Tales of a Solitary Soul

Found this very interesting post from a female US soldier serving in Iraq. Yes, I know we're all tired of hearing Iraq in the news but this puts a human touch to the entire conflict. It made me hopeful -- be it for only an instant until cynicism tried to force its way back.

We went back out into town yesterday to do various things, and found ourselves parked next to a house with gorgeous red flowers tumbling over the wall. A large Arabic inscription decorated the second story, and sleek new tiles covered the façade. The gate was gray metal with curlicues on top of it, blocking the little courtyard from view. A bullet hole pierced the gate post.

As we waited in the hot sun, the passenger opening in the gate started to open bit by bit. First it was just an inch, where it stayed for a while. After a while, it opened another inch. Four little fingers appeared on the edge of the gate. Then a dark eye. A woman's voice raised from inside the house, though, and the gate suddenly banged shut. A bunch of people were coming up the street, so I had to turn away anyway.

It was so hot, and we were wearing the usual uniforms—-pants, tee shirt, DCU top, vest, and helmet. After a while in that outfit you seem to move beyond sweating. You don't 'glow'—-you drip. You melt. You can feel the drops sliding down the small of your back, forming on your scalp. Sweat runs down your face, and because so much of your uniform is covered by the vest, it doesn't get touched by whatever air there is. I don't even want to know what it's going to be like when it gets to be a hundred and forty.

When I looked back at the gate, there were eight fingertips on the edge, and one dark eye peeping around it. I waved, and a little girl's face emerged. She was about ten, with curly dark hair and a heart-shaped face, wearing a purple velvet dress with a pink tee shirt beneath it. She waved back at me, and I waved back at her. She giggled, then hid. Then she re-appeared and waved some more. Once we'd established rapport, she wouldn't stop waving, and raced in the house to get reinforcements. I heard giggles behind me as I turned back to the street to face a group of young boys who passed by, eyeing us stonily. Ah, sullen teenager hood, I remember it well.

I heard high voices behind me, and looked around to find the first little girl accompanied by another one and a boy. They all waved, then shyly stepped forward. I discovered that the first girl's name was Rania, while her shy older sister was named Rahel. I'm probably butchering the spelling. While I was being introduced to her brother, a sturdy boy named Usama—"bin Laden," he added cheekily—-another sister appeared, older and simply gorgeous. You know, sometimes you see someone and you wish you looked like that? (You know it's love, I guess, when somebody thinks you look like that.) And of course, sometimes you look at someone and go, "Bitch." I know that's not just me. I mean it in a good way, though. Anyway, she was that good-looking.

Anyway, this older sister named Raher—again, I'm sure I didn't spell that right—-and she spoke some English. She wanted to know when she could go back to the university. All the kids clustered around us, Rania fanning herself and looking up at us with sympathy. The sweat was just pouring down everyone's faces. Then I heard still another voice from the door on the porch: "Would you like some tea?"

It was the kids' mother, and looking at her made me homesick. She just looked like a mom. She was wearing a caftan with huge orange and purple splashes, and she just looked warm and sweet and gentle. She spoke almost no English, but by this time we're all good with the sign language. After a few minutes, Rania appeared in the door, clutching a silver tray with three little glasses on it. Here, tea is drunk in hourglass-shaped glasses with tiny spoons, often blisteringly hot. When we were introduced to one of the grand pooh bahs around here, he served us tea so hot I could have bathed in it. I still don't know how I didn't spit out just from pure self preservation. You have to wonder if there's a message there somehow.

This tea was hot enough to taste good, but not hot enough to be dangerous. When the mother saw that there was another soldier she'd missed, she hurried to fetch another glass. And so there we stood, four American soldiers, armed to the teeth and stifled with protective gear on a stifling hot day in Iraq, sipping tea at this lady's doorstep while her kids danced around our legs, and she beamed at us from the step.

Of course, once the tea was drunk and Rania had been complimented on her hostess ship–and her mom on her tea—–the picture-taking began. We all had digital cameras, and I had my NCO snap one of me and the little girl, who by this time was hopping with excitement. The mother even stepped in after some urging, unbinding her hair and fluffing it so that it looked better. None of the girls or their mom were veiled, although the ladies next door were. They eyed me the exact same way the more conservative members of my Catholic school eyed me just before I got tossed out, so I knew what I was dealing with.

It was the sort of look that the self-righteous like to toss you so you'll know they're praying for you—and not envying you at all. Nope, they're above that, you heathen sinner. I always think of that line from Miss Congeniality when I run into one of these creatures. "She said they were Satan's Panties!" (Coming soon from Victoria's Secret…Or could they literally belong to Satan?) In a way, it's kind of touching to find that same type of irritations ten thousand miles from home. At home, I always wanted to slap the church ladies, and here I bet I'd want to do the same thing, too, only here it's got geopolitical implications.

Anyway, we did sort of exhaust the hand puppet conversation repertoire, and we had to get moving anyway, so we started to get ready to go. And then Rania came running up to me, waving her hand to show me she had something for me.

It was a rose. It was at that perfect moment, bloomed and fresh, and so fragrant it filled the Humvee. (There's another sentence I'll never be able to use again.) I was touched beyond measure.

What this little girl could see from her doorstep was a bunch of sweaty probably irritable Americans—and shell casings, torn branches, and debris from the battles. She wasn't touched by any of it, even though her house had been. It was us she saw, and she saw us as potential friends. The little girl trusted adults to do the right thing. Her parents must be the most amazing people in the world.

I got out of the Hummer and saw her mother standing at the gate, waving good bye. There are some gestures that are universal—-putting your hand on your heart ought to say something. She held her hand over her heart and said her name, which I simply cannot reproduce. But then she took my hand and kissed my cheek, and I remembered other days, in France, where cheek kissing seems charming rather than affected. She could not know that I had only just lost my mother, and that her caress made me feel whole for just one second. I could know nothing more about her than her kindness and her gentle eyes. I kissed her cheek and we stood there and smiled at each other, and then we had to go.

When you think of Iraq, don't think of terrorists or Saddam Hussein. Think of Rania and her mother's hospitality, of the American soldiers sweating on her doorstep and sipping tea from little glasses on a ninety-degree day. Muktada Sadr does not represent Iraq and no matter how many people he kills or attacks, he never will.

Exam in 2x hours.

Should be studying but had this sudden urge to browse through the latest hockey playoff articles. I fought it for long but it has this sneaky way of convincing; gets me every time.

I've been going to a quite a few farewell lunches and dinners. Friends are graduating, moving on to bigger and better things. Well, certainly bigger though I'm not sure better necessarily. Spent parts of my last four years with them, working together every day on some random assignment or another while conversing about the day we shall be set free.

And now the moment has arrived; well, not for me yet. I have pseudo work to look forward to -- also known as co-op.

Last exam in 9x hours insha Allah. A feeling of deja vu that's become all too familiar. A pattern repeating itself, over-welcoming its stay.

My mind's been wandering too much lately, indulging in thoughts too far ahead or behind. Certain images from eons ago that have found a permanent home in some corner, waiting to re-surface at the right moment. Maybe it's the 4th year syndrome or perhaps I'm just losing it, either way, it's been an interesting last few weeks.

The NHL playoffs started at a very very bad time, I must say. A week late and I wouldn't be feeling so guilty for watching. But yes, story of my life since university started -- that little voice constantly nagging away about assignments, labs, assignments etc.

A younger brother asked me for some advice the other day but sadly I'm the last person for such things. He looked disappointed because I didn't have a specific solution though he looked relieved to be just talking about it. Sometimes, it's good to get things off your chest.

I've come to realize that many of our problems have very simple solutions but our unwillingness to accept make the situation seem unsolvable. Granted the answers might not be to our liking but sometimes the 'bitter pill' needs to be swallowed and put your trust in Allah (swt) for the best.

Because no matter how much we don't like to hear it, we simply cannot control everything.

I stood there silently as he tore up a month's worth of hard work. It just wasn't good enough....alhumdulilah.

Life goes on, I suppose. But this one really hurts.

I met Sabrina yesterday. Actually, the first meeting was on Saturday but on Monday was when I really got to know her. She's simply magnificent. There's this certain swagger in her, the confidence, the shyness.......

Call me biased but she's amazingly beautiful. When I first saw her, she was like a shining pearl hidden beneath the vast ocean. I feel like my life has taken on a new meaning, as if it will never be the same again. But that's the kind of effect she has.

They say love rarely happens at first sight. In that case, I consider myself lucky.
I can picture it now -- just the two of us riding off into the sunset; us against the world. Bring it on!

By the way, did I mention I just bought my first car :-)

Went to buy a soccer ball with my sister. Juggled it for a few seconds to realize how much I miss playing. It's been a couple of years since I've played competitively and though the touch is never lost, the same can't be said for stamina.

But then again, never had one to begin with. I could deke through the entire team but the lack of endurance was always a problem. I blame cricket. Why?

Because unless you're a fast bowler, which I'm not, little stamina is required. It's more of a game that relies on hand-eye coordination and speed.

Oh well, I should stop making excuses and try to get back into shape.

I dream of a life where I'm free.
I dream of a life that needs to be.

I dream of an orange sunset on top a mountain high.
I dream of reaching for the moon as it flies by.
I dream of the fallen stars that crashed too soon.
I dream to be the tree that witnessed it all.

I dream of a sleep that evades me.
I dream to wake in a paradise lost.
I dream to swim in an ocean that runs deep.
I dream of the silent nights where solitude and I meet.

I dream of a cliff high enough to see the world.
I dream to lie in the wild untouched.
I dream of the seconds before I hit the ground.
I dream to meet a person who has left this earth.

I dream of the people that I will meet.
I dream of the time when that will be.
I dream of the seconds leading up to the event.
I dream of two beautiful angels that will attend.

I dream of a life where I'm free.
I dream of a life that needs to be.

Blast kills 25 near an Iraqi mosque
Suicide bomber kills 57 in Pakistan religious rally

Well, there begins another round of tit-for-tat attacks. I thnk too often we're quick to label these people as extreme as if one single word can actually encompass their mentality. I do wonder what goes their minds right before the trigger is pulled? Does their life flash before their eyes or is the hatred so intense that it has clouded the mind and the vision?

If it actually is hatred, why and where does it come from? Perhaps the Islamic scholars missed the part where the early Muslims starting attacking others in their places of worship. And correct me if I'm wrong but did the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) not give EXPLICIT orders not to attack any religious sites -- no matter what religion.

So what state of mind are you in or what hadeeth are you using as daleel when a bomb is strapped around your waist to be exploded in a mosque which contains the same Quran you claim to be defending?

Things like this sicken me more than watching American soldiers shoot civilians; a video that I don't have the guts to watch. Don't get me wrong, I'm not some kind of a 'peace loving' hippie because oppression needs to be fought. But the standards that have been set today are atrocious and I refer to every side for no one is innocent.

I've literally had my life put on hold for the past month, refusing to indulge in any of the small pleasures that I enjoy so much. No checking BBC, CBC, MSNBC sites nor visiting any political forums. Heck, I have not read this and last month's National Geographic.

What's keeping me so busy? Everything and nothing.

If you think I'm talking in riddles, well then, you're right. Sometimes, I desperately need a change of scenery. Other times, I wish I can just sleep.

Wanted to talk about much -- new Anne Frank letters on display, discovery of a new gospel that shows Judas in a good light, murder of a family in India for practicing 'witchcraft,' murder of three daughters in Pakistan over 'family honor,' etc. etc.

But today, I just want to sleep.

Only if it was that easy.

Br. Houssam was the MAC Tarbiyyah Head - for all of Canada (you may
remember him from last year's TIC - he had the cap on his head and the
sweet smile). He came to Canada solely for the sake of spreading
Islam and spent a number of years here in that regard - when he wasn't
teaching or working as a Civil Engineer...

His death came by drowning...so we ask Allah the Merciful to accept
him as a martyr since the Prophet (saaws) said, "Whoever drowns is a
shaheed (martyr)."

Br. Houssam has a family, a wife and children, so all of us should
make duah for them as this will be a very difficult time for them...

"Verily to Allah we belong and to Him we shall return."

I met him several times when I was in Calgary. He was one of the most soft spoken people I've ever met; probably one of the most knowledgeable too. To this day, I remember him going from one sleeping person to another to wake them up during qiyam on the night of the 27th of Ramadan.

I'd heard so many good things about him before even meeting him that I didn't even need an introduction to recognize him. I vividly recall going to a juma'h where he was giving the khutbah. No one had mentioned that he was giving the khutba that day but I was so impressed by his speech that on our way back to work on the LRT, I went up to him and introduced myself. I knew right away that this had to be him.

He gave me his phone number and asked to call him if I needed anything during my stay in Calgary. I swear there are some people I've met a handful of times in my entire life but have left a greater impression than others whom I've known for years.

I remember sitting around when he was giving a talk, holding on to every word that he uttered. He was young, no more than 40 perhaps. Yet his time had come. May Allah (swt) grant him Firdaus for all his righteous actions. Ameen.

I've learnt there are 3 ways to make a decision:

1) the emotional way
2) the logical/methodical way

and last but not least.....

3) rock-paper-scissor

Times's flying by too fast. Insha Allah I start work in three weeks which is frighteningly close. Must find a way to slow time down by bending the laws of physics or something.

Mom constantly tells me to rest or 'take a break.' How can I possibly explain that such things don't exist?

How does one 'take a break' anywayz? Nevertheless, it's still a nice concept.

Read this at someone else's blog and I know it's a bit long but if you're interested in Middle Eastern politics, you'll certainly find this very informative insha Allah.

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I'm talking about how a certain country is ever uncritically treated in mainstream American media. I talked about how whenever even established academics present reasonable, sensible critiques of Israeli foreign policy, the media still doesn't deal with the substance of such critiques, but ends up lamely debating whether or not the charges are anti-Semitic.

So here I am talking about this with a friend and I notice, out of the corner of my beautiful eye, a middle-aged woman who is getting way too interested in our discussion, and I don't mean sexually.

So eventually she waltzes over, leaving her book open on her magenta-top two-seater table, and interrupts me and my friend, and begins to go on this rant about how if Israel is "racist," well then so are the neighboring Arab states, the favorite argument of the type of people who actually have no argument -- their strategy is to talk about other bad stuff that happens in the world, as if this is a reasonable way of discussing an issue. Wimps.

She quoted extensively from Joan Peters' widely discredited though nevertheless widely plagiarized 'From Time Immemorial,' a horrible sham of a book that Alan Dershowitz used for his still more horrible book, 'The Case for Israel,' and by "used" I mean cut+pasted. This is Harvard scholarship, folks -- Norman Finkelstein professionally and pointedly dismantled Dershowitz' every argument, in the manner of a carpet-bombing academic feeling no mercy for the deceptive and downright dimwitty: 'Beyond Chutzpah.' A thrilling read.

Here were some of her arguments, and my rebuttals:

Tiny Israel was attacked by so many Arab countries
Haven't we evolved past the Neolithic? Tiny England conquered 25% of the world; are we supposed to feel like England was outgunned and outmatched and pity them as they slaughtered Native American, Zulu, Indian, Aborigine and the like? Apparently not -- a lot of Zionists use this argument, by way of sympathy, though the fact that Israel won, and handily so, in pretty much every encounter, seems to give the lie to their claim of being surrounded and overmatched. Smells like sheer racism to me. Being surrounded means nothing since the invention of artillery. (Or else, are we supposed to feel bad for tiny Nazi Germany attacking big, bad Russia?)

Jews yearned for Palestine. Palestinians didn't
They didn't until they were kicked out. Thud. After September 11th, the number of American flags in New York seemed to quadruple; probably elsewhere throughout this country, too. Does this mean that before 9/11, New Yorkers weren't patriotic? Of course not. All it means is that, in the wake of a national disaster, we were reminded of our city and our country and of how important those things are to us. Flying the flag was one way of expressing that deep attachment. It doesn't mean it's a new attachment.

Jerusalem is mentioned in the Torah like 300 times. Jerusalem is in the Qur'an maybe what, once?
Indonesia is never mentioned in the Qur'an. Does that mean you can kick Muslims out of Indonesia, because it's not mentioned in the Qur'an? What kind of stupid argument is that? [I actually said this to her. She had no response.] Just because you arguably feel more strongly about something than someone else doesn't mean you can take it by force. I might take better care of my neighbor's house than he does; that does not legitimate my right to just take the damned thing. When the Prophet (pbuh) returned to Makkah, he didn't remove its original inhabitants. He didn't force them to convert. He let them live in peace. That's what an incredible moral person would do.

There was no such thing as Palestine
There was no such thing as Israel before Moses led the Israelites (partway) there. So there. Just because the name of a place changes doesn't mean the people who lived there didn't live there any less so.

Jews built up Palestine
There was nothing there before.If there was nothing there, why are so many Arab cities on the coast bordered by new, Jewish cities? There would be no reason to build a West Jerusalem if there wasn't already an east Jerusalem.

In conclusion, she lost. I expected no less.

I realize marriages aren't always as rosy as made out to be but to walk around with your wife's head in a bag? I wonder if they saw a marriage counselor.

"The only people that were getting hurt was the innocent; that was innocent Iraqi people, as well as innocent soldiers."

Words of an American soldier

Did he say 'innocent soldiers?' Am I the only one that gets a good laugh out of that one? Oxymoron, I believe, is the word that I'm looking for.

Wal-Mart to hire 15,000 Chinese workers to build up its base in China. For some reason, I find that profoundly disturbing on so many levels. A company that is the icon of modern globalization meets the country that started the process.

With no transportation costs, I can't even begin to imagine how cheap the Chinese Wal-Mart will be.