members and friends lined the streets and yelled shouts of inspiration and motivation, clapped their clappers, played loud music out of car stereos. Even their signs sang to us--most of them humorous, most of them making us laugh, the laughter always pushing us forward in good spirits. 

There was so much support today, that the cheers were audible most of the route.

The steps of the runners crescendoed and diminuendoed, except in the gaps when I was mostly alone and could only hear my breathing. Thousand of running shoes genuflected to the Baltimore streets, praying for survival and completion and relieving their host roads of their pressure and weight during the split seconds they'd lift between strides. As a runner in the crowd, I could hear that communal shoe hymn. When by myself, my shoes' prayers were drowned out by the sound of my reading of Al Fati7a, my conversations with Siddi (Allah yir7amo), or my breathing. 

There was constant audible breathing today, that life was on high definition surround-sound during the entire 13.1 miles.

Al 7amdulilah for headphone-less and music-filled experiences.

Don't settle

I quite resent the sentiment that accompanies the desire to marry--and that is "to settle down."

Marriage should not be based on a settlement.

Marriage should be based on the desire to conjure up a new side of one's self--an exciting journey of maturation that challenges you to apply what you've learned during your "singledom" to another level of existence that is self-less and shared.

In my opinion, the sentiment accompanying the desire to marry should be "to be more fulfilled" or "to make life more robust" or "to cause beautiful chaos." The decision to get married should make the decision-maker feel as if he or she is moving toward freedom of emotion or opinion or self. The choice to get married should make you feel that you are going toward more good.

In my opinion, marriage should be a "revving up;" it should provide opportunity to be more lively; it should make you feel most comfortable.

In my opinion, if you feel that you are "settling," reassess your situation, and when you realize that your situation is wrong, chuck up your deuces, say "Beace!," and dash--for both your sakes.

Don't settle--for anything.

3oudak neja 7ayati

I listen intently as he plucks at the fine strings--and every time, without fail, the reverberation shakes my inner spirit. He saves me, but he does not know it.

Through my periphery, I see news anchors describing the anguish suffered by and the survivalist spirit embodied in the Chilean miners who are finally being freed from the confines of their 68-day hole home. They save me, but they do not know it.

I come back to my listening...I am pulled back to his 3oud.

I know I should pay attention to the developments of the rescue mission, to what is going on in the world. I can't help but be pulled back to il 3oud. The Chileans were trapped in a mine in Chile. His 3oud is trapping me in a dream in Palestine, and I am a happy prisoner.

Simultaneously somber and sweet, painfully patriotic--I want to cry but pride dries my tears before they ever leave their ducts.

...Il 3oud, his strings...

And then I stop them...the first miner is out. This needs my attention. He has been rescued. I have been rescued many times before, by the grace of God al 7amdulilah.

The miner, the feisty, high-spirited miner, who just left the compound of the underground, is leading a cheer and is fist-pumping and is so alive that it makes me feel weak.

He too has been saved by the 3oud essentially. A system of thin sticks, strings saved him and will save the rest.

...This scene is making me teary...

What must it feel like to see the outside and your loved ones for the first time in months? Is there muscle-memory in the brain? Does it seem as if just yesterday, you were here, outside?

It does--for the 3oud that I keep going back to reminds me of that which is good for me and it soothes away that which is not favorable.

These scenes will be etched in newspapers, magazines, and memory books. And every time I hear this 3oud, I will see the Chilean miners and feel their exhilaration...and that spirit will rescue me from my strain and self.

And it will go back to, "3oudak neja 7ayati."

"The Creation" by Khalil Gibran

As readers may have noticed, I have not been inspired enough to write my own words lately. But, Khalil Gibran is a staple inspiration, and so, I've decided to write his.

"The God separated a spirit from Himself and fashioned it into beauty. He showered upon her all the blessings of gracefulness and kindness. He gave her the cup of happiness and said, "Drink not from this cup unless you forget the past and the future, for happiness is naught but the moment." And He also gave her a cup of sorrow and said, "Drink from this cup and you will understand the meaning of the fleeting instants of the joy of life, for sorrow ever abounds."

And the God bestowed upon her a love that would desert her forever upon her first sigh of earthly satisfaction, and a sweetness that would vanish with her first awareness of flattery.

And He gave her wisdom from heaven to lead her to the all-righteous path, and placed in the depth of her heart an eye that sees the unseen, and created in her an affection and goodness toward all things. He dressed her with raiment of hopes spun by the angels of heaven from the sinews of the rainbow. And He cloaked her in the shadow of confusion, which is the dawn of life and light. 

Then the God took consuming fire from the furnace of anger, and searing wind from the desert of ignorance, and sharp-cutting sands from the shore of selfishness, and coarse earth from under the feet of age, and combined them all and fashioned man. He gave to man a blind power that rages and drives him into a madness which extinguishes only before gratification of desire, and placed life in him which is the spectre of death.

And the God laughed and cried. He felt an overwhelming love and pity for man, and sheltered him beneath His guidance."

The Beautiful Game

I've always had an appreciation for sports--the hard work, the dedication, the perseverance, the talent that it requires. But even during my days as a tae kwon do competitor or those when I was captain of the No. 1 cheerleading squad in the archdiocese (my stints on track and field and field hockey teams are negligible but I'll mention them here to display my history in sports) never brought me as much excitement as did my days on the futbol/soccer field.

And nothing--not even my plays on defense or as midfielder--gets me hyped up like the World Cup.

People often make competition on the field a metaphor for the battles they face in life: mentally, spiritually, politically. Italian fans, for example, held up a massive Palestinian flag as an act of solidarity with Palestinians during a game against the Israeli team.

The game also serves national interests--a win somehow instantly elevates a country's place in our universe's hierarchy. The U.S. may be the world's "super power," but Italy, at least in regard to the last World Cup, is the world's soccer power, and that means a lot more to a lot of people. A team of 11+ represents its nation's pride--the team is the country's reputation. But this is not always positive. Players may also be punished for simulated treason, the penalty sometimes a "honor killing."  Recently, Paraguay's Salvador Cabanas was shot in the head in a bar in Mexico, although the motive is not yet known. In 1994, Columbian player Andres Escobar was allegedly assassinated for scoring on his own team, which subsequently lost its game against the U.S.A., and its World Cup bid. There are many other stories of disgrace, murder, and suicide, involving players, owners, referees, and even fans--likely more in futbol than in any other sport. Each incident drives a stake in the seriousness with which the game is taken--and its representation of the brutal perils of life.

Yet, even with these tragic tales, futbol still remains less a war and more a common denominator. Virtually every country or tribe in the world has its own form of the game, and a history in it. A game will pick-up in the streets of the favela--sticks as goal posts, gravel rather than manicured grass--just as swiftly as a ball flying over a hill side in Beitilu, kicked by the town's stalkiest of defenders who kicks up earth with his spike-less sneakers. Older players offering tales of playing shoeless and owning the roughness of the sport; younger hopefuls enhancing advanced acrobatic techniques that take the ball from behind the heels to before the instep to inside the goal. And, of course, there are countries who are better known for their skills on the field than others--but everywhere, someone is playing and someone is good.

And teams are mixed: An English team has a Portuguese player; an American team has a British player, Portugal has a Lebanese player, the French team had an Algerian player. Israelis and Palestinians have even played on the same side.

Fans are mixed too and, when their countries are not represented in the games, their cheering may be mixed. For instance, during the 2006 World Cup, I, a mishmash of Palestinian, Hungarian, and German heritages, living in the U.S., chose France as my team for two particular reasons: 1. There was no Palestinian team in the Cup; and 2. Zinedine Zidane. He, ethnically Algerian and religiously Muslim, was as close to a "brother" as I was going to get; he was my Palestinian. He, on the cusp of retirement, was also the legend who was writing his legacy with his kicks and passes and gestures right before my eyes for a final time--and he signed his memoirs with a headbutt. I was angry, sad, stupified, and proud all at the same time: I didn't want his career to end that way yet I loved him for it--he exemplified the noble Arab man acting and defending when a creep made an insidious remark against his women kinfolk. Yes, Zidane did just fine as my honorary Palestinian.

I could go on for days about the beautiful complexity of this relatively simple game. There is so much to say, so many examples to give--but I won't. For the futbol/soccer narrative is constantly being added to, and I would rather watch, shout, jump, and cheer than worry about trying to catch a blog post up. After all, the world is on the cusp of the next novel in the series, preparing for the 2010 World Cup in South Africa (I'll be in Palestine for most of it :D).

13 days to go...a myriad of metaphors to come, all sure to be beautiful in one form or another.