I do not know who he is. I have not heard her song and don’t plan to, either. But this post alone can tell you more about Islam than most of the bigotry being said about it. This post is just a start. In due time, I plan to start a thread of posts about religious intolerance in social media.
Yousaf Sayel deserves a Nobel Peace Prize for his post.
Enough with religious intolerance, yeah?
Listen to: Bosques De Mi Mente – Soledad
For Part 3 (previous part), click here.
During the exam, my mind kept sailing away. Before I knew it I passed out. I was awaken by the examiner a few minutes after 11 a.m., time which meant the exam was over. I looked down at my paper and saw it was only filled with saliva. I begged for extra time; the examiner was unmoved by my situation and seemed to be itching for a smoke. Though, he told me not to write my name on it, “since it’s better to be considered as absent than to have failed.”
Caught in the haze of my exam, I almost forgot about my bag at the reception office. Lynn, my friend, caught up with me and gave it to me. “Tell me,” she eagerly said, “are you still fighting?”
She was the only person I trusted well enough to tell her about my hopeless teenage love life. I looked at her and burst into tears. Finally, I could share my pain with someone. I cried so loud that the kids in the yard around us stepped away, giving me privacy. I cried and cried. Lynn was silent. She was angry, I could tell by how hard she grasped my hand. But silent, she remained.
She was 20 at the time. Lynn had a story of her own; her father stopped her from continuing school at the age of 10 till she memorized the entire Quran. People like him ran our governments and cashed in our cheques. She stayed home for 4 years, unable to live through the beatings of an abusive father without crying herself asleep every night. Her mother was helpless, but she tried to protect her, Lynn would tell me; she took more punches from him than any mother could bear. He died of a stroke late one night, and when Lynn cried, it was of joy not grief.
I didn’t know what I was thinking. All I knew was this; my lover was dying, I am failing, and my life was falling apart. “I told mom I’m telling her everything,” I cried out. “I don’t know what to tell her!” “Are you crazy?” she shook me by the shoulders, “she’d kill you!”
“I don’t know, I don’t know, he was in a car crash last night and I haven’t heard from his friend since. Lynn, I’m losing it,” I said while gasping for air. Lynn’s face expression instantly softened and the clutch of her hands embraced me into a warm hug. “Everything will be alright,” she said. “We can get through this together.”
“Do you have his friend’s number?”
“Where is your phone?”
“In the bag.”
She reached for it and grabbed my phone.
“You have two new messages,” it wrote.
She held my hand tightly and read out loud, “It’s Ali. He’s out of surgery and needs a few hours to wake up. I’ll give you a call once he’s up.”
“I almost forgot,” he wrote in his other message, “Abe wanted me to say that he loved you. Good luck on those tests.” I couldn’t stop smiling, but my tears wouldn’t stop either. I could almost feel a heavy weight being lifted off my shoulders.
Lynn looked at me in confusion, “Why are you still crying?”
“I’m happy,” I told her, “those are tears of joy.” “No,” she said as she wiped them away, “no tears after today. Understood?” I nodded and began laughing hysterically. “He’s alive,” I celebrated. “He’s okay, right? I love him Lynn, I love him so much.” “I know,” she nodded. “I know.”
She let out a loud sigh, one reeking of depression. “What are you going to tell your mother?” My smile faded as I realized what a horrible situation I put myself in. “I don’t know, should I tell her about Ibrahim?” “No, no,” she gasped. “She’ll kill you, I swear.” I panicked. “I’m such an idiot,” I repeated to myself. “You are,” she nodded, “but I have a plan.”
“What is it?”
“You need to trust me on this.”
“I trust you,” I nodded.
“Okay. This what we’re going to do.”
I didn’t know if my mother was going to fall for it, but I had no other choice but to follow Lynn’s plan.
Modern Romance will be an attempt for me to start a strain of thought long enough to contain all parts of a novel. It is not a novel, but an attempt at writing long short stories cut into different posts. This is part 4; chapter 3: Lynn has a Plan.
This is not a love letter or a letter filled with regrets. This is nothing, just like you told me we were, nothing. This is a random stranger walking down a rainy street with no umbrella. This is a crazy gypsy dancing in front of a bonfire. This is a eulogy for love, because you killed it and I am yet to bury it. It has laid motionless at my doorstep for years and years, and I masked its stingy odour with the perfume you gave me till the last spray…(click on the link for more)
Being a linguistics student and a wordsmith, I tend to give most of my attention to lexicon; how people talk, the words they choose, their tone, their auxiliary verbs, their dialects, their adjectives, their lack of adjectives and so forth. It fascinates me and opens up my eyes to a better understanding of this world.