This is an excerpt from “Misery,” one of my favorite Chekhov works. Read this sad little story if you get a chance.
The misery which has been for a brief space eased comes back again and tears his heart more cruelly than ever. With a look of anxiety and suffering Iona’s eyes stray restlessly among the crowds moving to and fro on both sides of the street: can he not find among those thousands someone who will listen to him? But the crowds flit by heedless of him and his misery . . . His misery is immense, beyond all bounds. If Iona’s heart were to burst and his misery to flow out, it would flood the whole world, it seems, but yet it is not seen. It has found a hiding-place in such an insignificant shell that one would not have found it with a candle by daylight . . .
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Ew Gross
So the other day I was in the Barnes and Noble bathroom, and this woman comes out of the stall with a book from the store in her hand. Hoping that she was just using it as some leisurely bathroom reading before purchasing it, I followed her out into the store. She left the book on a table and walked off! I couldn't believe she did this, and I went back to see if they have some sort of sign up, banning the admittance of unpurchased merchandise in the bathroom. sure enough, they did. Confused, and feeling like I was in an episode of Seinfield, I called my little sister (who used to work at Borders) to ask her what I should do. She told me to stop wasting her time. Even though I'm usually too cheap to buy my books from Barnes and Noble, I was appalled at the thought that this woman had contaminated a book that I might have bought.
As I stood there, dumbfounded and trying to figure out what to do, the woman traipsed out of the store, totally carefree, as though she had not just broken a serious book store law. I witnessed her repulsive act and did nothing. I almost felt like an accessory to her crime. What should I have done? What would you have done in the situation?
As I stood there, dumbfounded and trying to figure out what to do, the woman traipsed out of the store, totally carefree, as though she had not just broken a serious book store law. I witnessed her repulsive act and did nothing. I almost felt like an accessory to her crime. What should I have done? What would you have done in the situation?
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Quarter Life Crisis
“Rabiya, you are painfully bad.” This one sentence out of my mother’s mouth, coupled with the expression on her face was enough to (for once) quiet me and put me completely to shame.
Every time she brings up the prospect of marriage or a potential ‘candidate’ that some wonderful friend of hers has mentioned, I throw temper tantrums, offer my three younger sisters in my place, and remind her that pursuing my education should be like a Get Out of Jail Free when it comes to the notion of marriage (for the next five years at least). My mother not only puts up with my insolent-child like antics, she often even jokes with me. She jokingly warns me that if I wait too long, the only options I will have left are men who are ugly or will make me keep my mouth shut. The only time see her puts real pressure on me is when overbearing family or friends impose on her their own screwed up notions of what they think her priorities should be for her daughters.
Today, she made me sit down with her to watch an episode of Shaadi Online, a TV show on Geo. I found it amusing, and of course I had to let my mother know this with every other comment that flew out of my mouth. One man, in detailing out what his requirements are for his perfect match, said he wants a seedi (simple) girl. I of course blurted out something like why is this guy looking for a simpleton wife online, when the true half-wits probably cannot even turn on their computers. My mother shot me an annoyed look, but she had a half smile on her face, which was the encouragement I needed to keep going. She had to spend half an hour listening to my obnoxious comments, at the end of which, she turned off the TV, and I learned her actual motive in making me watch the show with her. She started telling me about this guy that lives in Chicago, related to one of her friends from the Masjid. At the end of it, she said something like, ‘they want to know our demands.’ I replied with, “Our demands? We all have to be on the very same page? And do we get to make a list of demands, kind of like a birthday wish list or something?” My mother ignored my lame comment and kept going, “He needs to be well educated, from a good family, and (I think the last one was) well established (not really sure what that means).” I replied with, “Well, what if I want someone that’s uneducated, from a bad family, and anti-established?” She gave me a disappointed look, an exasperated sigh, and told me I was painfully bad.
A few weeks ago, I lost my nanni, a woman very close to me. It was devastating, and I sometimes think of one of the last things she said to me. She asked me if I wanted the chooriya (bangles). My grandmother had these four gold bangles that I absolutely love, and would often offer them to me if I agreed to get married. This little bribe became a family joke, and my mother and others would often tell me that nanni wants to know if I want those bangles yet. When she said this to me, lying in her hospital bed days from passing, the many family members in the room at the time laughed at this and I think someone said something like ‘you know what that means’. I laughed as well, told her I could not accept them until I met her conditions, gave her a hug, and then left the room to cry.
Despite the fact that I know my nanni was proud of me and that my mother is as well, I cannot help but thinking I have left them down. At my age, my mother had finished her Bachelor’s and was married and taking care of an entire family. I can barely take care of myself. And what do I have to show for my twenty-five years? I have postponed being a contributing member of this society for another year to do who knows what. Sigh.
Every time she brings up the prospect of marriage or a potential ‘candidate’ that some wonderful friend of hers has mentioned, I throw temper tantrums, offer my three younger sisters in my place, and remind her that pursuing my education should be like a Get Out of Jail Free when it comes to the notion of marriage (for the next five years at least). My mother not only puts up with my insolent-child like antics, she often even jokes with me. She jokingly warns me that if I wait too long, the only options I will have left are men who are ugly or will make me keep my mouth shut. The only time see her puts real pressure on me is when overbearing family or friends impose on her their own screwed up notions of what they think her priorities should be for her daughters.
Today, she made me sit down with her to watch an episode of Shaadi Online, a TV show on Geo. I found it amusing, and of course I had to let my mother know this with every other comment that flew out of my mouth. One man, in detailing out what his requirements are for his perfect match, said he wants a seedi (simple) girl. I of course blurted out something like why is this guy looking for a simpleton wife online, when the true half-wits probably cannot even turn on their computers. My mother shot me an annoyed look, but she had a half smile on her face, which was the encouragement I needed to keep going. She had to spend half an hour listening to my obnoxious comments, at the end of which, she turned off the TV, and I learned her actual motive in making me watch the show with her. She started telling me about this guy that lives in Chicago, related to one of her friends from the Masjid. At the end of it, she said something like, ‘they want to know our demands.’ I replied with, “Our demands? We all have to be on the very same page? And do we get to make a list of demands, kind of like a birthday wish list or something?” My mother ignored my lame comment and kept going, “He needs to be well educated, from a good family, and (I think the last one was) well established (not really sure what that means).” I replied with, “Well, what if I want someone that’s uneducated, from a bad family, and anti-established?” She gave me a disappointed look, an exasperated sigh, and told me I was painfully bad.
A few weeks ago, I lost my nanni, a woman very close to me. It was devastating, and I sometimes think of one of the last things she said to me. She asked me if I wanted the chooriya (bangles). My grandmother had these four gold bangles that I absolutely love, and would often offer them to me if I agreed to get married. This little bribe became a family joke, and my mother and others would often tell me that nanni wants to know if I want those bangles yet. When she said this to me, lying in her hospital bed days from passing, the many family members in the room at the time laughed at this and I think someone said something like ‘you know what that means’. I laughed as well, told her I could not accept them until I met her conditions, gave her a hug, and then left the room to cry.
Despite the fact that I know my nanni was proud of me and that my mother is as well, I cannot help but thinking I have left them down. At my age, my mother had finished her Bachelor’s and was married and taking care of an entire family. I can barely take care of myself. And what do I have to show for my twenty-five years? I have postponed being a contributing member of this society for another year to do who knows what. Sigh.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
Mitsubishi Mistake
Little Miss Sunshine is one of my favorite movies. It's partly because I love that quirky humor and relate to the loud, dysfunctional family antics. But it's also because every time there was a scene involving their van, it reminded me so much of my own car growing up. I refer to the car as the Mitsubishi Mistake. It was a bright white cargo van turned passenger mini-van that my parents claim they picked out because my sisters and I loved it. Why my parents made a decision to purchase a vehicle based on the opinions of four children ages 8 and younger, I do not know.
As a young child, I loved the thing. It could hold 10-15 people, and often did, on the way to school or the masjid. I am wondering what this must have looked like to all the blond-haired, blue-eyed parents and their kids: seeing 14 brown children (the entire minority population of my elementary school) file out of our studly van every morning. And no, most of us did not wear seat belts.
In middle school, I despised it. During a period in my life where fitting in and conformity were the way to go, the Mistake was the most mortifying thing ever. When we finally purchased another car, it was a Mazda. I remember thinking, 'even though it's a lot harder to spot that thing, I'm so glad my ride looks like every other car.' Before the Mazda, I was always able to spot my car in seconds flat.
As I grew older and being unique was way cooler than conformity, all of a sudden, I liked it again. My friends would say things like, "I love your van. It's so retro or something." Some of them were def being polite, but many were being sincere.
When I got to college, the Mistake started suffering from old age. It would go from 0 to 60 seconds in about 3 hours. All the crazy car scenes in the movie that I relate to came from this phase of the Mistake's life. The scene with the horn blaring non-stop as the family drove down the highway: happened to our fam as well. With the number of times that thing died on us, my sisters and I learned how to jump start a car, change a flat (not really the Mistake's fault, we just drove over a nail), and figured out the decent service, transmission, and body shops in our town.
The Mistake died toward the end of my college days, and now we drive more generic, safer cars like Civic's and Camry's. I'm not actually sure what happened to it. Someone said my dad used it for a trade-in when we purchased one of our cars. I'm not sure if I can believe that. As much as I loved that thing, I doubt anyone would offer money for it (esp in its geriatric phase). Another more sensational rumor floating around our family is that one day it spontaneously burst into flames. I don't buy that either. I believe a third rumor: my mom gave it to one of her employees who sold it for parts. The Mistake was an organ donor!
I've been working on a scrapbook over the break for my youngest sib. She just started her 2nd semester of college, and I wanted her to have something to keep her from getting too homesick. I have one page dedicated to our car, and sadly, I could not find a single pic of it.
As a young child, I loved the thing. It could hold 10-15 people, and often did, on the way to school or the masjid. I am wondering what this must have looked like to all the blond-haired, blue-eyed parents and their kids: seeing 14 brown children (the entire minority population of my elementary school) file out of our studly van every morning. And no, most of us did not wear seat belts.
In middle school, I despised it. During a period in my life where fitting in and conformity were the way to go, the Mistake was the most mortifying thing ever. When we finally purchased another car, it was a Mazda. I remember thinking, 'even though it's a lot harder to spot that thing, I'm so glad my ride looks like every other car.' Before the Mazda, I was always able to spot my car in seconds flat.
As I grew older and being unique was way cooler than conformity, all of a sudden, I liked it again. My friends would say things like, "I love your van. It's so retro or something." Some of them were def being polite, but many were being sincere.
When I got to college, the Mistake started suffering from old age. It would go from 0 to 60 seconds in about 3 hours. All the crazy car scenes in the movie that I relate to came from this phase of the Mistake's life. The scene with the horn blaring non-stop as the family drove down the highway: happened to our fam as well. With the number of times that thing died on us, my sisters and I learned how to jump start a car, change a flat (not really the Mistake's fault, we just drove over a nail), and figured out the decent service, transmission, and body shops in our town.
The Mistake died toward the end of my college days, and now we drive more generic, safer cars like Civic's and Camry's. I'm not actually sure what happened to it. Someone said my dad used it for a trade-in when we purchased one of our cars. I'm not sure if I can believe that. As much as I loved that thing, I doubt anyone would offer money for it (esp in its geriatric phase). Another more sensational rumor floating around our family is that one day it spontaneously burst into flames. I don't buy that either. I believe a third rumor: my mom gave it to one of her employees who sold it for parts. The Mistake was an organ donor!
I've been working on a scrapbook over the break for my youngest sib. She just started her 2nd semester of college, and I wanted her to have something to keep her from getting too homesick. I have one page dedicated to our car, and sadly, I could not find a single pic of it.
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