Stress and Life

It’s funny how some people wait for the flaws of a person, they try to find the ugly hidden cracks in a person’s life, they forget to look at themselves, and see how ugly they are. These people have no problems pointing flaws and showing others in a bad light, but they forget to look within themselves.
May god help them.

I’ve been making a lot of nice dishes. It’s sometimes hard to remember to do a little since i’m making for two and not a huge family so i end up making too much.

How easy it is to miss people, and yet how hard it is to be in the midst of people you know. I feel my mother’s longing and understand it now – if not fully. I’m just glad i can be in the same city with them, although, on the other side, but nonetheless something to be happy about.

Spiritual Time with God

My time at my old house is over… and back to the married life I go!
Thanks to Allah that I have such a wonderful family and husband!

Work is still hectic, but i’m managing. It’s nice to sit down at the end of the day and  have a spiritual time with God. Knowing that he sees me at all times, and protects me is the greatest gift I have. It’s sad to know that some people don’t have this feeling.

I’ve started memorizing the Quran. I’m still in the first pages. I don’t know how far, I’ll go, but Insha’allah, I’ll finish it one day.

Something to write

I have nothing to write about, but i’ll write anyway. Blogging is hard, especially for someone who has nothing to resonate. I’m having a boring weekend. I have so much work but I just can’t do any of it.
I have no life.
I’m thinking about drawing something. However, too afraid to actually do it. I haven’t sketched in ages. I don’t think I could do it again.
I have some nice friends. Sometimes, I forget this, and I become lonely.
*sigh* what else?
I like cooking, and trying new stuff.
I once tried eel meat and I actually liked it.
I love listening to music, sometimes I can’t work without it.
I really want to get a guitar and learn how to play it, but it seems that my parents are against the idea. The only musical instrument I have is my voice, it’s not nice, but it’ll do.

I like counting things when I walk. I count the number of steps it takes from my office to class. The number of steps. The number of buttons on a colleague’s blouse.

I don’t like sleeping. I think it takes too much time. I usually keep it at a minimum. There’s just too much to do and read that I could do in the time I would be sleeping.

Fight Do, This One’s For You

Fight Do is a fitness program from Radical Fitness, an Argentinian-based company, that joins shadowboxing, combat fitness, Muay Thai and some other martial arts; and turns it into an hour of pure “radical” fun. 

Developed by Gaby and Nathaniel Leivas, Fight Do comes from a family of other programs; such as, Power, Oxigeno and X55; each unique to specific exercises. Oxigeno, for example, focuses on breathing  – as the name suggests. I dont have much background about the programs other than Fight Do,  but I have to say I won’t hesitate to try them if I get the chance!

 

Besides having loads of fun; if you have enjoyed playing ”fight” or “ninjas” with your siblings in the past, Fight Do will have the power to take you back to the enjoyment of playing fierce.  Another good to gain is effective anger management: punching an imaginary someone (or that boss who gave you a really hard time this morning) in the face or stomach, followed by a series of kicking, and maybe some slashing with your imaginary elbow blades, then give ‘em a left-right!  I’m kidding! I don’t do that… Well, maybe I do.

The great soundtracks, rhythmatic punch sounds and other effects enhance the force you put in those punches and kicks; resulting in more calorie burn. Focusing on the choreography rather than the hard labor eases your endurance to exercise. The moves are not difficult but they can get a little tricky and require attention: so it’s memory exercise too!

It is said that an hour of Fight Do can burn as many as 900 calories, if you put some force into it. As such, proper caution should be maintained in all steps – especially, when new to the exercise. Fight Do requires a lot of practice to get it right. Even if you don’t move like the guys in the clip (rather like the guy in gray at the back :p), you will most likely find that it is a good challange to move on with.

I was introduced to this exceptional program at a gym I used to go to. At first, I was very reluctant to join the class. It was crowded, and I was more tempted to use the deserted  machines rather than enter a class with so many people boxing and kicking. A friend convinced me to give it a try. I cannot describe how proud I was of myself after the class ended. For one, I was as red as a tomato. The trainer was great, she was experienced and full of life. Women of all ages were very enthusiastic.  Later on, I discovered that some girls only signed up at the gym to attend this semiweekly class. I don’t blame them. Sure, at times, I couldn’t help thinking that we looked like some Bollywood dance scene; but let’s face it how many of us saw one of those scenes and thought it would have been fun to join? (well, me, at the least).  

I don’t go to the gym anymore, due to my coinciding work periods. But I do have the CD at home which is just as great (only without the bollywood imagery). It’s great to see Fight Do gaining popularity around the world. I’m really hoping its popularity would reach Saudi Arabia one day.

For more information about this awesome experience, click here. If you’re a girl, who lives in Riyadh and is interested, contact me if you’d like the number to Almultaqa Fitness Center.

Weddings, Shoes and Empty-Headedness

“Four days left until your uncle’s wedding…”, my mother grumbled, as she and I strolled into one of the shops; our hands full of bags of various colours. Knowing mother, I knew that this translated as ” we better get everything we need today, or else I’ll be in a worse mood”. I prayed under my breath that the shopping monster inside Mama would be soothed by the time we left.

 I had never seen the mall so… female-infested. But then again, it was understandable considering that summer vacations are the wedding seasons in Saudi. Since men would normally wear  nothing more glamorous than the traditional thowbs and ghotras, it was up to the women to turn wedding preparations into a mound of excusable and hectic tasks.There were hardly any men in sight. The men whom I did spot seemed like they were lost in the moving bodies of black. They kept close to their wives or sisters, moving out of the way when the trampling packs of ladies walked nearby.

I hate going to the malls. I rarely find shopping fun. It is the choosing and the clothes hunting that makes it all too much for me. Should I pick this blouse or that? Which one would look good on me? Should I consider the cost before I try it on? What colour should I get? Whatever I choose usually appears to be a big fashion no-no in Mama’s book; so I learned that trusting my parents’ and sisters’ tastes in clothing is the safest decision for me.

Aside from being a test of choosing and “reasonable” taste, I just cannot comprehend the preposterous obsession that some people display over their appearances. It’s not the mania in itself that worries me, or the media that promotes it; but the fact that it can interfere with a person’s other values. I’d see a woman looking great, in the most stylish attire, caring for the most explicit details- from her accessories, her hairstyle to her gait; yet she’d have no problem to cut people in line, frequently gossip about others, take what isn’t hers to take, and be a downright pain in the neck. Her fastidious nature would fail to let her see beyond external beauty.

Now, I know you might think I’m taking this a bit too seriously, but the numbers of empty-headed stylish snobs is increasing in a very frightful manner with the growing number of shopping malls. In Riyadh, more than 20 shopping malls are open and some are under construction; this is without  counting the numerous souqs, strip malls and individual shops.

Why are there so many malls here? Well, a possible reason is that Riyadh can get exceedigly boring.  Shopping malls (along with cafes and restaurants) are the main source of recreation here and in other cities. It’s no surprise to see ”shopping festivals” spreading all around Saudi in hopes to promote national tourism.  And perhaps, in turn, this availability of shopping malls somehow enhanced society’s  focus on appearances. Unmarried girls toil over how they look and what they will wear in a wedding or party knowing that someone might mention it. Appearance in itself has become some sort of marketing for the beholder. Many were the times when I heard the old ladies (with single sons) talk about how pretty a girl was at a wedding. In this light, I think it is fair to say that society is rather controlled by it.

The “50% OFF” sign that made Mama’s eyes twinkle did not have the same effect on me. “Allahu Akbar!” went the Adhaan – the call to prayer. The shop was closed before my mother could reach it. Mama was still in the prayer area when I went out to walk alongside the closed shops. One shop, a shoe shop was still open. Inside, a very stylish women sat on the bench with her toddler. The two men who worked there stood in front of her, seemingly upset but calm. I tried suppressing my curiosity to see what was going on. It won easily, and I went close enough to hear what they were saying. The man was politely asking the woman to leave, since it was against the rules to keep the shop open at that time. He argued that they would get into trouble for this, and the shop could be shut down for good if it was reported. The woman did not budge. Instead, she took out some juice and crackers for her son. Once the man could not retain his anger he threatened that they would close the shop whether she was in there or not. When she stood her ground, the man ordered his partner to start closing the door. She stood up, threw whatever food she had on the ground, and left. Her behavior contrasted with her “modern” appearance. There were hundreds of other places that were specifically designed for people relax in but she chose that particular shop, and made a scene. Thank you, rude lady, for supporting my point.

The Labyrinth

I had a dream. I was in an unfamiliar candlelit room. The door was open, but beyond that door I saw nothing but darkness. There was a huge book in front of me; I was writing things that occurred to me, thoughts that burned in my heart. I felt the searing burn travel stiffly through my arm to my hand… to the pen and onto the page. I did not have the voluntary power to end this. 

My eyes traced the words and blotches. My hand did not cease to scribble down everything. “Stop. You can do this”, I whispered to myself. 

My vision blurred, but still, I could make out some of the words written. 

“… I stood outside the heaven of his soul, and cried across the never-ending gates:…”

In addition to the occasional sounds of creaking doors outside that room, I now heard sobbing. It was a woman’s. My writing grew violent. I was afraid of the slavery I was in, but nothing I tried could free me.

“…’Let me in! Trap me! Crush me inside!- “ 

My lips muttered what my hand was scrawling on the smooth paper.

The woman’s crying was louder. The burn turned to a wicked pleasure. With every stroke of my pen, with every sob, I grew more satisfied. It was an urge. For some reason, I wanted to hurt her. 

” ‘… AND NEVER WILL I LEAVE!’” 

My hand recklessly underlined that sentence again and again. The woman was now gasping for breath, in deep agony. 

The pen pierced through the page. 

The book flinched. Something on the floor wriggled.

The trap was sprung, and my aching hand finally dropped the pen.

The book was now shaking, its pages slightly shriveled, it was slowly attempting to close.

I was free to investigate what was moving on the floor now. I stood up, and drew the light closer to it. 

It was some kind of cord…

Looking back, I saw that it was connected to the spine of the book.

I went closer to it; it was a nerve… enveloped by a mesh of thin bulging arteries. I reluctantly touched it. It gave a jump. I saw that it traveled into the darkness. 

With the candle in my hand, I followed it. I wasn’t too sure about leaving the safety of that room at first, but I was too curious to stay there forever. The bright glossy arteries on the squirming nerve had turned to hazy black veins. I was walking from one room to another. The woman’s voice was now more audible. I heard more detail. Her breath. Her tiny whimpers…  

She was in the next room. 

I held the door knob wanting to open the door so badly. Fear was building up inside me faster than my need to do so. 

Suddenly a ripple appeared on the nerve, it came somewhere from behind. Probably from the book. 

The woman screamed.

The faint light of a candle appeared in the distance. 

I was followed.

I opened the door quickly and entered. The sounds of running feet were coming closer.

I slammed the door and turned.

What I saw in the room was stupefying. 

The nerve inserted at the skin of her neck.

She had stopped crying -looking as shocked as I was. 

She was me. 

It was a forbidden sight, we both knew it. It was never supposed to happen. 

Someone angrily tried to open the door, but failed. They hit the door. It shook as it was kicked. There were grunts. It was a man. 

One last kick sent door slamming against the wall.

There was no one.

No. 

He was waiting outside in the dark. He was waiting for a move.

Myself and I dared not even breathe.

I woke up.

I had a small notebook under the pillow. I wrote whatever I remembered. 

 *******************************************************************************

Long months have passed since I have written this. Last night, I lived the labyrinth once more.

Hello world!

After much hesitation, I’m going to give this blogging idea a shot. Since that is settled, all I have to do is choose a topic to blog about… Not easy.

This afternoon, I was browsing through a number of awesome blogs – they make it seem so effortless! I checked how they all started, many had had blogging experiences before, which made my search for ‘beginner’  inspiration less fruitful. I certainly cannot say that my search was a waste of time. Particular blogs that appealed to me were Saudi Jeans and American Bedu.

I spoke to my mother about this. Her pep talk started in the same way as it usually does: “You can do anything you put your mind into”. Now that i’m older, i realize that neither she nor my father fully believe in that, however they do believe that i can do anything socially acceptable if i put my effort into it. They also know that I don’t very much comply with that, at least not mentally.

A friend suggested that I type about myself… give an idea of what this blog is about… an idea of what i’m going to be writing about.

Firstly, a little outline of who i am… I’m Ashwaq. I’m Saudi.  I graduated this year with an optometry major. My life is pretty much predictable; work, housework, computer, reading and sleep.  I come from a large family where everyone has to speak up if they need something, and where family comes first in everything.

Secondly,  i honestly have no idea what this blog is about. So far, it’ll be about what i experience being  Ash and nothing more.

My mother once told me that our actions are like seeds, the small weeds and flowers grow easily, the tall trees tend to take longer time, and need care. She said that trees always give something to the man who grows them, if not fruits and nuts, they would give shade and wood. She also said that farmers never regret what they grow. I’m looking forward to seeing how this seed will grow.

My Lunch Break Relaxation

Hoping for a bit of relaxation before the afternoon session of work, I turned left and into the “eye” corridor during lunch break expecting to find no one. To my surprise, one patient folder lingered on one of the clinic shelves. Upon hearing my footsteps, a man came out of a clinic; a little boy in his hands.
“Sister, they told us to wait for an hour for the drops to take full effect. My boy is tired. It’s been an hour, but the doctor didn’t come to examine him after the drops. God bless you, can you call him?” I looked at the child. He was around a year old. I dialed the number; no answer. “He isn’t answering…”
Just then a nurse appeared. “Ashwaq, it’s good you’re here! Dr. Salem told me to tell you to examine this one because he’ll be in a meeting.” I nodded my head. “Alright. No problem…” The father’s young face darkened, suddenly seeming so old and stern. It was like watching a time lapse video of a tree, only instead of seeing more green, I saw only more creases, one so noticeable between his eyebrows.
“You are going to examine my boy?” he said, each word so cold that I shivered. I replied with an unconfident “yes”, it almost sounded like I was asking for permission. I have never felt this fear and insecurity, about a patient or a patient’s companion before. I stood my ground as though waiting to see his reaction. His arm gripped his child’s fragile body. He went in, almost stomping across the room to the patient’s seat. Somehow, the fact I’ve done this many frequent times didn’t raise my coolness; why was I so nervous? I questioned my nerves, but all I thought about was the anger that pierced through that man’s gaze.
I sat in front the patient’s seat, and fearfully drew my chair closer to the boy. The man’s grip on the boy tightened even more. His wide eyes fixed on the floor. In response to the father’s absurd behavior, the child let out a little whine. He wriggled in his father’s arms wanting to be set free from his own immobility – and from the lights I directed into his eyes. The man held him even tighter, to an extent that the boy finally cried.
I wrote down whatever results I could get in the chart, and silently left the room. Just then I found Dr. Salem coming into the department. “Doctor! I finished up the last patient, but I don’t know, I –” He was nodding, knowingly, ever since I started talking. “Yes yes… I figured. That’s why I came.”
He entered. And the man stood up to greet him, and all the creases on his face vanished. Doctor Salem pretended to examine the boy once more. The man looked so content, even happy. He craned his head to look at his son’s face. He ran his thumbs on his son’s hands; spoke to him in simple words, “look at the light, Ali. Habibi!”
In a minute’s time, Dr. Salem traced the numbers I have written on the paper with his own pen, and signed it. I stood watching this.
As the man and his son walked to the door, he turned around and said “Thank you for your time Dr. Salem.”
“it was a pleasure, besides, Dr. Ashwaq did all the work” he said, monitoring the change of mood that the man showed. He flashed a look towards me and then said goodbye and left.

The doctor looked up seeing how confused I was.“Don’t let that worry you. He and a couple of other men are like that. That’s why I came back when I remembered him… He gave Marwa a hard time when she last examined his son a couple months ago.”

What I experienced afterwards was anything but relaxation. In a way I was hurt, in another, confused; but altogether I was angry. I started wondering if there really was a difference between the product of my labor and a man’s, I made comparisons between men and women depending on the common scope they work in. Teachers. Professors. Optometrists. Even parents. The differences between them depended more on personality and rather than casting  light on their gender. Nonetheless, I’ve seen women here excel in so many different areas; in their own special ways. Receiving waves of disparagement from the environment that surrounds them had turned a good number of them into strong souls. They do what they can to prove their sufficiency and value. They know it’s still the beginning but they move on anyway, bidding other women to join them. They move on with the belief that says what can’t destroy you can only make you stronger.

I took the chart, and placed my signature right under my results before handing the folder in.