Another Random Topic Challenge Accepted!

Occasionally I’ll ask someone for blog ideas and try to see what I can make of it, no matter how random it is.  The challenge in itself is to take the topic and make it at least a somewhat interesting read without resorting to pasting pictures and wikki links which in turn would simply put people to sleep.  Granted rarely do I post a blog that doesn't have at least one picture or link but that's on the side of 'here let me help you out'.  The last challenge I wrote was about was the stray dogs.  When my girl S gave it to me, I had to do a lot of mental calisthenics before even starting the blog itself.  This one has been about the same.  S has once again given me an idea that’s had my brain straining.  This is probably why I’ve put off writing it for so long.  But regardless, it’s a challenge; I’m up for it, so here I go.

Many moons ago, on a warm summer day as I was aimlessly riding bikes with my best friend we found ourselves in uncharted territory.  Every day in an effort to change our scenery, we would ride yonder and back, going down new roads, across undiscovered streets and gliding through mysterious by-ways.  We knew where not to go and where we could.  That was the key; otherwise where we wandered was up to us.

However that day, we stumbled into a neighborhood where, although it was fine for us to explore in, we just had never bothered.  May be it had to do with the immaculately manicured lawns, the intimidating big shiny expensive looking cars that would disappear into the street or even possibly the expensively coifed individuals that seemed to almost float about.  Let me not even bother mentioning the houses, suffice it to say they were impressive to our young wide-eyes.  Subconsciously my buddy and I had stayed away but that day we decided, why not; let’s go see what the big hoopla was. 

There we were, two little girls dirty and tired but unwilling to let go of the precious time we had to be outdoors and free, on our pretty pink (mine) and yellow (hers) bikes cruising along sucking down Slurpee’s from the local 7-11.  I remember wondering where all the other kids were playing.  In our neighborhood by this time of the day the children would be out in clusters kicking up a ruckus but not here.  Everything was quiet and if we hadn’t felt like interlopers before, we did once we were sufficiently down the first street and no sign of life was to be seen.  When we spotted a person, they were of the ‘grown-up’ variety. 

Eventually we stopped at the curb of a house that stuck out like a sore thumb from the rest, if that was at all possible.  It was grand as the others, but quite different in architecture.  From what I can recall, it was big and had a Victorian look about it, with a porch that swept around the house almost lazily.  There placed within the shade of that beautiful porch were chairs that looked inviting, even to my young soul and to my delight, a sort of double-swing to one side.  I had seen those probably in some movie so the manifestation of such a thing in real was astounding to me.  Also the fact that I adored swings was another thing that had me just itching to go take a little ride.  Since the house appeared as if it was empty, well probably the owners were out, the little deviant within me would have happily taken a chance but the problem wasn’t the impending possibility that I would get caught, basically trespassing but rather what stood stationary several yards in front of the house. 

There lined up meticulously like soldiers were tall, white and unbelievably symmetrical, each one matching the other perfectly, spikes thrust out of the ground.  The fence went on forever fully enclosing the whole property.  The whitewash literally gleamed in the sunlight bespeaking that either the fence itself was new or that the paint job was, either way it had ‘do not touch’ written all over it (not literally).  The lawn was a beautiful lush green, mowed to perfection and a gorgeous contrast to the fence.  I may not have at that time understood the concept of color coordination but to me the whole scene looked…perfect.

I stood there with the bike between my legs and stared while my friend yammered on about something or another only to realize I wasn’t listening.  She circled back and suggested that we go to so-and-so’s house to see if they could come out to play a game of freeze tag.  This roused me from my open-mouthed stupor and off we went.

So what significance did that house as well as that moment have on me then?  Nothing.  Not a darn thing.  It was a house, it was pretty, it had a swing, I wanted to swing on it, if I did and I was caught, my mother would tan my hide, hence I went off to do something that wouldn’t result in a bruised behind.  That was the extent of it.  A child’s life is a rather simple one folks, in case you didn’t realize.

But it’s this darn challenge that has brought that memory roaring back into the forethought of my memories.  What was the topic?  Beautiful homes maybe or old roads that contained some interesting fact perhaps?  How about something quirky about asphalt (if that’s at all possible) or mayhap a favorite summertime recollection?  Nope.  Fences.  Yes, “fences” is the topic (in case you hadn’t guessed by now).  BTW…S…babe…thanks…*grumbles*

Still I must say this topic did have me thinking.  At first it was more around the area of ‘wtf?!?!’ and quickly switched to ‘okay focus sister, make this happen’.  The first thing that popped into my head was the scene from Tom Sawyer where Tom is whitewashing the fence.  If you don’t remember it, here take a look à http://www.pbs.org/marktwain/learnmore/writings_tom.html

Oh I so loved that book from the first moment I read it back in elementary school.  I wanted badly to have the same adventures as Tom but let me not digress...back to the topic at hand.  After picturing Tom, I had to do a bit more mental heavy lifting to drag forth the memory I wrote about up above.

And here’s something funny that I realized about fences, not those real ones that I had observed glinting in the sunlight that afternoon but the more psychological ones.  Those really are ever present, aren't they?  The truth is, even though I didn’t really see it that way back then due to the fact that, let me remind you again, I was a wee little thing, that fence in that neighborhood protecting that particular beautiful house represented, in a way, a life that was fully unfamiliar to me.  Even then I was intimidated, didn’t feel as if I belonged, and knew that I wasn’t supposed to be where I was.  That carefree child didn’t get it.  This adult female understands it all too well.

The fences are everywhere aren’t they?  You haven’t seen them?  Look around you. 

They are not literal, the ones I speak of.  These are the ones that keep this wonderful world from living in some semblance of peace and harmony.  They are represented in the form of borders, religion, race, culture…they keep lovers apart, families from joining, friends from being friendly and stops general humanity from behaving…humanely. 

It’s amazing also how many of these ‘fences’ I have observed (remembered, pondered, mulled, etc...) since the genesis of this one particular blog and let me just say, it breaks my heart.  It’s also equally sad that as a kid, I knew that not only did I not belong on that street, but even to be standing on the sidewalk looking at that house/fence seemed wrong.  May be it was television, society, culture, what have you, all subliminally giving me messages, putting me in my place, telling me what it was that I could and could not do, without me (or anyone around me for that matter) being any the wiser.  This particular brand of indoctrination went on with the ages, as years slipped by, as time smoothly (and not sometimes downright roughly) sailed from one big life event seamlessly into another till here I am today well aware of all the limitations that existence has to offer.

Is this a good thing?  No, not at all.  Do I accept this anymore half as easily as I did back then?  Most certainly not.  I’m on a mission to do everything I can to break down barriers and ignore these societal fences.  If someone tells me not to go somewhere, say something or do something, I have a habit now of looking them in the eyes and say with authority ‘shoo’.  Yes, with authority!  I know, you all are totally intimidated and glad you have yet to come to the receiving end of my ‘shoo’.   Let's just keep it that way.  I can be a mighty scary person when I put my mind to it *hmph*

Um...granted I admit that I don't totally thumb my nose at society nor everything that I had once agreed grudgingly with just because I'm grown.  I mean I'm human and to some degree a total coward but for the major things, yea, I've started to push back and break free.  This can't be a totally bad thing, right? 
 

But the best thing though is that it appears as if even society is no longer totally accepting what society itself had once laid down as 'acceptable' and indeed breaking down a few fences.  The biggest example of this in fact happened today (convenient for the sake of this blog and rather handy to drive my point home).  The US Supreme court declared DOMA (Defense of Marriage Act...as usual  because I'm such a kind and loving soul, I'm going to be helpful and post the link that will give you more details: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Defense_of_Marriage_Act) unconstitutional.  Additionally somewhere in Texas, a bill banning abortions was killed as well. 

And whether I agree or disagree with either of the things that happened today is actually quite irrelevant because one can no longer ignore the fact that society (as a whole) is starting to speak up.  Whether it is pro or con, voices are being raised, people are starting to be less fearful of judgment and indeed, fences are being torn down to some degree, isn't it?   I'm not also denying the fact that while there is a good bit of destroying going on, there is an equal amount of 'fences' still being erected.  I don't think we'll ever totally stop doing this, in fact I'm positive we won't.  I'm not living in la-la-land, my own personal Utopia, I want you folks to know this.  If this is a blog regarding fences coming down, I could as easily write the identical one about them going right back up.  I just chose to go the more positive route this time around. 

It's actually exciting I admit.  My inner rebel is doing a jig as it sees how things are changing day by day.  I read the news with awe and wonder, particularly recently, thinking back to that child who had no clue as to what sort of world she would end up occupying.  Fences...be damned.

I know I could write more but I think the whole ending with a 'bam, in your face, I successfully wrote about the topic given to me while making a great point,  plus was able to find relevant examples to support that point' is enough for now.  I'll be able to sleep peacefully.

Okay until next time my darling readers, ciao.

Oh, if you have something you'd like me to blog about, a topic, anything, feel free to leave a comment and I'll see what I can do.  BTW...S...you are banned for giving me a new topic for a few weeks at least.  I still heart you though. : ) 

Shab-e-Barat (and some food)

Well, last night was Shab-e-Barat, a very holy night on the Islamic calendar where devotees pray all night long.  Here’s a lil blurb about it…

           

According to Muslim belief, Shab-e-Barat is the night when God arranges affairs of the next one year. He writes the destinies of all His creations on this night for the coming year by taking into account their past deeds.

The significant distinction of this night, according to Islamic belief, is that it falls on the night of Shaaban 15 in which all births and deaths in universe are written in the ‘Loh-e-Mehfooz’ for the forthcoming year.

According to religious scholars, there are some nights in Islam which are significant, sacred with grandeur and divine majesty and ‘Lailatul Baraat’ is one of them.

Ammu called me at some point yesterday and said that per her family’s traditions (something I know well) halwa and roti should be prepared.  Why?  I have no idea and I don’t ask.  What’s halwa and roti?  Well I’m far too lazy to tell you all the different variations of halwa… www.google.com look it up for yourself; however I can tell you that I had to drag my bootay off the sofa and re-enter my kitchen.  Yes, and I mean re-enter.  As in I was there earlier cooking up a storm and after cleaned up and making it look all shiny and pristine (well actually P did), I stomped back in a few hours later in order to uphold my mother’s wishes, armed with her recipe. 

Anyway, the one I made was sooji ka halwa (there’s another more complicated one that’s made with daal but my mother said it would normally take two days to prepare and honestly ain’t nobody gots time for dat), which is basically semolina, sugar, milk, cinnamon and cardamom.  It’s typically eaten with rice flour roti (bread).  I didn’t have rice flour so I opted for poori, which is made of all-purpose flour and deep fried bread.  

So there I was rolling out the flat round disk pooris to glory, sweating profusely because P hates the smell of cooking on our clothes which means regardless of the weather, windows will be open…and I was recalling the same holy night spent at my parents place, the smell of incense in the air, the sort of hushed reverence for the night.  We ate the delicacies with excitement back then without totally understanding the significance of the night itself, even if we were told what it was all about, because life seemed so very long. 

Now of course, it doesn’t seem so very long, in fact it seems downright short.  Still I was glad that my mother had insisted that I carry on such traditions for one day I hope that I can give to my kids the same memories I write about.  And as P and I were eating I couldn’t help but muse over the coming year, what awaited me, what Allah (swt) shall write for me and what lessons also lurked around the corner for me to learn.  These were thoughts zipping through my mind as I sat there chewing (which btw I can assure you that both the halwa and poori turned out astoundingly edible).  Check it out!  

This is the Halwa



This is the Poori



Through the course of the evening though, I found myself sort of at a bizarre calm place.  Whereas in the past I’ve fretted all night long praying feverishly to God for this, that or the other, last night I came to the understanding that yes, in the past I have prayed,  asked and sometimes begged  but that at the end of the day, what would happen would happen.  Nothing I could do or say would stop that.

Does this mean that I don’t believe Allah is listening?  No, I know somewhere my thoughts are being absorbed, may be put into file or the whole ‘answering’ is taking time.  My faith is in place but I think I’ve managed to become very pragmatic, even to this extent.  I can’t say whether this is a good or bad thing, I’m leaning towards good while others may say that I do sound as if I’m distinctly lacking in faith but I’d say they’re wrong. 

 So okay, bring it on I say.  Let’s see what waits for me.   I’m sure somewhere along the way, you people will be privy to the information. 

I can tell you this much, in 15 days, Muslims around the world will be observing Ramadan.   That’s what’s in my immediate future, 14-15 hour days of fasting without food or water.  I can handle it, never fear, for I have been doing so since the ripe old age of 10 but the lack of coffee…phew.  The first few days of life without morning java are agony.  My colleagues have long since learned not to mess with me during these hours and not expect to see much activity from me either.  And since we’ll be breaking fast close to 9:30pm, I am still trying to figure out how to crawl through the day.  Actually I shouldn’t complain, my cousins presently living in Belgium will be fasting till almost 10:30pm or so.  Heck I have it wayyyyyyyy easier! 

Anyhow, let’s also see how much energy I can drum up in order to write a blog.  I mean creativity must be fed, no?  And if my body is starving (sorta, kinda) then how in the world will my brain function?  You know what this is folks?  A set up.  The perfect excuse as to why I may not be posting all that much on my blog during the upcoming religious season.  You can’t begrudge me if I slack off and oh if I write a lot of entries regarding food, seriously don’t be that surprised.  Most of the time I spend the day (and into the oncoming sundown) daydreaming about delicious edibles that I would like to consume at night.  I’m sure these erotic food ponderings will show itself here. 

Anyhow, let the official countdown begin!

Short Story: Happily Ever...What? Chapter 5

I was shaken awake, someone was visiting I was told.  Someone was always visiting it seemed to me.  There was no reason to respond, or so I didn't think, which was why I kept my eyes closed.  But the shaking was persistent.  I cracked one burning eye open.  I had of course cried myself to sleep the night before.  "Why are you bothering me?" I asked her.

"Khala wants you to get up, we have guests."  She shrugged and walked away.  I decided to lay there like a rock contemplating how much my life sucked.  The monsoons had arrived but the heat had not slightly decreased.  It was nonstop, the very air laden with wetness, the humidity keeping clothes just slightly damp at all times, sticking to a person.  Somehow it sapped strength, lulled a person into a sort of semi-consciousness.  Therefore it wasn't surprising when right after lunch I had retired to read but had managed to fall into a restless sleep to the sound of the rain pitter-pattering against the window, roof.  It was still going strong as I stared up at the ceiling fan.

A flash of his face, it was a jolt.  I closed my eyes.  A memory captured in my minds-eye, the sound very familiar and similar, the environment different.  PT, me, his apartment, cuddled on the sofa watching the History Channel.  Nothing special but special nonetheless.  A tear rolled down the side of my closed eyes into the hair line.  I swiped at it but the motion was sluggish. 

"You're still not up?"  My mother came barreling in to the room, her voice harsh.  I wanted to say 'what gave it away, me still lying down?' but figured that I didn't care enough anyhow. 

She rambled on about how an old family friend was there, my father’s college buddy with his wife and son, they wanted to meet me to wish me well even though they had seen me a few days back during the engagement party.  I didn’t care, I had no interest in meeting anyone ever again but I couldn’t say that to her.  So I tuned her out, not bothering to look into the mirror to see if I looked even somewhat presentable.  Again, the caring had long since abandoned me.

I followed her into the cavernous family room, a smile plastered upon my lips by then.  If I was going to sacrifice my life for them, why not play the part as I was doing it?  The men stood as we approached, they were of equal height and the female, I presumed who was the wife/mother, to the standing gents remained sitting.  I greeted them and sat down next to my father. 

The conversation flowed around me, mostly by the two elder males who were laughing about whatever it is that they found funny while the women sat together talking about something that I wasn’t interested in tuning into.  The son sat across the room quietly.  I didn’t look up, didn’t try to start a conversation, hell he may as well not have been there.  I wasn’t sweating any bullets over the fact that I was being unsocial either but nothing in my life ever went smoothly, I should have known this.  And even as I was feeling a bit of relief that no one was in the least interested in talking to me, I was roused from my thoughts to the suggestion from my dad that I should take whats-his-name (the son) to the roof.  I wanted to ask Papa why would I do that, we were just fine where we were but I again would not say/ask what I wanted to.

Nodding, I followed the same path I had a few weeks before to the roof.  I assumed the guy was following me, if he wasn’t I’m sure I would have heard some sort of commotion.  Neither of us said a word until we reached the open expanse of the roof and I belatedly remembered it was raining. 

Damn.  Okay well we could hang out in the small shed I figured, so that’s where I sprinted to hoping that he wasn’t too dense not to accompany me.  The space was unoccupied, dilapidated and full of gardening equipment which the old man who took care of the flowers on the roof would come and stash his equipment every day before he hobbled home.  He was actually a very nice person who I had various conversations with and surprisingly enough he was more than open to talking.  His name was, not surprising at all, Rahem Chacha (I called him Chacha out of respect even though he was nowhere near being related to my father).  He was very poor and his physique spoke of a person who had worked hard his whole existence.  During one discussion Rahem Chacha had told me the only thing in his life he had wanted was to have his two sons well educated so that they would not end up living the life he had and he had accomplished this.  They both were presently employed although I couldn’t remember where and they were also both married.  Chacha lived with the elder boy and spoke about his grandchildren at length.  I had asked him why he still worked then and he told me that he had stopped for a while but the feeling of uselessness had been far too strong and therefore a ‘part-time’ job of sorts had him applying for the present profession. 

Of all the people I had thus met, all the people who had tried to impress me (it had something to do with the fact that I was born and brought up in the States) and amongst all the people who I had conversations with, he was the person who I knew I would remember with fondness once I had gone home.  I liked the way he slowly and carefully produced each word that he uttered, enunciating carefully, possibly slowing down because my own diction of the same language was so very inadequate.  He would try to speak in broken English with me but insist upon knowing the correct way at the same time.  Each afternoon I would show up at the roof and as he slowly, lovingly worked, I would sit there next to him and pepper him with questions about his existence 

That day of course he wasn’t there.  The rain sounded louder here thanks to the tin that covered the shed.  I wished I didn’t have this stranger with me.  What the hell was there to talk about anyhow?  I heard him enter behind me and moved as far away from him as I could but saying nothing.  May be if he felt as if he was intruding upon me, then he would leave? 

When would I learn? 

“This is bordering on deja vu, don’t you think?”  His voice wafted to me over the din of the rain.  Something about it, faintly familiar, had me turning around.  And there he was the guy from the party where I had first met my fiancée.  A guy I hadn’t ever even figured I would see again. 

“Oh, it’s you.” I said my voice flat.  When would things once again bring me any sort of surprise, shock? 

“So you’ve finally looked at me, and I can see you’re overwhelmed.”  He said rather drolly. 

“Yes, you’re right.”  I said, and then asked with a tilt to my head, “what are you doing here?”

“Remember, my dad, your dad, friends, reunion…all that?”   I did a mental, oh yea, but nodded in response.  “I guess this is where we make polite conversation.”

I grimaced.  “Must we?”

“No,” he said and I sighed in relief.  To be honest, he looked sort of relieved himself.  I couldn’t blame him.

With no words spoken between us, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to me.  We smoked in companionable silence and I fleetingly wondered if my future husband would be as ‘cool’ about my smoking as this guy was but then again who knew?  It wasn’t as if I really knew my intended all that well.  This should have been alarming to me but the whole ‘I don’t give a damn’ attitude was clearly taking over every aspect of my existent.

After a while, and 2 cigs in I finally said “I don’t think I caught your name.” 

“It’s J____,” a very common desi name indeed. 

Again more silence, this was fine by me.  Eventually we had to go back down when one of the servants came to inform us that our parents requested the presence of our joyous company.  Mentally preparing myself, I was walking off when J stopped me.  I turned to see him extending to me what looked like a business card.  Taking it, I looked at it, then flipped it over.  It was his phone number.  I looked up at him askance. 

“You seem like you may eventually need someone to talk to so I figured I’d give you my number.  I may not be able to give you great advice but I can listen.”  He shrugged and strode away. 

Well, I thought, that’s nice of him.  Not a chance in hell am I going to call though.

I Make No Excuses...

…for being who I am. 

**Okay wait, before you read on, let me make one addendum to this blog:  A few friends know that I chat in a desi chatroom and have been doing so for many years.  I've made a lot of friends (as well as enemies) and have been lucky enough to become a part of a very interesting community that exposes me to thoughts/ideas/commentary/information/what have you that I would not otherwise have been exposed to here.  Most of the things I 'learn' in this chat space are things often coming from those living in India/Pakistan/Bangladesh.  I don't need you to approve or disapprove, I just wanted to let you know this so that the rest of this blog makes some sort of sense.  This was actually written to be posted on the website where I chat but the dratted thing was too long so I figured that I'd just scrape it and post it here instead.  So as you read on then just keep in mind the original audience to this blog was not you, but a whole group of other people.  Oh well, you win some you lose some.  Read on...**

You're wondering, 'who's asking her to anyhow?' My answer is:  no one.  And if someone asked me to do so, I wouldn't blindly comply.  So now that the basic has been established, let me go into why I'm writing this blog at all.

For a long time now there have been a lot of posts regarding religion.  Advocates from both sides have spoken up, have posted, re-posted, argued to the pros and the cons and as to be expected there has been no consensus.  Really there shall never be, not a topic so very…personal and basic. 

But I figured, with all that’s being bandied around against the concept of an organized religion, I’ll put in my two-cents (literally probably only worth that much) as to why I believe in it.  And this is where the title of this blog, btw, comes into play.  I do not apologize for who I am, or what I believe in, specifically speaking, being one of faith, a Muslim.  Does this proud admission disturb you?  Am I making you cringe?  Roll your eyes?  Smirk?  Are you doing one of those gagging motions?  Well, I’m not stopping you and you won’t stop me either…so here I go, let me give you a bit of background:

I was born into a Muslim family, one that was fairly religious (particularly on my Mom’s side) going all the way back to my grandparents.  As a child, when I was visiting Bdesh, I would hear my grandfather roam around the house during Fajr reciting passages from the Quran.  In fact it wasn’t a simple recitation, he would sing them almost.  And I would be lulled in and out of sleep listening to him, a phenomenon that my mother told me she had also encountered when she too was my age. 

During every religious holiday, festival, prayer, whatnot, I was painstakingly and diligently told as to why we do what we do.  A Maulavi was hired to teach us how to read Arabic and how to pray.  My parents encouraged me to understand every bit of what I was learning fully, which meant going outside of their authority and ask questions, do research, and become educated.  The question can be:  Would they, my parentals, have encouraged me to ‘find my faith’ on my own?  My answer: No, of course not.  Islam was and is all that they have ever known.  But they did not mind that I questioned it for honestly they always had a passage, reasoning, an answer to my questions and if they didn’t, they would push me in the right direction to find out.  Again it goes back to becoming educated, not being a lemming. 

When I was in high school, I decided to become more involved in the nearby Islamic community.  Off I went to volunteer at the mosque and within a year I was a Sunday school teacher.  Armed with the bit of knowledge I had under my belt, I felt as if the job couldn’t be all that difficult.  After all I could read Arabic fairly fluently (though I struggled and was slow) but what bothered me most was that I didn’t understand it.  How does one read and yet not comprehend?  Up to that point I had always read the Quran in Arabic and thought (or assumed) that it was how things went but after consulting with the Imam I realized that Islam encouraged you to cognize, not just memorize.  So I turned to the English translations and had many ‘aha’ moments I confess.  This knowledge, and the stories I was reading, turned me into a better teacher and I was such for over 4 years, well into a busy college life.  Oh one interesting tidbit of info about me:  When I had first started teaching, a few months into it, I donned the hijab pretty much full time.  I went to school in it for that matter and could care less about what others thought.  I do not wear the hijab any more, and the reason I stopped was because my mother, who was and still is, a very obedient and well-educated Muslim-a told me that first one should practice the more important key parts of the religion before taking it a step further.  Basically, if I wasn’t praying 5 times a day, covering my hair wasn’t going to please Allah.  

Anyhow…about my junior year of higher education, I was required to take a class regarding religion in order to graduate.  This was a definite earmark to my own personal spiritual evolution.  I started taking the class as a way to a means, mainly I could get the hell out of college, but it ended up having a much more significant impact.  What was that?  Well we had studied a total of 7 mainstream religions:  Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, and Zoroastrianism (although how mainstream this is I’m not sure).  I believe the last was Taoism.  And each new religion that was introduced to me was fascinating.  Not a singular one of them did I view upon as total lunacy or ridiculous.  I developed a sense of respect for all and maybe because of this fascination I made it my mission to learn as much as I could.  I used to talk in-depth with others who followed whatever it was that they followed and I sort of delved into their psyche.  The questions I asked them often ranged from:  “but why”, all the way to, “will you pass it along to your kids one day?”

I walked away with a lot of information yes but almost everyone who I talked to said something about how refreshing it was to educate someone upon their own beliefs, how most were resistant to it and therefore they often did not bother to bring it up as topic of convo in the first place.  Hmm…well frankly, I’ve always found this plain ol’ ignorant (bordering on stupid no less).  Why not have free flowing exchanges of thought, idea and values with someone else who is on another spectrum?  What’s wrong with that?  We’re not talking about preaching here folks; we’re talking about just simple learning.  Isn’t educating oneself about the most powerful tool one can have in their arsenal in the way to evolving as a human being? 

The summer that proceeded, I was immersed in learning about not only these familiar, yet new, faiths; I took a much deeper look into my own.  Although I didn’t speak to my parents about this, I wanted to learn for myself whether or not in fact Islam was one that I wanted to follow, heck if I wanted to follow any religion at all.  Long (well that’s a foregone conclusion right now anyhow) story short:  yes, Islam was the best fit for me.  This period of intense introspection was all me.  My self-realization was all my own. 

So that’s the background, now to address why it is I’m writing this blog.  All this religious debates (diatribes, angry statements, etc…) that’s been lopped back and forth (with no ultimate resolution that I’ve ever seen) leads to this question: what’s the point here that people are trying to make? 

On one side you have the secular/nonreligious/agnostic/atheists scream that those of us who do follow an organized religion are nothing but sheep, cattle, lemming, unintelligent, basically ignorant, brainless and no less brainwashed groupies who believe in an ‘invisible’ higher power. On the other side you have the ‘believers’ of organized religion (whichever it may be) denouncing that the other half has no soul, no belief, no faith, and no substance. 

Frankly speaking folks, this is exhausting. 

Why does anyone here think they can trump the other person in a discussion so very personal?  You think that after you have finish all your yapping, throwing underlining insults or questioning someone’s intelligent, there will be a ‘light bulb’ (or tube light as Desi’s like to say) moment in which things just turn around?  Like that other person will fall to their knees and cry out into the heavens “OMG, I have now seen the light!!!!  I have reformed!!!!” 

If that’s what you think, seriously get off chat, quick.

These things don’t happen people, no matter how badly we want it and rarely if ever on chat specifically.  Every single one of us, whether you chose to believe or not to believe in some greater being, feels the way they do due for varied amounts of reasons.  They may deem it worthy to share it or not, but regardless there are oft times explanations behind everything.  I’m not arguing that there are not plenty of people out in this great big world of ours who also believe simply because they were indoctrinated into some religion that their forefathers followed but for what I’ve seen, there is now an uprising equal amount of that same sort of thing happening on the nonbelieving side.  Presently, folks are growing up in households where the parents stress the idea that there should not be any such concept of organized religion. 

All very fascinating and interesting that even when most of us know what I have written to be true, we still insist upon degrading or making the other person feel inferior upon their own belief system (whether this ‘degrading’ and ‘inferiority’ is done with purpose of intent or not).  This does show a bit of weakness in yourself as well as whatever it is that you find to be true if you succumb.  First go about strengthening that in which you find your faith in and you will be pleasantly surprised that standing up for yourself is not so very hard.

To be honest, I have never been shy of telling people who I am or what I believe in.  I am a woman of faith…simple.  Do I stray from it?  Yes.  Do I follow it 100%?  No.  Do I believe in the concept of heaven and hell?  Yes, absolutely.  Do I believe that God in essence is wrathful and horrid?  No.  You want to flash a quote from the Quran that says ‘kill the infidels’?  Then I can flash another one (if not more) that say the precise opposite.  You want to tell me what’s wrong with my religion?  Guess what, I can tell you so many things that are amazing about it.  You want to say that I’m a moron for believing?  Well I can say that you’re equally moronic for not.  Hey, it’s all in the point of view, don’t you think?

My religion is indeed the foundation of the person I am.  I will never deny this.  Every good thing I’ve learned was at one point taken from the Quran, and passed down from generation to generation till it sunk into my cranium and has lodged there for the last 40 years.  Why should I fight this fact?  And what bad have I learned?  You can say, scream or cry to me ‘but what about independent thinking, you lemming you!?!?’ and I will say, re-read again my journey that has led me to where I am.  That should suffice as explanation.

I have had a few people ask me why I believe in my religion, have tried to debate it with me, tried to make me see the ‘error of my ways’ and I will tell you this much, when they do such a thing and are trying so very hard to prove whatever point it is that they are adamant in proving, in my head I think to myself ‘when I am not thrusting it down your throat, when I do not go around thumping my Bible/Quran/Geeta/Torah/etc at you, then why are you so darn persistent in changing me, lecturing me about intolerance?  Who is, in fact, the intolerant one here?’ 

BTW, one last point to be made here…for the most of us who are following some sort of religion (and I’m talking majority), I assure you that all we want to do is simply…live.  We are not on a jihad or holy war, we are not trying to convert you, we are indeed not trying to give you religious lectures and change your POV.  All we want, for the majority, is to be left to practice whatever it is we wish.  You may take the few weirdo radical sensationalized morons out there, push them in front of us and say ‘this is who you are, this is the representation of your faith’ and I guarantee you most of us are simply rolling our eyes and itching to forward to you the dictionary definition of the word ‘radical’.  They are not our spokespeople and you, by using them as examples, are proving  not a thing to us…just a friendly FYI.

 

So if you wish to think I’m a moron/idiot/sheep/lemming/whatever, go on and do your thing.  Ain’t no one stoppin’ you…just realize for as many times as you call (or think) those things of me, you are proving yourself to be almost the same and narrow-minded to boot. 

 

: )

 

Have a great one!

 

 

Some Serious Pondering Going On!

You know what the hardest realization is as an adult?  When you comprehend that what you wanted to do/be isn’t actually what you should be doing or being.  How disappointing is this?  You go through most of your life/existence aiming for whatever golden cup you wish to attain and afterwards, you think to yourself ‘well this isn’t the bees knees, why did I want this so darn bad?’

Actually I believe we’re predestined to have this ‘come to Jesus’ moment from childhood, most of us at least.  May be it’s this popular bandied around idea that if you’re not a professional in the most traditional sense (i.e. doctor, lawyer…) then you haven’t achieved much.  At least in the desi community this stands true.  So like good obedient children we run off to make of ourselves all that our parents dream, somewhere along the way ignoring our own.  To us, it’s a way of thanking our parents for giving us birth or payback for all they had to suffer through due to our very existence.  Sounds terribly tragic, doesn’t it?  Actually it is.  Sometimes things work out for the best and off the child goes to live a lucrative existence but to be honest I’ve had far too many friends who have confessed to me that they hate what they do but they couldn’t change because of all the money that had been invested into their present.  I can understand that.  When the average amount of cash you dole out to become a doctor is about 300K, one does tend not to think about altering professions, never mind taking into account the hard work, sweat, tears, emotional breakdowns, etc…

Good lord though, that sorta money could surely have made lots of memories other than those that were wrapped up in such hard work.  I’m not saying that the money wasn’t well spent but still…imagine the possibilities.  Traveling all around the globe, eating exotic foods, meeting new and interesting people, learning about other cultures, or whatever floats your boat.  You want to sit in front of a vista drawing, you should.  How about typing away furiously as the story that’s been locked in your head comes spilling out via your fingers?  There’s the sitting amongst your friends jamming and becoming lost in the notes of the music you created or even tasting the dish that had just been gleefully produced out of a bunch of ingredients that blend beautifully together?  Want to help someone, go on and do it.  Want to become a mentor, sure, why the heck not?  Want to open up that cupcake business in some small town somewhere; I don’t see a problem with that.  Basically, the concept of thoroughly having enjoyed as well as experienced life any which way you choose to do so is what that money could have done for you.  Aren’t those all investments also?  Sure not in any old-fashioned sense but still.  As in, investments into some sort of full memory bank as opposed to just a traditional bank?  Maybe I’m being a bit extreme here.  After all, the worth of an education is actually priceless in many ways (or maybe it’s worth the salary you’re being paid?).  But let’s not go there. 

The thing is I’m often saddened about the potential that is lost.  Just imagine the artists, painters, writers, musicians, philanthropists, creative thinkers out there who have sacrificed their passions to the almighty dollar (rupees, yen, pound, etc…) and have settled upon doing what was considered ‘right’.  And we shall never be witness to their genius!  Oh gosh, what else can it be but tragic? 

Let me ask the obvious question here: from where or by whom has this definition of the ‘right’ thing come to be realized?  Someone had to have first thought it up.  Who was it?  God?  Society?  If society, than how?  I mean did they all just meet up on day and proclaim ‘yes this is how it shall be’? Or maybe it’s Grandparents?  Parents?  Possibly all the above although I don’t recall having read anywhere in the Quran that one has to be a lawyer in order to get into heaven.  Shoot if you ask me that’s liable to be the quickest way to get a ticket straight to the other more hotter location, if you know what I mean…just sayin’.  Okay I kid about the lawyer crack, some of my best friends are very honest in this very profession and I would put my very life into their hands, that’s just how much I trust them.

Anyhow, I too have been hitting this wall of confusion.  Not the type I just was discussing about parents, society, blah blah blah…expectations and such.  I mean yes, my parents wanted to be a lawyer while I settled on being a paralegal and as I said before in a previous blog, they probably are a bit disappointed (secretly) but are also genuinely satisfied that I’m happy with what I do.  Sometimes a word here or there about having gone to law school or still going will slip out but it’s okay for the most part.  I understand what they mean.  No the confusion is more on the lines of general ponderings about my own decisions regarding my life.  All the above lies in the following questions I ask myself: What am I doing?  Where am I going?  I’ve been happy with my chosen profession (mostly) but there’s a lot more out there, isn’t there?  And if there is, what would befit me and my skills?  Have I backed myself into a corner of sorts that I can’t escape from because I’ve been so focused on this one singular thing?  Can I truly change my identity or should I even think about it at my age? 

Ughhhhh, soooo frustrating *bangs head on keyboard*

So…I mean I’m not the only one who goes through this, am I?  And today a dear friend of mine said to me, ‘you first have to figure out what you’re good at, what you want to do, before moving forward’.  I’m paraphrasing here but this is the gist.  Oh boy those two things that I need to ‘figure out’ are easier said than done.  I mean heck, I don’t know which is why I’m sitting here making my cranium hurt. 

I need to do some serious soul searching folks.  That’s a fact.  I mean, I know what I want to do…that’s apparent even as I write these words but can it sustain me?  I don’t think I’m that good at it.  And at the end of the day, Iz needs monies to pay mine bills.  Drat.

Off I go to do some serious pondering. 

 

Batten Down The Hatches!

What's this mean?  Well, for the last day or so the news has been endlessly throwing warnings at us.  This time it hasn’t been about terrorist threats, nor which government official is doing what, not even the ‘be careful of what you say, you’re being watched’.  Instead these hyper-excited rather dramatic sounding weather forecasters have been predicting the end of the world.  May be not precisely that but the way they make it seem, it may as well be.  Is it a tornado that comes our way?  Another big hurricane?  Possibly floods or such?  Nope, none of those things.  What we are all running to the stores and grabbing water, milk, bread, toilet paper and assorted snacks in preparation for is the looming Derecho.  

Never heard of it?  Let me help you out (because that’s just how nice I am).  Here's the wikki link:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Derecho.  Now if you're too darn lazy to click and read, then let me sum it up in layman's terms.  Basically it's a sideways twister.  You’re going, “um…what?”  Yea, had I never come across one before I would say the same thing but indeed it is precisely that, a drunken funnel (not the yummy amusement park type either).  Frankly to me all twisters seem a lil off-balance but this particular specimen is downright bizarre.  Seriously, take a look, it’s fascinating stuff and proves again to one and all, don’t underestimate what Mother Nature has up her sleeves.

So back to my close encounter with the Derecho kind…you’re probably wondering when was it that I actually had the opportunity to say a friendly ‘hi there’ to one?  Well…

It was last year, just before the 4^th of July I believe but may be earlier.  We, mom and I, were supposed to attend a friend’s Mehndi party (you know, the celebration where henna is applied upon the hands and feet of the bride-to-be, usually a day or two before the actual wedding).  Typically this ceremony is reserved for women alone but for several years now the fashion has been to also invite the groom and his party as well.  P isn’t a big fan of these shindigs; I mean he loves himself some weddings (mostly for the food) but everything else he rejects as unnecessary.  No offense to the bride or groom in particular, he just gets bored (which I think most men do to be honest unless you’re a part of the bridal party or apart of the immediate families).  But I digress…

This particular Mehndi celebration P had declined to attend mainly because a few members of his own family were visiting and he wanted a bit of QT.  I thought this was fair enough so I drove north to Baltimore bedecked in a lime green/dark red/gold cotton sari, in order to scoop my mother up and head into the city where the party was to be held.  BTW, in case you were wondering, driving and sari’s just don’t go well together.

I had noted how humid the air was but ignored it as we joined the others in kicking off the wedding festivities.  We had a great time catching up with old friends, gossiping, eating and generally smiling at the coyly smiling bride and the grinning-like-a-Cheshire-cat groom.  By the time we were leaving it was about 10:30 pm or closing in on 11 and although it was still too early (in my book) to be leaving any sort of party, I had to drive Ammu home then head back to VA.  As we walked out into the even more so humid night (if that was at all possible), Mom commented upon how it seemed like a storm was coming and I couldn’t have agreed with her less.  The very air about us felt heavy with moisture making it difficult to even breathe.  I looked around at the still streets; felt the eerie calm in the air and the little hairs on the back of my arms rose.  Something was amiss certainly, whatever it was about that night just made me antsy as I hurried her along to the car. 

The second we slammed our doors shut, the heavens opened up and before we were even a block away from the venue I could barely see the road.  The rain was coming in sideways, the light posts started to sway dangerously and the first signs of how bad this storm showed in the form of a metal news stand blowing over.  As we drove, the wind picked up, my car started to be shoved sideways…yes sideways, not straight as it was supposed to go…and my mother had reached out to grasp my hand tightly. 

“What is going on??” she gasped in fear as I turned on the radio quickly.  They were saying something about Derecho.  What was that?  Stay indoors, stay off the streets (I was thinking, um…too late) and if you’re out, take cover (again…too late damn it!).  Where had these warnings been all day?  Could a sister not have gotten a heads up?  What the hell???  And here I was with my mom traveling down the city roads as flying debris narrowly missed my car over and over again.  This was hell.  I even wondered, albeit fleetingly, how folks in tornado alley lived knowing that such weather could crop up at any moment. 

We had to travel approximately 30 miles and whereas it would take me about 25 minutes to go that far, we were crawling along as I dodged objects that rolled onto the street and weaving around already fallen trees and power lines.  My mother became more and more hysterical while I felt the muscles in my arms become more and more taught.  I was fighting the wind and a total meltdown (my mother, not me).  Knowing that I had no interest in adding my own bubbling trepidation (frankly more like outright terror) to the situation, I started to talk to her in a bright voice.  You know the kind that’s so forced and obvious but you utilize it to try sooth someone else?  She wasn’t falling for it however I implored her to just work with me.  I needed to focus.

Eventually we made it home but I was stunning at the remnants of what had happened. 

By the end of that storm, which lasted approximately 10 minutes, there was a lot of (and seriously I mean a lot) damage to not only Baltimore City, but the surrounding counties, DC and into VA.  People lost power everywhere and not for a day but rather days in which they had to suffer through 100F+ sweltering days and unbearably hot nights.  From what I remember, the after effects had not been pretty.

So folks, this is what we’re facing presently.  The looming threat of all this plus more and I sincerely hope that Derecho decides to take it easy on us this time.  Frankly, I don’t totally trust our weather-gits anymore.  I feel as if most of the time they’re taking a shot in the dark when spouting off predictions and as I’ve seen in the past, most of the time they’re wrong.  So let’s hope this one is just being hyped up and will culminate into a bit of rain, nothing more.    

And…let me give my usual caveats here:  I realize that there are a lot more devastating things happening in the world that is far worse than what’s happening here and I have full respect for these things/events but since I do not live in all these other locations nor am experiencing them first hand, I do not feel that I can aptly describe/write about them.   

*phew*

Anyhoo y’all, I’m going to head out of the office.  Wherever you are, take care of yourselves and if you see a flying cow, duck.  Heck, if you see a flying duck, then moo.

Tata!

To Forgive...To Forget...Or Both?

Long ago, when I was a kid (doesn’t it seem as if I start all my blogs start with something similar to this?  Do I need to switch things up a bit?  Okay, I’m digressing…), I got angry at my best friend, who was also my next door neighbor, about something. I can't remember what it was now but it was bad enough to make me simply stay mad at her for nearly 2 weeks. Mind you I was miserable and my parents watched me mope around the house being almost unbearable for that whole time. I was walking around scowling or getting teary eyed or simply simmering yet still I would not give in and contact her. Eventually though, my mother being one of those women who couldn't tolerate such things for long (as well as wise), sat me down and said to me that my ego was getting into the way of patching up the friendship. I told her, rather defended myself, that the whole thing hadn't been my fault and I shouldn't be the one to say sorry.  Of course my mother knew that there were always two sides to every story hence she didn’t quite trust the claim that I had done nothing at all even if I was quite passionate about it, but she didn’t point that out to me.  Her response, instead, went something like this: Even if it wasn't your fault, would you become any less of a person if you simply said "let's be friends again, I miss you" instead of holding on to all this anger and being miserable?

Well now dang, that got me to thinking for sure. My lil 10ish year old brain was working overtime as I sat on the front stoop pondering whether I should suck it up and go make amends or wait for her to come to me and beg for forgiveness, then rub her nose in the dirt over it. I'll be honest; I was leaning towards the whole 'rub her nose in the dirt' one over the 'is a bigger person' option. I was a kid, that's how kids are, so sue me. Anyhow, I can't remember how we ended up making things kosher between us but it did happen and we are friends to this day

Back then though I agree, my ego often got into the way. Heck, it did for a long time and for a greater length of time than I should have allowed.  Here’s what I’ve come to realize (yes, another evolution of my consciousness you could say):  You can grow old, but that doesn’t mean one necessarily grows up.  This is a fact of life unfortunately.

But with the slow passing of years, the other realization I have come to is that forgiving is actually easy enough.  Once, when my ego was everything, the inability to say sorry or admit that I was wrong about something was tantamount to lancing me.  Now I don’t know if I have that sort of energy anymore because indeed it takes some real work to let you be that bloated in the head all the time.  I’m not saying that I don’t any more have a working ego, of course I do, but the difference is that it just no longer can sustain itself for any length of time.  Truth to be told, no matter how quick to anger I may be, I am equally swift in letting things go.  This is definitely the earmark of growing up me thinks. 

So where the issue isn’t in forgiving anymore, now it is the whole ‘forgetting’ part of that’s tricky.  I’ve heard it enough in my past too, “I can forgive, but I can’t forget”.  I don’t mean that it was aimed at me continuously but rather I’ve heard it bandied about plenty.  But is it just me or does this mind set seem sorta harsh to anyone else?  After all, what’s the point right?  You’re going to say, “It’s okay, sure you’re forgiven” after a respectable amount of time but then every few days/weeks/months/years in the midst of some heated argument, there it is, thrown on the table like the winning hand during a game of cards, face up for everyone to see.  Oh, and the person who had committed the sin?  Well that poor sucker, who had later received the pardon in the first place, is caught upside the head with the reminder and subsequently is left gasping for air, like a poor fish outta water dying a slow agonizing death (or at least it looks like it…I ain’t a fish, I couldn’t say for sure). 

Not bad, two analogies in a row.  I’m sorta impressed with myself.

Oh but this is really terrible, don’t you think?  I speak not of the analogies, I know those are bad, but rather this whole ‘forgive yet not forget’ concept.  Okay no, wait, stop and really think about it for a second.  I know you’re resisting but seriously, let go.  Here’s something you can do for me.  Go back to a situation that you regret, any situation you wish but you must have somehow lamented your actions after the fact  however not one where you were the injured party, rather doing the injuring (not physical people, the mental/psychological/emotional type) and mull that over in your noggin for a bit.   Oh btw, this won’t help anyone who thinks that the example they did chose is one where they ultimately think they had the right, again I stress, find something you’re flippin’ embarrassed about!  If you can’t find even one of these instances through the whole of your life that I’m asking you to recall then well…I dunno what the heck to say to you…maybe you need to do a bit more self-reflection, eh?

For the rest of you, now if you apologized and were granted a pardon, tell me, how much do you loath it when (or if) the other person brings up that situation over and over again?  Sucks doesn’t it?  Your heart beat quickens, you get all nervous because you know you were wrong and can’t really respond to what they say other than ‘well I said sorry!’ in a snappy, slightly annoyed tone (even though you may attempt to not sound as such).  You could possibly even live in a slight sickening state of panic every time you see that person wondering if the subject will indeed be brought up (yet again or even for the first time).  It feels like one of those swinging pendulum sabers…actually I don’t even know what they’re called but you get me, right?  Lol, okay did I just remind you guys about relationships with your women?  Heh, I admit I reminded myself of me and P.  However this isn’t just about simply couples who are in love but any relationship, specifically any mono-a-mono situations.    

Ultimately this feeling isn’t so good.  And it doesn’t suppose to feel good.  Not what you did, and not the holding all your wrongdoings over your head to infinity and beyond. 

Okay, now let’s consider a scenario where you were the one transgressed upon and tell me that at one point, with someone, you didn’t take malicious glee at throwing the transgressors deeds back in their face, even if you were big enough to ‘forgive’.   Yes, I’m sure whatever happened was hurtful but you forgave, right?  Yet, yet, yet… you’re still doing a bit of hurling here and there also, correct?

You may possibly be wondering to yourself what in the heck am I trying to say here.   Just that, shouldn’t forgiveness in all its form be…complete?  If you’re bothering to say that you’re over it that you’ve given the other person a pass, then why hold on to it?  Why not ‘forget’?  Can we as human beings really even totally forget?  Frankly the answer to that question is a simple:  no.  We can’t.  We have really irritating memories that when it comes to everyday mundane nonsense we can’t remember a darn thing, but when it comes to the big stuff, oh yea, you have it down pat, don’t you?  And this is where the problem lays.

Why did I make you think to the two scenarios above where not only were you being crapped upon but the one doing the crapping?  To show how unfair we are capable of being.  In one instance we wish to be fully forgiven while in the other, we will not do so ourselves to others.  Hmm…

Don’t get me wrong, I do not assume to tell you that you may be like this.  Heck, if you can without malice, forgive and never use those bad situations as a weapon against your friends/loved ones ever, than you are a far more evolved person than me by leaps and bounds.  I would love to talk to you to find out how you’ve reached this particular enlightenment, seriously, no kidding. 

For the rest of us, what sort of ego do we really have which causes us to never truly ‘let go’ and worse of all makes the act of forgetting neigh on impossible?  Why can’t we?  And why o why, if we can’t totally forget, can we not at least restrain ourselves from digging up the past and holding it against someone till the end of their days?

Some will say (that ‘some’ includes me) that this is just human nature.  But that doesn’t mean it’s not a nasty ‘nature’ to possess.  I’ve been working hard against this too, I will confess.  When I start to feel the urge to go flinging some verbal poo around at someone who I’ve already forgiven (whether it be mental or spoken) I honestly do pause and think to myself, ‘What if I were in her (or his) place? Would I want this to come back at me endlessly?  Is it even fair?  Why forgive at all?’ 

C’mon, by now you people should know me a little which means that the fact that I have these mental questioning tripping through my cranium would not actually be uncharacteristic.  If the answer to these particular questions above mostly makes me go ‘oh well damn’, I calm down, plaster on a genuine smile and shove the negative thoughts further and further back into my memory bank until honestly it sort of evaporates.  This, FYI, has happened and quite successfully. 

Once again though, I will proudly claim that age is a great help to me in this particular evolution of character.  The egotistical me of yor would have fought tooth and nail while the 40 year old woman that I am today just gets it (finally and phew).  Forgiveness should be total, no part of it should be held back.  As for the memories?  Well heck sure, learn from it, take what you can, even if it means to be a bit more cautious or even untrusting but if at all possible, quit dragging them (those niggling anger pangs) back and acting as if you have the right.  This is what I’ve told myself at least.  The ‘you’ in this, is in fact, me. 

Anyhow, I started this blog with my normal childhood recollection but it surely veered off in a weird direction.  I wish I had the energy to go back to the original point, although I think unwittingly I may have, I just hope that no one leaves reading this blog wondering (still) what I’ve been yammering on about.

Quick summation:  Do forgive, and forget if you can (life is too short to go to the grave being pissed off and angry).  If you can’t forget, then honestly, don’t fully forgive (otherwise it’s just false advertisement in a way).  Oh also, at least be kind and tell the other person (as almost a caveat if possible) that you are human and that you may just well drop the unhappy past in future conversations here and there but honestly, try not to.  Just do what I do, ask yourself, ‘what if I was in her/his shoes…?’ and things may become a bit easier to handle.  You can also think about it this way:  if you still bring the past up over and over again, then you haven’t forgiven in the first place, now have you?

Consider this all food for thought (err…if you could clearly make out the food I’m serving here anyway).