Islam in America...who thinks what?

I don't normally find myself talking about 'real world' issues in this blog at all. There is more dreamy, abstract, poetry/prosy stuff or words that I just need to siphon from my mind to make room for more. However, there was an article showing up all over my twitter feed and email so I went ahead and read it. And got just a little upset. And angry. And confused.

To quote the article, "A Washington Post/ABC News poll taken in October 2001 found that 39 percent of Americans held unfavorable opinions of Islam. After dipping for a few years, the number rose to 46 percent in 2006 and reached 49 percent—basically half the population—in 2010, the last year the question was asked. (Other recent polls show similar results.)"

 And from another part of it:
“A mistrust of American Muslims by other Americans seems misplaced,” it concluded. This year, an analysis by the Triangle Center on Terrorism and Homeland Security also described the number of American Muslims involved in domestic terrorism since 2001 as “tiny.” “This study’s findings challenge Americans to be vigilant against the threat of homegrown terrorism while maintaining a responsible sense of proportion,” it said. And a 2011 Gallup survey found that American Muslims were the least likely of any major US religious group to consider attacks on civilians justified."

Yet, apparently, sizing up every man with a beard and a topi, and every woman with hijab as a potential terrorist or 'terrorist sympathizer' is quite common. To the extent that people consider Islam synonymous with violence and extremism; they consider Islam an abnormality, despite so many Muslims leading perfectly normal lives around them. Of course, the article does say that, according to a study, 62% of Americans have never met a Muslim, and this increases their hostility with Muslims in general; people who personally knew Muslims were less likely to think of them as part of a wholly 'evil' entity.

The article also talks about how, when a TV show called All-American Muslim was aired that showed 'normal' Muslim families living in the West, it was boycotted by some influential people with the notion:
“The show profiles only Muslims that appear to be ordinary folks while excluding many Islamic believers whose agenda poses a clear and present danger to liberties and traditional values that the majority of Americans cherish.”

Yes, that makes perfect sense. Because you should definitely JUDGE an entire community of people by the few troublemakers, not the 'ordinary folks', because Muslims clearly cannot live ordinary lives. They must have hidden motives that are all posed to destroying peace and freedom and whatever else the country stands for that they are living in. Do you ever blame the entire religious community when a person of that faith murders someone, and say this is because all people who follow the same religious beliefs must be potential murderers too? Which religion in the world promotes murder and terror over love and peace?! I don't know of any.


The article ends on a hopeful note, but I can't help feeling sick to my stomach. It seems like newspapers and televisions and easy streams of information like Facebook and Twitter have started limiting people's visions a lot. They consume tidbits of information non-stop throughout the day and don't even bother to go out and gain some knowledge themselves. Is it right to blindly believe what the media tells you without questioning it at all? Without considering that one could learn a bit about the issue themselves to figure out what the truth is and what isn't? I am just..surprised...how some people lap it all up without getting a dent in their conscience. Maybe try finding out even a tiny bit what Islam actually is? Or is it easier to just hop onto the hate-wagon because people are telling you that there is only hatred here, no compassion or sincerity? Easier than trying to reach out to people instead of constantly alienating them based on sheer ignorance.

I follow many bloggers who are not Muslims, many based in America. I have never felt the slightest bit uncomfortable interacting with any of them. I want to ask them, is this how it really is over there? Do they know any Muslims? Do they have any idea what Islam is actually about?


The article: Fear and Loathing of Islam

Windstorms: Generic

The wind buffeted her with indescribable force but she cheerfully plodded on. This time, she had promised herself determination. She wouldn't crumble, or let herself become weak-kneed. There had to be some promises that would just hold, for once.

Sights and sounds assaulted her, tugging at corners of her mind, trying to pull it out of shape. But there would be no distortion this time. No, she was riding the wind with reins firmly in hand. She laughed delightedly at the lightness she felt, the feeling of being wispy and yet substantial. She sobered at the crashing thunder the next instant but picked up the scent of rain just lingering on the horizon.

Her legs didn't feel leaden, nor did her heart. There was birdsong in it, even though the sky was the murky-gray-twilight of artificial light intruding in darkness and clouds trying to blot out the almost-full moon.

From deep within, the swan let out a cry that was carried far and wide with the grace of swan wings. It could ruffle its feathers and still look pretty.
The wind kept swirling dust in heavy circles and tiny tornadoes that rose and fell instantly. Warm and heavy, yet soothing. Prickling the senses and clogging the breath-force, yet refreshing. It was then. It was there. Nothing could bring her down save His will.



It's good to be back.

Robert Louis Stevenson - childhood revisited

I need no mirror to scout it out,
I'm beginning to think
Now,
I know myself more than yesterday,
And the day before.

I have a little shadow,
A little dark patch on my heart,
I can see it whether I look or not
'Tis felt
Within and without.

I try to pinch it hard, between my fingers
I try to snuff it out,
I've left it to fester too long,
I let it grow and spread all about.

The dark patch,
Oh so clever it is,
It knows its ways around my heart,
It knows me better than I know me,
It cons her again and again, 
So 'tis its art.

Erasing, no, it works not a bit,
Frantic, frenzy, it stays put.
This little shadow, this little me,
Disown it? I know not how.

To burn, cherish light and fire,
Set ablaze corridors of wealth,
Scrimp the scrimpers, toggle the hate,
Gear to gentleness,
Let goodness be might;
Watch, watch how it trembles itself
Out of existence.


Linked to Carry On Tuesday - 'I have a little shadow'

Express.

Hold breath, let words flow
Into days of memories;
Life's like poetry.


Linked to Carry On Tuesday - 'Life's like poetry'

Now

It seems like things start moving too fast, and that erratic motion is causing objects to drift further and further apart. Crashing into each other, then drifting apart.  You cannot tie threads and loop their ends around your fingers like you used to as a child; they won't hold anymore. Such bonds are no longer held. Jerky movements are what define your moods, and burrowing into the warmth of a bed to feel some shred of comfort. You burrow. Waking and sleeping are indistinguishable. Such restlessness: your mind is not at peace. Thoughts are swirly and hard and dispersed. Thoughts battle it out, axes uplifted, war cries aloud. How do you keep the rest calm when on top there's fire and lightning? Twist fingers, bite lips, and your stomach will never seem to unclench. Deep breaths, all will be well. Rinse, lather, repeat.

The deep of the sleep

There are certain states of the human mind that can be both amusing and alarming in the way they function. For instance, a brain afflicted by fever will pour itself into delirium, and speak the speak of deliriousness. Strange words will be uttered when the mind prods the tongue, and the tongue may become loosened and function on its own constantly, having broken contact with its controller, the brain. Vocabulary and words normally not used may be heard floating around after having come out of the mouth of the delirious. Another such state is when one is so incredibly ready to be submerged under the coverings of one's bed. Such sleepiness may or may not be the product (no, the cause) of what is being tip-tapped off a keyboard at this very moment. Admission can be dangerous. There will be entire strings of words expressed with the eloquence of a half-wit and sentences that are just left in the middle without being

Gajray

Bittersweet, to see them go,
Once fresh, once dew-laden,
Still alive with life,
Adorning wrists, to symbolize happiness,
Beauty, and happiness,
Flowing circular, love and friend.

Half for a Whole.

The grills, they keep me locked in;
Security for those on the outside.
Do they fear my insanity?
They must have none of it themselves,
Well-nurtured, TLC-surfeit?
Extensively though you guard your heart,
You harden and yet soften
At the same time.
They will try, try, try,
Delving, searching, prodding your defenses,

And hoping none make claims.

Do they fear my insanity?
They must, surely, they must have none of it themselves.
Tiring, to find a pair;
Two minus one = present and future?

--

Linked to Sunday Scribblings.
Prompt: search

Extremes

Sometimes things are so pleasurable that you can hardly keep your feet on the ground or stop yourself from bursting. Such happiness and hyperness.
And at other times...despair. Naked, heavy, dragging down despair.

Why?

'Baita, ap nay ab agay kya karna hai?'

It amuses me to no end when I am constantly asked the same question by different people in all sorts of ways. Apparently one of the most pressing of questions one can ask another they have not met in some time is: 'So what are you doing these days?' For someone who has recently finished off a portion of their education that was a 4-year degree pulled into nearly 5 years somehow with no vacation of any sort in it (2 weeks semester break doesn't count if you are a science major giving practical exams during it), well, let's just say I didn't end this in as chuffed a state of mind as I should have. Oh of course I was pleased to be over with it, without a doubt, but not pleased with what I had earned, and not glad about the perfectly horrible final year I had to endure with the constant mantra pounding in my head: "Please just let this be over, then everything will be alright."

I converted within quite a short time period into the complete opposite of the knowledge-loving, career-oriented, misery-cheerful freak that I once was. 18 months have passed since I first began to strike down ideas of pursuing those 'dreams' that were once the only things that would occupy my mind when I thought of the future. When I thought of me. A year and a half. Something I decided alone, something that became the main defining factor of who I was starting to turn into.

Now, I know who I am much more than I ever did while plodding through semester after semester and exam after exam requiring mindless recall of facts dictated by a Ph.D with no sense of how to teach a course. The college experience, the gaining of knowledge, the good impact any reputed educational institute can have on a person - I am grateful for all that. Thus, it annoys me quite a bit when I am questioned about the faida of my degree. 'What is the faida of it, what is the faida if you have not applied for further studies, what is the faida if you are just staying at home?'

Excuse me a moment while I pause to scream.

Oh, such sentiments warm my very heart, the open display of ignorance and senselessness by people one may expect it from, and people one could never expect such statements from. They cannot apparently understand something that is not within the confines of 'ordinary expected behavior'. The slightest unusual sounding thing outside of their circular ways of existence, and they will puff themselves up, ruffle their feathers and come at you to attack as if you had caused them personal offense. How can you explain the faida of anything to people who can only accept what they believe in to be right? At times I feel like I can be near the bottom of some deep pit of despair, when I turn my mind to those who do not see what they should see and do not think what they should think.

Everything we do, every little action, every tiny little thought that crosses our minds, it has weight and impact. It means something. It is neatly recorded and categorized. I am no longer naive enough to believe that people do anything at all without purpose. I have become harder as a person; I've been jealously guarding every negative emotion of mine for months, withholding sadness and misery, not sharing with anyone any sort of problem that belongs to me. Prying questions unsettle me, perhaps more than they should. But I know what to do with what I have.



Glossary
baita - child, son
faida - purpose
ap nay ab agay kya karna hai? - what are you planning on further doing?

Because I had to write SOMETHING

I actually made out a list of 'resolutions' today, more so because they were things that should be put into writing rather than an actual need for making resolutions this year when I was already more than a month late for the traditional resolution-making/stating process.
Anyhow.

One resolution I will absolutely not make is to write on this blogsy thingsy more. Feeling pressured to write about things when I have nothing of substance to write about and then either putting up something insubstantial or not getting something up within some allocated time gives this realllyyy awful guilty feeling and an unnecessary additional tension point (as if we don't have enough those already).

An important lesson I learned yesterday, or it could be the day before, was to really get up and stick to doing something right when you decide that this is something that you need to do. Now, failing to do this isn't exactly the same thing as procrastination, but it's close. Because some things can be pushed aside a bit, some things will keep on staring at us in the face for days if we keep on ignoring them, but some things will be out of our grasp before we have even attempted to close our fingers around them and then, they'll just be gone forever. And you know, opportunities knocking on your door and all that blah. Carpe diem. Whatever you'd like to call it. Just keep your eyes peeled and wiiiide open for that chance now and then, because losing it will make you feel terrible.

Too many sadddddd talks lately. I don't quite know how to come up with something more cheery, even though I have been positively bubbling with obscene cheeriness and enthusiasm and excitement for the past two days. I haven't even added anticipation for the coming few weeks to that yet.
But what I can say is, the day I start baking cookies will be the day. THE day.

No interesting food pictures or cute feline pictures to insert here. Kindly use your imagination once in a while.


Currently reading: The Mists of Avalon

It has become something which festers and aches and heals over and then the scab gets picked too early and it bleeds and scars. Something uncontrolled, something that needs outlets but shudders to put out that toe and emerge from its dark cavern. Negative thoughts, negative emotions constantly swirl, thoughts which are damaging, and restless and repulsive to the soul. Thoughts one can be half-ashamed of.

You know you are that person who has had a lot to go through in life, situations created of your own doing that were impossible to run away from. And yet, run away you did. Whenever you got the chance, you ran away. You got yourself into a mess, panicked, and backed off. Sometimes you fought it out, tried to reason with yourself and your mind and your heart and with others, sometimes you could not convince them, sometimes you had to quiet yourself. You let yourself be kept quiet too often; too often, you let others make the decisions. All sorts of decisions, all sorts of things that would end up hurting you. Until you got used to following them, believing in what they said, doing what they thought ought to be done. And you did wrong with yourself, letting them hurt you, it was wrong. External pressure made you take initial wrong decisions, being 'too polite' to actually stand up straight (you always were a sloucher) and speak your 'mind', even though we both know it was your heart yearning to do the talking. Your heart knew. It always does.

Time passed, and bonds developed. You were the peacemaker, they were the conflicts. Each of your little packages decided to create conflict with every other package you owned. Too many times you lost. Your pretty trusting packages had too much takabbur in their hearts; too much jealousy, too much hasad. You were owned, you were diced and divided and quartered. You gave out what you had, they slurped it up and asked for more. You began to feel like being sucked dry. You were told off, you were the sore, the festering sore that was raining on everyone's parade, the one doing so much wrong. If you could just learn about limiting factors, it should be alright. So they thought. They forgot to glance into their own misguided hearts, peek into their own curtained shortcomings. They forgot. They saw only you, and you alone.

Your guilt was insurmountable. Yet you ploughed on. You tried to don indifference as your newest tool, because every other emotion was faltering and failing. It worked. Only, they gave you new labels. Callous. Shameless. Cold. Stone-cold. Your heart, they thought they could read it. They thought they alone, each one of them, could read it like an open book. They constantly stood next to you, and then pinched the heart that adorned your sleeve. It was your habit. That became theirs.

You wanted happiness, you gave happiness, you got happiness. You also got much unaccounted-for pain. You took no toll on it, you reciprocated with no revengeful feelings, for you were softer, much softer. Wont to forgiving and giving leeway. Wont to letting the decisions be made and imposed upon you, letting yourself be used. Did it please you? I know not.

They moved on, suddenly adopting normality, often too cheery to be natural. They walked all over thoughts that had previously been theirs to begin with. You stood there confused, unable to figure out which was reality, and what exactly was it that they wanted. You knew you couldn't move on. You outwardly did, but inside you still felt pain, still winced inwardly at moments that they made out as 'jokes' now, still wished you could heal yourself as they appeared to have healed magically. You couldn't. You didn't. You were the abnormality, so you hid away the hurting bits and pretended to not notice them whenever they throbbed.

You saw them change, and worried. You repented your own foolishness, but now you started to feel impacts of your actions rubbing off on them. You worried constantly about your bad influence, because you had to take the blame, it was something you had always done. You were sure it was your influence. You tried helplessly to stem the tide, hold back the incoming waves of mistakes you saw surrounding you, tearfully tried to rip apart iron bands with your bare hands, but you could do nothing. It seemed the damage had been done. You cursed yourself, and in an enlightening moment, perhaps received the pounding from the curse. Fie on you, and fie happened.

Bitterness had been welling inside you for a while; pain had been secretly working away in a grimy corner, unnoticed by you, creating inside its workshop things like resentment and anger. Oh, so much resentment, that has taken years to siphon away, and is still lingering. Then, all this was happening so quietly you didn't hear a whisper of it for a long, long time. All you knew was the clingy film of pain that was coating all your innards and the breaking of pieces of you that floated aimlessly. You felt aimless.

Pleasures began to wane, purpose began to be lost. Things went from out of focus to bleary to full-on blurry like viewing through a rain-washed window. Helplessness was pinning you down as you struggled to breathe, struggled to feign interest in things happening around you, struggled to keep afloat, even as you were pulled below the surface again and again. You were the spectre, the dark shadow that affected everyone who was in your presence. Pain came again, distances were created by putting up walls, and you felt support slip away. You wondered again and again how your actions could be seen by them as a personal affront to their beings. But that's how it was apparently. They left. They took steps back, and then never came forward again. It hurt. More than anything, the leaving hurt. You didn't know what to think because it seemed you must have pulled back from them when they needed you, for them to be doing that now that it was your turn. Your memory shows you nothing of the sort, but it is what you choose to believe, to help lessen the pain and confusion and pretend, yet again, that your faults are what are causing you to reap whatever 'rewards' life is throwing at you. You take the blame. They sit back content, their hearts accepting with grim pleasure as you struggle with weights you're carrying around your neck.

Suffocation is next, or perhaps was even there before. You try to throw off the pillow, try to ease your necktie, but breath is limited and your mind isn't doing so well without the oxygen. You feel again those binds holding you down, feel resentful at the mistreatment and long to shove it into faces as hard as you can. The expectations branded into your skin like a prized animal, the expectations need to be torn out. You tear it with so much force you leave half of yourself behind. You are free, but only half. It is frightening to not be whole. You cry. You wish for the agony to end, but when you turn around to share the anguish and try to put out the many fires burning in your wake and within you, you see nothing but fog and haze. There is no one. They have left. You die inside more. You know now you are alone.

You set about trying to figure out the winding road, picking up scattered pieces of yourself you find on the way. You are desperate and want to cling on to something, your nature is not so easily undone. You find, you cling. You begin to feel like a cup having hot tea poured into it. You feel better. But the pain-blankets are now heavier than ever, the chains around your neck ever more menacing. You weep. It seldom helps.

You reach out again and again, trying to desperately tie threads with your swollen, blistered fingers, unable to see through the blinding screen of tears that will not cease to flow. The threads keep breaking. You try it again with a smile on your face. They break again. You keep trying. Childhood insecurities begin to snake their way into your consciousness, and you start falling prey to them like you haven't in a long time. You start to retreat, to places inside of yourself where pain is already residing. It is not a happy abode, but it is the only one open to you now. Once-welcoming arms have now closed and you are alone.

Slowly you start cutting down on the bitterness and slathering on coats of a hard material you don't quite recognize. But it is serving your purpose. Coat upon coat of hardness. You start closing your eyes to telltale signs and pretending you cannot see, cannot feel the looks, the actions. You tell yourself you are not alone and can get through this. Your heart knows that there is no going back, but you tell it to yourself anyway because you know you have to bide time on empty words, for there is no other comfort to be had, nothing else is coming from anywhere.

You start to wean them off of you, pushing yourself into crevices when possible, let yourself stay unnoticed, reduce the shadow of your presence. You know you are the shadow. You realized they would be happier, better, without your influence and your constant presence. Or so it seemed. So you let them move on, let them revel in their happiness, their achievements, their big plans and goals, while you quietly try to snuff your candle and sneak off. You slowly let go, feeling yet again at fault for being the one always holding them back from being their great, amazing selves. They apparently do not think you need them, so you decide for them that they do not need you. Too late, they didn't need you anyway. You are flickering into invisibility. It hurts a lot, but it must be done.

Resentment and anger are finally given birth to, and they are staggeringly overweight. They flare in uncontrollable waves and some part of you is scared, but unable to understand how quickly the changes inside you happened. You spent broken moments, then pulled yourself up and made yourself stone-cold, and then all this happened. Underneath all the anger, you want to yearn for their absence. Your cold side ruthlessly suppresses it. It has had enough of pain. It doesn't want you moving towards it once again. You know you must give them up. Nerves scream, but you ignore them. You cry. You try to move on.

You want to question all those empty places, want to ask them to account for all the aches that surge through you again and again, but you know you no longer have the right to ask questions. That door has been closed. Not slammed shut, just closed slowly with a horrible creaking sound that dragged on forever and clawed at your insides. You want to ask who changed, who didn't, what changed what, what happened to who, questions and questions and questions. You want to plead for sincerity, want to rebuild and reforge. Nope. Nothing. None for you anymore. They are gone. So will you be soon.

You know you are on the right track, if there is any right and wrong. You know if you have lost them along the way, if you have found Allah, if you have found a measure of tranquility, of peace and stability, then you have won. You are no longer the wanderer, the helpless, the lost. You can't keep track of everyone anymore, but you know where you are. Right here. Now. This.