The Muslim Next Door

I recently read an excerpt from a book called the Muslim Next Door and believe me, I did not expect to be so sucked in as easily as I was.

The small few pages that I read had to do with how people from the West have viewed Muslims throughout the years since the terrorist attack on 9/11. And let me be the first to say I have no qualms with people of other religions and respect those that are of a religious faith. Well, more than me at least.

The author, Sumbul Ali-Karamali stresses how people of the Western world can never truly follow or understand the Qur'ran because it has to be studied in Arabic, which is its native language. That did not offend me in any way. It just made me realize that we have done wrong by translating our Bible so that everyone can read it for themselves back in the old days. It's come to the point where we have millions of translations and therefore millions of ways to interpret the Bible. Although there is no definite translation for the Bible, other than the native tongue it was written in Hebrew, thousands of people still plan to read it for their own enjoyment and of course, to try and shove their beliefs down another soul's throat.

I have lost count on how many people have tried to pick an argument with me over religion, and demanding me to explain why my beliefs are better than theirs. I had a friend in high school (while I was talking about my Catholic religion because Lent was coming up) get into a heated argument with me about how the Virgin Mary was anything but a Virgin. It's not the fact that she was offending my religion that offended me. It was the fact that she was wanting to pick a fight with me over the topic of religion.

The reason I don't like fighting over certain topics like religion is simply this: I DO NOT CARE WHAT YOU BELIEVE IN. I have my beliefs and you have yours. Simply respecting my beliefs the way that I am respecting yours should not stop us from being friends.

That was also a problem for the author of the Muslim Next Door, among other things. And I understand that some people are very religious, that it is all they think about and even sleep with a Bible next to their bed stand. I however, do not. And just because I am not a "Jesus Freak" doesn't make me a bad person. God is still close to my heart, and I give praise when I feel like it. That doesn't give anyone a right to brand me as a sinner.

But now I am getting further away from the topic that I was intending to write about. To return to the excerpt, I loved how Karamali was explaining how daft and dumb we Americans have become, further showing off our jack-assery on 60 minutes and picking and choosing certain verses from the Qur'ran to begin a feud with Islam and the West.

For those that don't know, the Qur'ran is anything but a topic of warfare. It is a topic of peace and forgiveness. But many people overlook that with the constant blaring of warfare brought on by the news as they are glued to the television in their living room. If you don't believe me read it for yourself and see. Don't just take a person's word for it, although I will admit Karamali's argument was flawless enough to convince me, or I should say, her examples of the Qur'ran convinced me.

Till We Have Faces

I have never thoroughly enjoyed a Clive Staples Lewis book, as much as I have with Till We Have Faces.

I know that C.S. Lewis is best known for his Christian and allegorical novels such as Narnia, the Space Trilogy and the Screwtape Letters, all of which hold stunning merit based on faith. But Till We Have Faces doesn't live up to a Christian reputation. In fact, the subject of religion is not expressed throughout this tale as much as faith is expressed.

The story of Cupid and Psyche is as follows: A king has to sacrifice his youngest and most beautiful daughter to a hideous monster  so Aphrodite can bless his lands (Aphrodite is envious of young Psyche and her beauty and good nature). When she does, she sends her son Cupid to make her fall in love with the first ugly monster that she sees but falls in love with Psyche instead and rescues her from sacrifice, marrying her and giving her happiness under one rule: she should never see his face. When her two sisters come to visit, they see the life that Psyche is blessed with and are instantly jealous of her. For revenge, they devise a plot to end said happiness by telling their gullible sister that she needs to know who she is really married to, convincing her that she married the monster that she was going to be sacrificed to. When Psyche goes with a candle to her husband's room and sees Cupid, she is shocked to see that she is actually married to a God and feels ashamed for breaking her husbands trust. Cupid wakes up and sees what Psyche has done and leaves her heartbroken. Determined to get Cupid back she goes to Aphrodite, asking for help and Aphrodite sets her out to four tasks, each one more incredulous than the rest. Upon the final task, Psyche finishes and Cupid reunites with her, asking the Gods to make her immortal, pleasing Aphrodite and they live happily ever after. For once, it is a happy ending to a mortal.

In the novel by C.S. Lewis, they events are similar, in which there is a Psyche, and two older sisters. The way that it is presented however, is entirely different. Told from the sister's perspective, you see the way that some people are possessive and determined to bring a person back even if it means their happiness is less important than yours. Upon realizing the demand that Psyche's sister is asking of her, Psyche still disobeys her husband and still is left destitute. Psyche's sister Oruole as she is called (Maia by Psyche) is torn apart from her sister on something that she did.

As time passes, Oruole goes on with her life, trying to forget about her sister and the injustice that she feels that the Gods put on her. It is a blindsided perspective that Oruole has been seeing all these years and stays in that denial until her final revelations that she encounters in the second book.

Her revelations are that just because someone cannot see something does not mean that it isn't there. And trying to keep someone, even though they were never yours to begin with shouldn't mean that you want to destroy their happiness either.

The other revelation that she comes to terms with was that she was just as demanding as the Gods that she has forsaken for all these years, but Psyche, being determined to her faith in her husband, persevered. It was a beautiful retelling of being strong and dedicated to faith, never questioning what you have and what you believe above all else to be true. And to not be the ones to disuade what you believe in versus what others believe in. Keep with your faith and let others practice theirs.

Correction, I have six journals

This Sunday is the last Sunday before I have to go back to school for three more weeks until I take my finals and prepare either to hibernate for winter break or get everything packed up for Mexico. I can easily say I am looking forward much more into one over the other. And for those reading they already know which one that is exactly.

Anyways, on my break, I decided to troll around my different websites: this blog, twitter, and my Facebook, just to see what I can do after I finished reading Till we Have Faces by C.S. Lewis, a great retelling of the Greek myth Psyche told in the sisters perspective. In one of my notes that I posted on my Facebook, it said I had three journals that I actively keep up to date and in order. I found six that I write in (both randomly and actively) and two that I have never raped with a pen. Three of them are filled, as in there are two to three pages left or have no more room worth writing in, and the rest I have yet to complete. I don't remember much of what I was writing in these books, but after peeking in I found some vague matters of severe depression and paranoia surrounding my so called love life, the changes and different perspectives I have overcome that I would like to reflect on it here, vaguely.


Number one: more often than not I actually started with the dark blue journal with the purple flower encased with an orange portrait. I actually began writing in that one explaining simple fairy tale fantasies of a love struck girl that was contemplating returning to an old flame or not, further transforming to an ardent and unrequited love that actually made me question love in general to a love that was in no way ideal, and haunted me throughout the rest of my journals.

Number 2: two certain males that have affected my love life are written continuously throughout all six of these journals, making me realize I spent too much time with them and what I wanted from them. I needed to move on, but up to this point in my life, nothing good came along to change my views of love or who I should love. In other words, I am still somewhat stuck, and still take in what I feel for them in an affectionate tone towards anything romantic that I write to this day.

Number 3: dramatic indeed! Nothing in the majority of these journals was happy, or nice for that matter. I was a depressed young one, and never really gave it much thought. But I do have to admit, what I experienced in high school was so dramatic, it was begging for its own reality TV show on Vh1.

Number 4: there are some potential ideas that I haven't revisited in years. All these journals began comforting me in my freshman year of high school, and have followed me throughout the years as I continue on in college, still being filled, although I am mostly focusing on the big grey one.

As I conclude, I would like to say that I would love to write out everything in chronological order that is in my journals, showcasing my writings and what I want to do once I begin a career in writing. But in the end I am always and forever just a shy and protective girl. Like I told a friend, there are some things that you should remain a secret, because that's what can make you so irresistible. Plus, some of my friends already know the majority of these works, but they don't really know the truth of my emotions that I have over these certain events. They just know the façade that I have kept up to this day. Why would I want to change my mind now, when that drama happened too long ago?

I am beautiful.... Most of the time

There are times when I look into the mirror and think to myself, "don't you look ugly today?"

I am not saying this in a depressing tone, I am saying this in an uneventful tone. I hold no objections to times when I don't feel pretty, but I am one to recognize that sometimes I put no effort into looking glamorous.

I think it has to do with the fact that I am lazy, and whenever I am on vacation I stay home and leave myself in my room away from society. I don't look forward sometimes "dressing up."

Maybe it's not a bad thing to keep myself ugly from time to time. Keeps the boys away from the yard.

Mexico

I don't know how I feel about going to Mexico this year. Actually, I was making it a habit of staying home with the sisters and staying comfortable with books and laughter as we opened christmas presents under our roof or my sister's roof. It's been almost 4 years since I went to Mexico.

What has changed? What will be different? Will the people that I befriended so long ago still be there? Will they even remember me?

I don't look that different, I'll admit because I still have the same face, the same body.

But I feel different enough that I won't fit in. If anything, I will go on the fact that I want to take in all that surrounds me. Catch dialogue, feel the ground under my feet. What does it feel like to have the street rattle beneath me.

I guess I can count this as a blessing in disguise, going back to a home land that I have not set foot in for almost 4 years.

It still doesn't change that fact that I am scared to go, with all the drug wars going on.

I'll have to watch myself if I want to stay safe.

The first day

This is the first day in a long day where it is 8 something in the morning and I am still at home, reading Sylvia Plath while I think about nothing.

I am in complete silence. The only thing you can hear is the whirring of the fridge.

I am loving it.

Unfortunately, my time is cut short. As much as I would like to call in sick to work, I have to go. I just think of it as payday will look ever so sweetly once I am done this week.

Lazyness

I think one of the things that happens to a person as they get older, is their sudden zest for wanting to get out and actually having fun.

I no longer have that drive of wanting to go out. I would rather stay indoors with my mom watching television.

It's sad and shocking to hear that I would rather stay indoors. But I also blame the whether.

That and comfy pajamas like these fuzzy ones that I received last Christmas. They are are deep sea blue with pink poorly drawn hearts. I wear them especially for the winter seasons because, well, it's winter. And I need something to keep me warm.

Plus, I have two mini papers to write, and being home I can work on it while Glee is on commercials.

Oh the simple words I am writing does not deter the fact that I am incredibly lazy.

A few slaps on the wrist

The first time that I ever got in trouble in a classroom was when I stabbed my best friend Danielle in kindergarten. From what I remember, Mrs. Bradshaw scolded me and I remember crying into her chest, knowing that I did a bad thing. The second time that I remember getting in trouble was when I wrote "bad words" on a note and my teacher from sixth grade got a hold of it. She sent it to my mother that same day (or called her, I don't remember, but I do know that she got the message) and I cried then too. There was another time when I was in high school, and my English teacher caught me passing notes. From what my friends tell me, I turned a bright shade of red that would make roses jealous. Now, in my senior year of college, I got in trouble again. But only this time I didn't cry, or turn red, or displayed any type of emotion. I honestly didn't care. Therefore I answered that I honestly didn't know. It made me realize that as you get older, nothing really matters when it comes to getting into trouble. They won't do anything to harm you. It's just a slap on the wrist. Trust me, the redness will fade.

Inception Style

Last night I had a dream within a dream. And the only reason that I knew that I was dreaming was because too many things were out of place for it to be reality.

It scared me to the point that I wanted to wake up but I couldn't do it. I struggled against my mind to allow me to open my eyes and it struck me down like the hand of God.

Eventually when I did wake up at 4 in the morning, I felt I should blog this so I could remember my dream because it was just dreamt.

I didn't, unfortunately, so now I will never know what it was that I was dreaming about, and why that scared the crap out of me.

I guess I'm better off not remembering.

After posting my last post, I decided to go and look for that previous post I said I did. And I found it. Needless to say, I am no longer bitter. But this did refresh my memory somewhat. I didn't remember the room number, forgot that I did not indeed touch her, and yes I will still admit that I cried as hard as the time my dad spanked me. 

Now that I think about it, she did suffer more than she needed to. But I still don't blame God for anything. I was actually happy that he gave her more time with us.

Current mood:crappy

I really couldnt believe that the phone call to my mom was the final notice.
MI TIA ROSALIA PEREZ
died on the 3rd of Febuary today in the morning.
it was shocking but i couldnt really feel anything when they called my mom. it wasnt until that i walked through the corridor, white walls with painted numbers.
Number 414, the number that will haunt me for while. she looked so uneasy when i went in to see her, and i knew that she suffered even to her last breathe. she was never given the mercy that she so desired. i couldnt even touch her, i thought i was gonna have my own panic attack when i got closer to her. i wont be afraid to admit it, i cried. i cried hard because i realize that i will never talk to her again, i will never see her outside watering her plants and yelling to me "Chulada!" the way she always did. i hate it that things went this way, but its God's plan and who am i to be selfish about it? i dont feel bitter, i dont feel angry, i truly do feel relieved that her suffering is over, and thats shes gone to a better place.
I miss you tia, and you know i will.

TU Chulada,

Kathy

 

 

On Writing about Illnesses

I just wrote about my aunt being diagnosed with liver complications. Sad to believe that was what killed her, and can possibly kill me if I am not careful with my diet.

It's been a long time since then. Almost 4 years.

And it still hurts to remember the last days of my aunt.

I'm pretty sure I wrote on somewhere (I think it might be myspace) where I talked about my aunt and the last day I saw her.

If anything I am sad because I still remember the last time that I saw her alive. She looked frail like she was going to die and I just shrugged it off and told her she'd be fine. Then I ran home and started watching television I think.

I don't even remember why I went over there in the first place.

Then when I saw her lying on the white hospital bed with tubes up her nose and through her mouth and I really cried. I sobbed uncontrollably like a blubbering fool because I realized she will no longer be here to ask me to come outside and just talk.

She would always invite me to go outside and talk with her, about anything.

She would also tell me stories of people that live in Chilchota, whom she expected me to know and I would nod my head assuring her that I did but I secretly didn't. Often times, when she would tell me about them I would try to block her out and not think about anything.

I miss her tremendously. I hate that she passed away. She didn't get to see me or her son or Jorgie graduate high school. She didn't see me graduate college. Hell, I miss her simply walking over and just asking me to sit outside with her, as if we are going to be just taking a siesta outside when the sun touches our skin to the point that it didn't burn anymore. Where we just sit and we don't even have to talk about anything, we are just keeping each other company.

I guess that's enough being nostalgic. I just felt like reflecting because someone asked me about illness and God, and how I come to question it.

No better example than my aunt.

X marks the Spot!

A funny lil picture I decided to take when I went to buy my brother In N Out.

It was either this or dive into his animal style fries.

I feel as though I made the right decision. ;)

why must things be so tempting to buy?

I went on a splurge to say the least today. Bought me an eyeliner, a shirt that says I like big books and I cannot lie, and a very beautiful smelling perfume from Forever 21.

Not to mention that I spent 20 dollars on me and my brother to eat some fast food. Give or take a total of 50 dollars is out of my wallet.

What is wrong with me?!?!

It's not that I don't have the money to spend (I just got paid this Friday) but I feel as though I have done nothing to deserve this sudden binge. If you get to buy stuff its because you should be rewarding yourself. But instead I just bought it because I had the money, I went to the mall, and I spent.

I can't get enough of that Forever 21 smell. Smells innocent and intoxicating all at the same time. I keep smelling my wrists where I sprayed some on.

I lost my train of thought.

Be right back, I'm going to smell my wrists for another hour while watching The Walking Dead.

My carelessness is bound to get me in trouble

So I decided to doodle on my left hand, just to see what it would look like if I did get a tattoo. I love it!



Not really what I would think about getting but there would be letters on my wrist. I think that would add some class to it versus a picture of something. I would probably get a favorite quote or something. Probably will have to look at some poetry from Sylvia Plath or look through my favorite books.



I would definitely want something branching into something else if I got a tattoo here. Like a feather (poorly drawn by yours truly) branching out to birds or something transforming into something else.

I will probably have my brother draw something on my ankle and take a picture of that to see how it would look. If not I'll just write love in different languages around my ankle. ;)

Tattooooooossssssssss

I have gotten the sudden craving for getting a tattoo.

I keep looking at pictures of girls and guys with their tattoos and I am just like, "I want one too."

But the thing with me (other than the fact that my parents will kill me if I get one while I am still living with them in their house) is where I would want one.

I keep telling myself that I would want it in four or five different areas:
Back shoulders, ankle, wrist, foot, or the side of my wrist.

Any of those areas I think that's the most prettiest place (for a girl).

But then I think of the future job that I am bound to get (possibly in the government or something weird like that or teaching at a Sunday school... no not a Sunday school, just public high school) and I tell myself, "It can't be so obvious that they will take a look at you and say no you can't work here because you are one of them.

One of who you may ask? Oh you know, the hooligans that are slowly growing up that will soon take over this country.

Hooligans that have done crazy stuff in their past lives, assemble!

Book Reviews?

I was recently looking through some blogs on blogger again, and I recently found one that was entitled fingers and prose. It was a blog dedicated to book reviews.

And then I was on my Tumblr and found out my favorite YouTuber sxePhil is no longer going to do a movie club.

I tried doing the whole video book reviews. I even uploaded a video about a book review on the Firebrand by Marion Zimmer Bradley, a great book to read if you like ancient mythology, and something that I myself am passionate about.

I kind of want to stretch out and do this. A combination of movie and novel and distinguish between them. I would like to also see how many films have been remade by the petty idealism of Hollywood and trying to grab the tween's attention. Hell, they are coming out with Breaking Dawn aren't they?

Enough said.

Waiting

This is the second week the good dr. Has kept me waiting. I'm as patient as the next patient gal but this is just ridiculous.

Maybe an email would have been a smarter choice.

Looks like I'll be coming again tomorrow. ;(

I recently noticed that on Yahoo! news that Justin Bieber has been accused of fathering a child.

For one, that woman is crazy and should face charges of allegations and slander.

For two, as I scrolled down the comments section, I kept seeing the same thing: how can he father anything? Isn't he a girl?

Now, I as much as the next person do not like Justin Bieber. I don't like his music, but I don't know him enough as a person to say that I don't like him personally. Which is the same thing that I can say for the other people calling him gay and fag and what not. He, like the rest of us 7 billion (wow that is a lot of people) are just living out their lives. He just has to deal with more drama than others. In the matter of this 19 year old saying that they got busy in a public restroom at the Staples Center is just pathetic, and she, like the rest of the poor idiots out there are just looking for a quick 15 seconds of fame.

Justin, just take the paternity test and move on, showing that even though I don't like your music you are still gonna be passionate about it. Don't fall into the hype.

I can't believe that I just defended the tween heartthrob. But I would rather defend him than stupid fame whores.

Demands

Today, I was demanded by my professors to type up paragraph after paragraph about three pages that I had to read. You know, there is just so much that a person can actually b.s. throughout the quarter. I just feel about tuckered out.

Not to mention the fact that I am cramping up from stapling too much. Oh the demands are great but the fact that I am blessed with a job, as Max Weber would claim is being a good Protestant, I have to pull it off.

Working keeps me happy, because there is money going into my wallet and bank accounts. I could especially use the money now because I have just spent 25 dollars for my brother. But then again, I got a really cool necklace out of it.

Sic Parvis Magna: Greatness comes from Small Beginnings. For the Uncharted lovers out there, you know what I am talking about.