Competition is Relative

I’m in my third year of college, and I’m just starting to study what I want to: the Internet and social media. As excited as I am, ten minutes ago I could feel a migraine coming on from all of the tabs open in my Google Chrome window.

A cacophony of thoughts:
How am I supposed to retain, let alone read, all of this?
Where do I focus?
How do I apply this?
What’s the point of me doing this?
What do I do with this knowledge?
Why can’t I just be in college forever?
This is too much.
This is so competitive and it doesn’t even have a name yet.
I don’t think I want to write a book. Or be a professor.
I want to do something.
Why do all of these jobs sound monotonous?
Should I be doing a specialized internship to build credibility?
God, please don’t let me end up in a cubicle.
But if comes to the street or the cubicle, God, I’d be more than happy for that cubicle. Amen.

Sometimes, I allow myself a moment of panic.

Criticism: I’m specializing very early and by doing that, I’m putting “unnecessary” pressure on myself.

Yes and no. This pressure is very much necessary. This is the time in my life that I am deaf to the word “moderation” when it comes to my education and my future. Quality of life is very important to me today, which is why I make sure to spend time with family and friends, exercise, and take time to relax. But I also think of my quality of life after these years of education pass. I could be in school forever, but I know I don’t want that. I also don’t want to be drowning in loans, determined to find EXACTLY what I want to do, and consequently do nothing at all because, well, I’ll forever be in search of the nonexistent ‘exact’.

The fact is, most of my generation will have a few careers in their lifetime. Not just one like our parents and grandparents. My professor told me that.

These are my years to build up ammunition. I give less time to worry and more time to learn, engage and progress. The details will get figured out along the way. I’m specializing more than I was a year ago, but there is a whole field to be explored and so much room for innovation. That’s what really drives me when I think about my future: innovation. There’s very good possibility that my future careers are ones that can’t even be comprehended today.

Query: Islam?

copyright: trey ratcliffe

Google query: american+islam+blog

The top site claimed to share the “truths” of Islam. It was more like Fox News on horse tranquilizers, unfortunately. Preaching the opposite of Islamic Extremists, this blogger was equally frustrating, disappointing and scary. All I was looking for was some Muslim-American perspectives on things, but I guess I used the wrong keywords.

It is difficult to be a Muslim today. It is difficult to be a non-Muslim today. To watch repeated clips on television that equate bombs, deserts, and havoc to Islam—as if the equation is that simple. That ruthless. That archaic. But how can a few video clips drilled into our retinas over the last nine years define an entire religion that over 1 billion people follow? 1 billion other people that we don’t see in those heinous video clips.

Google query: islam+blogs

This time, I found some groups and individuals who wanted to share first-hand knowledge of Islam. There were articles about how different people felt about the hijab. There were blogs about how people reflected on scripture in the Qur’an. I felt more educated about Islam than attacked. Anger didn’t emanate out of my laptop screen this time.

It was easy to be understanding to the different perspectives, even though as a Muslim, I didn’t agree with all of the Muslims or the non-Muslim reporting on Islam. For a rare and precious moment, I didn’t feel attacked and hated the moment I tried to learn something concerning my own religion. Go figure, but I am scared of extremists and terrorists too. I also have nothing in common with them.

Islam is being talked about every day. It’s important for Muslims and non-Muslims to engage in the dialogue because this is how we can learn from each other and about ourselves.

General query: What do you know of Islam?

Loneliness Resides in the /dis/Comforts of Home

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I just had the most fantastic urge to get on a plane and leave the country. I wanted to walk out of my suburban house and have the weather be a perfect 82 degrees, exactly the way it looked at dusk. I wanted to get in my car with a small carry-on and drive fast and hard to the airport. To fly to Europe, even though I’ve always thought of the whole escape-to-Europe/rite-of-passage shenanigan as pretty blase.

Being in an unfamiliar place and losing yourself (literally and figuratively) in the foreign language is calming and invigorating all at once. But I’m confused, because I have nothing to escape. I haven’t felt this way in years and the only times I did were when I wanted to escape. Maybe the whole point is that I feel I have nothing.

I mean, I have family. I have friends. I have school. And I have work. But I’m not actually doing anything. I don’t make the effort to go on bike rides (example), my excuse being I have no one to go on them with or no where to go. I think I am tired of being alone, more than I am tired of being in the place I always have. I am tired of the feeling that the friends that I have don’t fit anywhere but the places that they do: parties and over-inebriated moments.

I feel locked down but no one is keeping me here. Of course, if I announced I was moving (or, more rationally, travelling) to some random place all at once—my family would deduce I was crazy and of course, dissuade me. And, if I even went to ‘some random place all at once,’ I was still be: alone. I can’t even think of one person who I’d really want to come with me. But I have this boredom-drunken idea that loneliness does not exist in unfamiliar places where mysteries are waiting to be discovered.

What about the mysteries waiting to be discovered here? Part of me knows they exist, but a larger part of me is too lethargic to go looking. Alone.

The disfunction of home and loneliness is just too much to bear some days. But loneliness and foreign lands? That is a dynamic.

Poetry May Have Saved Me

I wrote off poetry when I was 17, because I just didn't get it anymore. Figurative meanings confused me. Every time I tried to get in depth, I was told that I was "reaching." I consoled myself with fiction and singing.

My minor is English, and I put off the required "Introduction to Poetry" requirement for two years. I had to sign up for it for Fall quarter because I could not get into any other classes that I needed. Honestly, every time I thought about this class during the summer, a little bit of nausea would pulse.

Who would have thought that this class may have been the best thing for me after my hectic summer? It took three months being 3000 miles away from everyone and everything that I had every known to remind me of the beauty of love.

There was a time when I never wanted to love again. Actually, it more so that I thought I wouldn't be able to allow anyone to love me. I didn't fall in love with any man when I went away. Instead, I worked and worked and worked and I came home to an empty apartment most days. I had cordial relations with my three roommates, I would occasionally go out to dinner and lunch with new friends, but for the most part I was alone. It took understanding loneliness to open myself back to love. Understanding loneliness changed my whole outlook in that, I realized that I had a choice in every situation. And after this epiphany, I work to make the healthier choice for my quality of life.

I breathe when I get cut off six times as I rush to work, and remind myself that there are many other things that will go on in my day and this is minor. Thank God I am safe, now move on.

I breathe when people don't listen. I work to speak in a lighter tone, because my bad second could lead to this other person's bad week all because of how I say something.

I breathe. And it's hard to breathe. And it's hard to love. And it was hard to realize. And I don't know how to explain how so many difficult things have led to an easier today, but they have. And I welcome it all.

I came home and I was a more sensitive person. It made feel whole.

My poetry class has resulted in A papers with comments like "sensitive analysis" and "interesting insight!" all over. Poetry has helped me embrace the new part of myself while simultaneously challenging me. So maybe it's timing or luck or karma, but I'll throw it all to the wind because the day I realized I was ready to be loved again was the happiest day. Poetry, you may have saved me.

Don't Be A Coward

I love meeting people who think brown-nosing to a half-ass title gives them authority. When I say love here, I mean a complex and strong dislike.

"Professionals" who believe adhering to all higher power will move up up the totem pole, but will fall down it rapidly. Once you get past the people above you, then you're dependent on the people that keep you there. The people who get you to a good position are rarely the people who keep you there. The people who keep you there are often the people that you stepped on to get where you're at. Your customers. Your clientele.

Brown-nosing doesn't make you likable or sociable. You're supposed to make the customer happy, but brown-nosing doesn't making customers happy. Why? Brown-nosing occurs with supervisors and bosses. If you will make your customers unhappy by making your supervisor happy because your nose in deep in boss-poop...you're doing something wrong. Brown-nosing is negative. Respect is positive. You can respect your superiors without offending anyone, especially your customers.

These types of people often think that because they gobble up everything their boss says, then everyone around and below them should as well. These types of people think that because they're too much of a coward to find a better way, to go around someone else's title, to be intelligent and efficient and think ahead...that everyone else is too. Don't be a coward. Be able to see peoples' bluff when their only reason for saying no to you is because their supervisor told them to. There's a bigger issue. The person you're dealing thinks that your problem makes them a problem to your supervisor. This isn't the case, really, it's this coward who is the aggravating your problem instead of alleviating it.

Always know that there is another way. When you think something is going wrong or that you're being cheated, either go above cowards or around them. Find another way. Find someone else that can help you. Don't waste you're time on these people after you've tried different options once. There is always another way. Cowards are only caution signs, not red lights. Get ready to rumble.

Matters of Life in Death

Death affects each living person in a different way. Some people look forward, others look back. Some get stuck in limbo, wondering how the rest of the world can move on when there has been such a great loss. Some people give up, some people give in. Some people talk it out, others mull it over.

I have never been incredibly shocked by death, even when I have lost someone unexpectedly. The first death I ever experience, I was about 2. The first one I remember, I was about 3. It is hard for me to understand why some shelter children from death. Throughout my childhood, many people died. grandmothers, uncles, aunts...all relatives that I was very close to. It is difficult for me to even call these people relatives because my love for them was and continues to be so great. I don't make this claim to say that I had a dark childhood, because I had a very happy and loving childhood. I am happy that I was introduced to death at a young age and taught that it is a part of life, literally. I had a fundamental understanding of how to cope in a way that worked for me, with loving people around me. Death is one of those things that I have always been able to talk about with my family. Not necessarily everyone, but I know that during those times, my family is my support system.

A college friend is experiencing her first encounter with death, three friends died in a car crash. They weren't drunk, they were just coming back from sushi. The loss has hit deeply, and she began to question life in ways that I may have years ago. I never considered that there are people out there who are not as comfortable with death and loss as I am. She questioned the "point" of life, if everything just falls to pieces in the end. She's battling with the idea of justice in life, because her friends were 20, 20, and 17. One was a father, one was in a rigorous and unique program and about to graduate high school, one was a hard working son. Losses like these are not fair, but the reason we care about them is because life matters.

The grief and hurt when losing someone is a blessing. It reminds us that life is precious because we make it so, because it matters. If there was a time that we could no longer feel these real, yet painful, emotions...that would be the day I would ask the heavens, "What's the point?"

I think my own relationship with loss and grief was a blessing, because I accepted losing my father at 15 one year before it happened. I understood that my father wouldn't live forever, and probably not even to see me graduate high school, when I was in eighth grade. Yes, it's difficult to come to such a realization at such a young age. But, it made me a stronger person and it allowed me to dedicate the time I had with my father, to him. And it allowed me to move on, after him.

Damn Pinocchio

the toymaker makes plenty
of those damn pinocchios
i'm searching for a real boy
sir, could you point the way to go?

i'm not interested in breaking hearts
or sailing the high seas
if there's a real boy out there
please send him "Priority."

Not a boy who knocks his knees
or walks by way of strings
but rather one with sweater pills
and a love for the imaginary

i'm not interested in boys who fib
or lie, or cheat, or steal
big noses aren't quite my thing
makes kissing an ordeal

wandering through this dusty store
i step over the figures and dolls
if there's a real boy out there
i trust he'll know to call