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anisanotanita · 7 years

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a thousand thoughts #3

Wednesday 7th June 2017, home.

I wished everyone a happy Ramadan a little too late on Facebook. I was busy with work in the lead up to the month, and was also adjusting to a Ramadan in a new home, without the warmth and laughter of my family- my fathers quiet disdain at the dinner table at four girls talking over one another with food still in their mouths, or the one glass of water that we passed around because we were too lazy to get our own glass- plus it meant less dishes to wash. It’s these silly things like that I miss the most.

This is the first Ramadan with my husband, our first Ramadan together as a couple. I had really been looking forward to breaking our fast together, praying together, doing Ramadan-y things together- the inner happiness and peace that Ramadan brings is real and it makes me warm and fuzzy inside and I guess a little bit corny- I never want to be ungrateful for any of this.

We’ve been testing out pre-cooked meals as a cheaper and more efficient way to eat, especially during Ramadan. It goes under the category of grown up things new couples do to try to get their life together. The youtube videos by “Fit Couple Cooks” are actually great for other couples who aspiring to be Fit Couples who Cook. The idea is that you do all your cooking at once for the week ahead, pop them in containers and refrigerate them. The picture you paint in your head is this: you come home after a long day to food that’s already prepared and simply needs to be warmed up. You then have a hearty conversation over the dinner table with your other half, and with your plastic container scraped out and finished, you sit your elbows on the table, clasp your hands under your chin and smile lovingly into each others eyes at how wonderful and organised marriage and life and everything in between is.

I can say that this has happened and I can also say that we made a container too much of the minced beef for the lasagne. We thought that if we forgot about it for long enough it would eventually disappear. It didn’t. There’s a jar of double cream that I was supposed to use for scones, but I’ve had no time to make the scones and now I don’t want to open the cream to avoid the feeling of guilt when I realise that it has also gone off. There’s frozen fish that I bought an embarrassingly very long time ago that I haven’t touched because I don’t know how to cook it, 1.5kg of frozen chicken wings (why did I buy that again?) and 2 other containers of food that my mum sympathetically packed for us when we slept over the other day because all that my mum remembers of me was of how often I was never in the kitchen cooking. So this utopia of pre-cooked meals has been put on pause, while we figure what to do with our fridge.

Such a pathetic problem to have.

It was only after our little trifle into organised meals that I finally had a chance to catch up with what the rest of the world was doing (yes pre-cooking meals took up a lot of my mental capacity, it was as if I was learning a new language. Yeah it is laughable, but cooking is just blurgh to me. Bluuuurrrrgh).

I go on Facebook to:

(Insert generic Ramadan Mubarak post here) (Make sure that people know I’m still alive) (Project to the world that I’m not one of those women who suddenly become so busy when they become somebody’s wife that they’ve got no time for friends or for nuanced social commentary of the world)

I scroll through everyone else’s “Ramadan Mubarak!” posts and quickly end up watching a few videos. The videos play automatically as you scroll down your feed. I scroll and a bomb explosion goes off in a video. I scroll and a group of women are walking through drought-stricken Somalia. I scroll and a young Iraqi man is being dragged away from the graveyards, pleading with his brothers to leave him alone with his dead wife. I scroll and the King of Saudi Arabia put his arms around Donald Trumps shoulders and adorns him with a gold necklace.

It was like my fingers sliding down on my keypad had unleashed a wave of destruction and evil.

Then I enter on a few Muslims having a group discussions about the latest controversy in the Muslim community. I sit quietly, nobody sees me, but I take it all in. I open my mouth, but decide not to speak.

If Ramadan was a spirit then it’s been drained out of my body and rinsed in the sink. A week off social media and I feel like I’ve just been born into the world. I’m looking around and stumbling, I feel confused and alone.

I shut my laptop, and push my chair back from the desk. I sit on my chair, now at a distance from my desk, with a slim metal square lying calmly on top of it. There in my laptop lies the contents of all my deepest fears and grief.

I need to do some work for a new magazine I’m helping out with. A magazine to elevate younger Muslim voices. And it’s working, it’s gaining traction with a lot of people. I see a 12 year old boy reading the magazine after taraweh. He liked it. The kids are alright. Actually, they’re more than alright- and that gives me hope.

So I pause for a moment with my finger on the edge of it, and slowly open it again.

(Open new tab)

No.

(Close tab with Facebook) (Open new tab with google drive)

Excel sheets may just look like boxes with text in them but there is a definite satisfaction of seeing everything so neat and organised. Everything has its place. And if something is in the wrong box, you simply Control X and control C into the right box. Highlight to highlight something. Control B for importance. And if something doesn’t belong anywhere, you can press DELETE and you never have to worry about it again.

I imagine myself going to the balcony to make an announcement to the people passing by on the street.

“Greetings everyone!”

The street is packed with every kind of person and everyone looks up, the dog on a leash looks up, even the baby in the pram looks up. With his dummy suspended from his mouth, even he knows that an important announcement is going to be made.

The whole world comes to a standstill.

“My people! I have come to bear good news! I have just completed my google document!!! THE WORLD IS IN ORDER AGAIN!!!!!!!!!”

The crowd goes wild with excitment, the men throw their top hats in the air. Colourful streamers rain down from the sky. The baby is giggling and waving its hands up and down . Everyone is celebrating and crying with pure joy, strangers hug each other, and everyone is looking back up at my balcony- cheering me on, whistling, pumping theirs fists into the air, clapping.

I go back inside with a grin on my face, waving as I close my balcony door. Brb just gonna continue saving the world from my desk.

The sound from the outside world is sealed shut and everything is silent.

Just me and my own thoughts again.

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anisanotanita · 8 years

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a thousand thoughts #2

Saturday 6th August, library, Brunswick

The first thing you notice when you enter is the painting that covers the entire back wall. It’s an image of people dancing, holding hands. Colours play together and the brush strokes are heavy and obvious so that you follow the movement of the image. There’s a metallic gold trail of stars that surrounds them, follows them, celebrates with them. Some sort of happiness and magic in the air, painted dry and stuck in eternal momentum.

This is a backdrop of a stage. Meaning, only happy endings take place here. I take in a panorama view of the library. There are seats on the second level that line the rest of the walls. This library used to be a theatre.

I remember my own school plays. I’ve been the rainbow fish in the Octopus’s Garden. The violinist with my 1-a-penny hot cross buns. The doggie in the window. I remember rehearsals in the hallway, memorising my one line given to me by the dance coach. That moment before you’re blinded by the lights, trying to find your parents in the audience, hoping that you don’t stuff up.

The spectacle of performance.

There’s pressure to behave in a certain way in front of people. Plays are just that. Re-enactments of people and events and stories, where each line needs to be said word-for-word, each movement done perfectly, so the audience can discuss how good the show was on the drive back home. The best feeling is the applause at the end. For a second you forget that you’re on a stage dressed as a rainbow fish. The acknowledgement, the clapping- it just feels so good. It’s almost addictive.

Of course, no story is complete without the baddies. What’s a show without drama? But the good always, always overcomes the bad in the end. See that backdrop again? remember only happy endings can happen on this stage. Still, the evil needs to look... you know- evil. Are you the witch who poisons the princess? Let’s paint your face green and make sure you practice your cackle. Are you the animal in the woods? Let’s make you a snake with fangs, or even black leopard with yellow eyes who preys on cubs and babies.

I flip through the stacks of magazines next to me. I like the magazines that help you in some way- they can teach you how to decorate your room, how to be successful, how to live. I could think about those things myself, but who has time for that? I’ll leave it to the experts. And I’m not a fool, I can tell when it’s an advert or sponsored material thanks. No one’s going to sell me anything today. At least I don’t think.

“VOGUE Living”

“Take a look inside the most beautiful homes in Australia”

Wow, this magazine is filled with white people and their big homes

Oh wow, there’s marble everywhere!

Oh wow, is that Colette Dinnigan? How does she keep that white dress so white?

Oh damn, that’s a big chandelier.

I wonder what it’s like to be Colette Dinnigan? Just for one day.

There’s a woman a little older than me on the other table in front. She’s wearing two jumpers, a scarf and fingerless gloves. She looks like she came out of a crochet handbook. I know it’s cold but I feel warm just looking at her. She’s hunched over her laptop, clearly doing some important work unlike myself. You know you’re really concentrating when your eyes are glued to the screen and your body doesn’t move an inch except for your fingers desperately typing away.

Next magazine,

“HER”

“Meet 5 amazing women who globe-trotted the world”

“GAAHHHH!!!!!”

The woman opposite me jumps out of her seat. Literally. Like in those cartoons.

She’s suspended mid-way in the air, leaning back as much as she can without falling off the chair, her hands gripped tightly around the armrests. Even her hair stands up.

Her mouth is agape, she’s panting heavily, eyes frantically looking around her desk.

It’s a small black spider.

She breathes in an out heavily and slowly to calm herself down. She sees the spider on one of her notebooks and flips it. The spider lands on the floor.

She takes a sheet from her notebook and tries to lift the spider onto it. It scurries off and she jumps again.

Everyone is watching now.

She frantically takes a step back and looks around. Everyone looks back at her.

Before the spider was face to face with her. Now she’s standing over it.

Surprisingly, a calmness on her face overtakes her. She stops panting, and clenches her fists. She finds confidence in the approving stares of others.

She’s completely silent, she looks down, her full attention on this little black spider.

In one quick swoop she stomps her foot over it.

I jilt from my seat a bit. “Bismillah” I say to myself, as if I was the one killing it.

She goes back to her desk and continues to study.

It’s left there on the floor. She probably has some of it on the bottom of her shoe too.

Everyone goes back to what they were doing. I keep looking at the ground.

The spider is crumpled up. It’s so small but I think one of its legs still waving in defiance. The way its body is mangled. It reminds me of a car crash.

Do spiders feel pain?

But it’s not the same pain as we feel right?

Oh no I’m glad she killed it, I was kind of scared myself.

What if it was a puppy, can you push it to the ground and stomp on it?

Puppies are cute why would you do that to a puppy, you sick freak!

So if somethings cute then you definitely can’t kill it?

NO! Are you sick in the head?

But what if it was a bird, can you stomp on a bird and break its neck?

Birds aren’t scary though

But spiders are? Why?

Because they just are

So if it scares you, you can kill it?

…ummm, well, yes. YES. DEFINITELY.

Couldn’t you just leave it alone?

What if it bites me? What if it crawls into my bag? Why would I take the risk? Spiders are supposed to be killed. It’s just the way things are. It’s not like you’d react any differently.

“HOME AND LIVING”

“4 easy steps to get rid of pests in the garden”

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anisanotanita · 8 years

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a thousand thoughts #1

Thursday 11th August 2016, Library, Melbourne CBD

Today is a black abaya with pashmina kind of day. I look in the mirror. I’ll be the only women in hijab on the platform to the city. I’ll most likely be the only one on the way back home. I finish late tonight. Is it even safe for me to travel at night looking like this? I look really “Muslim” today. Compared to the jeans and puffer jackets around me- I look made up. But I like the gold zippers on the sleeves. I like that the pashmina is soft against my cheeks. It’ll keep me warm. I think I look nice.

Its been 30 minutes since the library opened. Which means 30 minutes off schedule, 30 minutes lost, mulling at the back of my head. It’s okay, I had a productive train ride into the city, marking my book with lines and scribbles.

I’ll sit here on this group table so I’ll have a spot to meet with my radio babes at 5pm. That’s 7 hours away but I like to plan ahead- 7 hours in advance. It’s pretty silly I know. But I feel good when I’m organised. I like feeling like I’ve got it together.

Wow, I’m getting through this book so quickly. But why didn’t I learn how to touch-type when I was younger? I would be so efficient. I wish I knew how to touch-type.

“Women, Islam and the Abbasid Empire”

“Gender related and sexual imaginings play an important function in self-construction projects, and this is especially true in Islamic history.”

I’ll need this for my thesis.

I have to say I feel good about myself.

I’m writing a thesis about Muslim women.

I’m a Muslim woman.

I’m in university, I could stay as long as I like.

This library is beautiful, and I’m surrounded by books.

Every book is a portal into another world.

In some ways, in many ways, I feel… I feel like the world is at my feet.

I look around and wonder what everyone else is doing here. What dreams they‘re working on.

I smile to myself.

There’s an opera singer in the gallery upstairs. Distracting, but in a nice way. How does she reach those really high notes? I wonder what her outfit is like. I can hear the applause. I’m tempted to leave my work and see her perform. No, that would be a waste of time. You don’t even know what opera is. You’ll stand there smiling like an idiot when you have no idea what’s going on. Just leave it.

“Hey can I sit here?”

Here’s already sat down.

“Sure.”

“How are you?”

Why is he grinning at me?

“…good thanks.”

“You from KL?”

He’s leaning forward.

I lean back.

“…no I’m from here”

He looks Malaysian. I think he’s Muslim. Is he Muslim?

Clearly he knows I’m Muslim.

“Cool. Am I disturbing you?”

“Ahhh, yeah I’m just in the middle of something”

“Ok, cool…”

Why is he still grinning?

“Well I just wanted to tell you…I think you’re cute.”

Heat rushes through my back. My face feels like its burning.

He probably thinks I’m blushing.

Great.

“Ohhh…..”

For a split second everything pauses. Everything is on mute, the sound of being submerged under water. Different scenes play out in my head like a show reel on fast-forward.

“That was really inappropriate”

“Piss off!”

“No. I’ll slap him across the face”

“No. I’ll drop my pile of books on him”

I emerge. Press play and everything starts moving again. The mute button has been turned off. He’s still smiling at me.

I don’t do any of those things.

I slowly turn away to look at my laptop. My eyes are cast down. My face is grim.

I don’t know what to do.

I’ll just ignore him and hope that he leaves.

I feel disgusting. I feel disgusted. I feel shame. Embarrassment. Anger.

There’s a pit in my stomach. Something is pressing down on it.

“Well, have a good day!”

He’s still grinning. He leaves as abruptly as he came.

What the ****.

My head is drooped down. My back curls inwards. My face close to the keys of my laptop. I feel small.

My eyes peer up and scan the room to see if anyone saw what just happened. The girl opposite me is on the phone with her mum. I hope she didn’t hear it.

Did I do something wrong?

Why?

I want to walk out of the library. I want to leave.

But what if he’s still lurking around?

What if he finds me?

I’m paralysed.

I can’t think.

Or move.

I hate myself.

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