ATTN:

To my women,

You lovey strong women (of color, or not, queer, or not, and of fluid gender, or not) who have inspired, loved, and comforted me this past year...thank you. I give back to you all as often as I can, and being as diverse as our needs are this sometimes means tearful hugs in bed, cooking delicious meals, dancing, bike rides, writing papers all night coffees houses, or distracting each other from our "real" work by discussing Gloria Anzaldua's "Borderlands". In honor of the diversity of ways in which we support one another I wanted to share an excerpt from "We Don't Need Another Wave," entitled "A Time to Hole Up and a Time to Kick Ass: Reimagining Activism as a Million Different Ways to Fight."

Here, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha describes how she struggled to remain active (in a large-scale organizational way) in her causes, but never ceased to struggle towards justice in everyday life. This is one of the few places were I found what I felt was an accurate representation of how we all struggle together. She describes how disheartened she was when it came to dealing with the post-9-11 harassment of people of color and the violent images broadcast of the casualties from the places they were fighting to save. Being afraid to leave the house or be present at large-scale actions and feelings of hopelessness with regards to our causes seem to be issues that echo in our family.

She describes how isolated and despair-ridden she felt after attempting to get involved with the local movement against the wars, and how she chose to stay at home and avoid organizing all together becasue of the way organizing was approached. "This is what it felt like to try and do traditional activism when you're so physically and emotionally attached to the subject matter...[we were] stuck in the kind of old-school activism that Aya de Leon describes as 'an endless series of meetings where people sit on their butt, get stiff backs, feel hungry, have to go to the bathroom, get dehydrated, and stay up in their heads'" (170-180). As we move forward in organizing for these causes that we are so intimately involved, it will be important for us to remember all of the things that count as activism. Realize that everything we do is activism. Piepzna-Samarasinha says it best here: "I decided that my kind of activism was the kind of activism women of color do on a daily basis. Everything I did to keep myself alive--from holding down my job to painting my toenails to building and using my altar to cooking up big pots of sweet potato curry with my girlfriends..." (172).

It itsn't the whole way in which we struggle (we need large-scale organization as well), but it is a significant hunk. For this reason we must seek to get creative/validate creative approaches to fighting on behalf of the emotions that brought us to the table to begin with.

As we continue to support one another and organize towards a greater realization of human rights for all, I want to commend you for being the most amazing people I have ever met and most of all congratulate you on kicking so much ass.

I look forward to many many amazing years with you all.

All my love,

C

Jinssiya

I'm sitting at the Bennu coffee house, next to the biggest window I can find, soaking up some sun and casual tunes. The reason I am really here is because I absolutely must write today. I need to write my statement of purpose, or at least a skeleton version, by the end of the day. I am perplexed as to how this is one of the most difficult things I have ever done. How can that be?

To begin, I needed to pinpoint exactly what it was that led me to this moment. Why study religion? Why have I become concerned with multi-layered identities, particularly regarding overlaps of religiosity, sexuality, and nationality? It took a few cups of coffee and paced journey around the building to realize exactly when that switch had flipped.

The moment I set foot on Yemeni soil I grabbed my bags from the ground in the shadow of the plane and dragged them into the airport. I was greeted by a representative from the college I was to attend and he handed me a pen and a single sheet of paper, “Inti laazam tuqa’ kida, lo samaat.” (you have to sign this, please). So, I gripped the pen and began the first letter of my signature, I was in a travel-induced daze, that is until my eyes glimpsed the word “jinssiya.” Sexuality. For the first time in my life that word actually had meaning, it was real. I was signing a gag order on my sexuality. I was signing a document that stated if I discussed my sexuality while in the country, the college would no longer be responsible for my safety. As the death penalty is still a viable punishment for homosexuality in Yemen; this meant if I disclosed my queerness while in the country, they would not be on my side of the aisle in the courtroom.


For the time being, I was no longer a queer American feminist and activist, I was just an American girl. Being of a national, religious, and sexual minority complicated my already delicate and muddled identity while in the country. I believe it was this period of my life that helped me understand what was so unique about minority identity development. Upon returning to the States, this experience helped me reorient my ideas in thinking about diaspora and minority communities and the difficulties of cultural assimilation.


So, maybe none of you reading care, even the slightest bit, about my grad. applications, but at the very least, send good vibes my way. I have my work cut out for me.


Love you all,


C

"We had been everywhere. We had really seen nothing."

Today, deep breath out, was eclectic and full. The day started out a bit reflective and somber, a bit of writing, reading, and napping, only to look up from a half-written paper to realize I had just completely missed math class. Although, missing math class was not all that big of a deal. So, the somberness moved in a crescendo that peaked with great sadness and settled in gratitude. As many of you may know, I lost a great love to a horrible bike accident in the last year, and some days my thoughts are just full of him. Anyhow, by the end of the day, I was just so happy to have ever been afforded the opportunity to experience that kind of ocean of feeling, I could do nothing more than smile.

Also, today was a day that ended in reward. My new bike finally came into the Peddler bike shop, and wow, she is fantastic. Steel, great geometry for a person with a longer upper body, sturdy, smooth, fantastic. There she is pictured below, although, I also have a steel frame on the back of her to carry my roll-tops.
So, this evening I went to meet Ashley at Bennu, and got a bit carried away with my new ride and passed one of my turns by nearly 10 blocks. By the time I had gotten home, I had ridden her nearly 20 miles, it was so nice to have a bike whose pieces all actually fit together and work properly together. There is nothing wrong with a skillfully assembled piece meal street bike, but a brand new one...damn. Anyhow, so my goal in taking her out tonight was to find her a name. Usually my bikes are named after male literary characters: Roark, José Arcadio Buendía, Darcy, Yossarian. But, this bike had some cute pink stripes on her and I had this urge for her to be a "her" this time. So, drum roll....she shall be called Lolita.So, the rest of the week looks like: Exam tomorrow, PSC tabling, and plenty of errands, as well as Thesis meetings all Friday, Tubing, potluck, and harvest moon ride Saturday, and garage sale/homework Sunday. Have a good one people.

Love,
C

Sexual Harassment for Breakfast

"Hey gorgeous," called the forty-something year-old man from his silver Honda as he slowed down to talk to me, "where are you headed? You need a ride?"
Embarrassed to be called to (especially wearing the ankle-length grandma skirt and frumpy sweater I was sporting), I replied, "No, thank you, I am just headed right up the street to the bus stop."
"Oh, I mean after that, you pretty thing; I can drop you wherever," he assured me.
"Well, thanks for the offer, but I rather like riding the bus, thanks."
"Ahh, come on gorgeous," he moaned as he pulled his car closer to me, "I can be your boyfriend for the day. I can take you to school, pick you up, take you to dinner, and afterward..."
"No thanks," I interrupted, as I was pretty sure I did not care to hear the rest of that.
His temper rose, "Oh, what...you some kind of lesbian or somethin'? Cause I would pay a whole lot of money to watch that. Come on gorgeous, get your pretty ass in the car and let me take you home with me."
At this point my hands were shaking, if he grabbed me and pulled me into his car on this street...no one would see, no one would hear. Two more blocks until there would be people, maybe not even people that would help me, but at least people. He was becoming angry, as I just kept repeating, "No thank you, no thank you, no thank you."
"Don't fuck with me honey, just get in the car."
"No."
We rounded the corner to see there had been a car accident, which meant loads of firemen were gathered just across the street from my bus stop. What to do, what do I do...run. So, I did just that. I ran. I ran and my eyes filled with tears and one of the firemen turned around just as I was a few yards away. I grasped both of his hands with mine and gasped, "This man has been following me for four blocks, please help." Just in time for Mr. silver honda to peel out, run the red light, and be too far away for anyone to figure out who he was.

After taking a moment to calm down, I became angry at myself for feeling so helpless. But, honestly, what could have been done differently, nothing. I suppose I assumed that dressing and acting rather conservatively would protect you from this kind of harassment. The difficult truth is, nothing can protect you from this kind of harassment. Maybe getting some pepper spray, or a tazer or something would be of some use, but at the end of the day, that would not have kept this man from calling out to me, or propositioning me, or cursing at me from his car. Nor would it keep my hands from sweating and my heart from pounding, because sexual harassment and rape are scary things, and everyone's hearts should pound when the subject comes up. And it comes up often: approximately 1 in 6 women and 1 in 33 men are sexually assaulted in their lifetimes.

Anyhow, this morning was eventful, to say the least, and I felt that I could not go on with the rest of my day until I told someone about it. So, I'm telling all of you. Keep a lookout for a middle-aged man in a silver honda in the Muller area (East 51st Street).

Love,
C

business hours.

Why does the world seem so much bigger at night. Is it becasue it is emptier? People are sleeping and not filling the air with words and car exhaust, not filling the streets. Everything feels bigger, even my courage is greater. I have so many things I will say to so many people when it is night. When the sun comes up it all disappears-my big grand ideas and all of my courage. Daylight means get back to school, commuting, managing life; get back to work, it is business hours.

On Coming Out.

On Coming Out. I never really did it. I just evolved into this person that I am, and I felt like "coming out" was this whole additional burden placed on us "queers" to make it harder to be the people that we are. To make it harder to be honest with ourselves becasue there was this threshold that had to be broken. To make it harder to love the people that we want to love. Plus, it was hard in general, right? I guess it also made it more difficult becasue I wasn't going to "come out" as a lesbian. I refuse to remove myself from one rigid category only to place myself in another. I've dated/fallen in love with/had lovers who identified as male, female, trans...who gives a shit. Whatever happened to the magic of falling in love? I guess I felt I was being the bigger person by not being official about my sexuality (that whole, if I reject the categories then they don't apply to me/exist and/or have power over me). Today, I have found that this is not true for me. All of you who love me need to know that when you go to that stupid poll booth to vote on other peoples rights, which of course you will probably be asked to do sometime in your life, that I am one of those OTHER people. Think of me.
But not only of me, but of all of the others who feel as though they can't speak. This PostSecret postcard just did it for me today. I became angry and cried all over my toast this morning. So, if you didn't know, now you know. I suppose this was more of a service announcement...because I've been me for so long this doesn't really feel like that big of a deal. I suppose if you have questions, feel free to inquire. But, mostly, just remember when you have a say in who gets married and who doesn't and who gets to adopt children and who doesn't... that you now know "one of us."

I feel like Lacey Roop gets it right when she says (plus the Epoch bathroom wall), "Gender is a Universe." Listen to her piece entitled "Gender is a Universe" here: http://www.myspace.com/laceyroop

Love,
C

Revival of the Dinner Party

Photos courtesy of the lovely Amelia (http://vintagevivant.com/2010/06/01/nyc-pt-1/)
Amelia is one of my many friends who shares my love of food, enough so that we organized our entire May NYC trip around finding the best grubbin' the city had to offer.

Okay, so I know this is departing from what this blog is usually about (what is it usually about?), but if you know me at all, you know that I love food and drink. It is the one thing I refuse to skimp on money-wise and time-wise. I mean sometimes you do what you have to do, but I avoid cutting corners in this department as much as humanly possible. There is absolutely nothing that beats a well cooked meal, a nice glass of wine, and a book or some good company. Better yet, if it were raining or cold outdoors. SO, here we are, it is a Wednesday night and even though I worked all day in the library and completely exhausted myself, all I want to do is cook something delicious. I've realized, when it comes to my free time, all I ever want to do is create edible art projects.

Therefore, I have decided, that once a month (hopefully, from now until forever) I will be hosting fancy-ass dinner gatherings or brunches. I will be keeping them rather small and sending out personal invites, and all that I ask in return for the free food is that you bring your warm bodies and smiles and come ready to eat well, eat slowly, and talk a lot (a bottle of wine or a bag of coffee beans wouldn't hurt either, but is definitely not a requirement). There is something to be said about taking your time to eat and enjoy the company of other fine people...deep breath out...and not many people do it any more. IT IS REVIVAL TIME.

The first of these events is in the making. Also, I love you all, and eventually I will invite ALL OF YOU, but I am going to keep them tiny because: a) I can't afford to cook (well) for more than 10 people anymore, b) my home can only fit a small number of people comfortably seated around a table, c) I would like for there to be a type of atmosphere where everyone may be engaged in a singular conversation.

Beyond my deciding that there is not enough good food happening, I have been deciding on other things as well. I have bought a plane ticket to New Orleans for September 30th - October 3rd to visit my good friends John H. and Lauren B., both of whom are among the most wholesome and pleasant people to be around. Additionally, I finally have officially begun my honors thesis research under the lovely Professor Martha G. Newman. I will be exploring the lives of queer people within Islam; if you have friends, relatives, or acquaintances you would like to recommend I speak to, I would love this.

Writing this has thankfully caused me to decide against staying up for three more hours to make homemade cinnamon roll dough, but not to worry, I have plenty of other things I must finish. READINGS! BOOKS! ARTICLES! oh my!

tisbah ala khair ya habaabi,

C

when it gets rough, you just gotta get tough and/or have amazing friends

So, the week was "rough" to say the least. On top of having someone I admire, tell me I was a "disgrace to [my] discipline" and getting a stomach virus, while I was throwing up Tuesday afternoon I was the lucky recipient of an 'I just want to be friends...' text message. On top of feeling completely insulted, the following day I went to HEB where my car was vandalized. Unfortunately, this is not the first time that my car has been the victim of angry Zionist acting-out. The air was let out of my front two tires and my "Free Palestine, End the Occupation" sticker was mostly ripped off. By the time I got home, I was in desperate need of comfort and/or tequila. I cooked a decent dinner and then my beautiful wonderful friends and housemates came to the rescue. I was gifted many large cupcakes from Karl, hugged and loved by everyone, and then Ashley, Taylor, Jake, Dan and I went dancing! Barbarella 90s-ish music and crazy dancing sweating bike riding followed by a slumber party in Ashley's really warm yellow room and then morning smoothies. More biking. Hang-outs with Emma and Katie. And then good foods, home improvement, and Freaks and Geeks. CURED! by the wonderfulness of good company and biking/dancing. It really does work every time.

So, the lessons of this week are: bad things happen in 4's, not 3's, dancing is kind of a drug, and building things with your own two hands is the new best idea ever.

Big.

Sitting cross-legged on my big red couch, in my new home, at the beginning of this new year. Big breath in, big breath out. Big glass of wine, big full heart, big baggy pants and t-shirt, smile. If home is where the heart is, the biggest hunk of mine is here, and so here would be home. Besides endlessly studying for the GRE, I have been living well ever since work was over. I was working for the Arabic Flagship Program all summer. I love the women I worked with, the students (most, my friends), the faculty, etc. It made for a busy, but pleasant summer. But, now I can do fun summer things for a couple of days, which for me includes building some things, drinking wine, bike rides, sitting in book stores reading entire books, dancing until I look like I just went swimming, and enjoying some alone time. You can use alone time for all kinds of things, but usually I spend it compartmentalizing my other experiences, singing aloud to Paul Baribeau songs, or writing things down, or letters. If you ever want a letter, you should send me your address; I write often.
I will leave you with a bit of wisdom from P. Baribeau. His song, "Ten Things," is always a good tool for curing many of the more unlikable circumstances in life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1W81WkpUnY&feature=related

four wheels + feet = supaaaa speed!

I want nothing more than to roller skate today! So, roller skate I will. Pace and I began my cedar porch table project yesterday...it took a while to understand my new saw, but we figured it out. I want to work on it all the time, but it is hard to hold and cut wood alone, not to mention it is a trillion degrees outside and there is something about being covered in saw dust that doesn't make the heat more fun.

Pace and I also made delicious buckwheat pecan banana pancakes this morning and I drank a HUGE class of iced coffee that has my body tweaking out. Now, I am waiting for Karl to come over! KARL!!!!! I missed him. He has been traveling all summer, and I am so happy to have him home. More bike riding and gourmet meal cooking! AH HA!

Additionally, work for the Arabic Flagship Program is basically finished for the summer. My boss, and favorite person I work with, Chelsea, is moving on to a job at Maryland U. and I am pretty sad about it. I know that her new job will better complement her skills, as she is one of the most capable women I have ever met, but we will miss her greatly.

Also, I am getting antsy to dance! I think TuesGAYS and Barbarella has my name all over it this week. You can bet your bottom dollar I will be cutting a rug and sweating copious amounts, but I think this is the only way to do it right. But, Ashley A. will be out of town...I hope I can still have fun without her :(

Alright time to lean forward into the day.

"Leaning out as far as she can, hoping she'll fall soon, so she can stop worrying about whether it will happen or not." -Brian Andreas

dirty hands.

My hands are dirty from the last few days. Pumpkin spice cupcake making, basil planting, bike ride sweat and grease from a popped tire and a failed attempt to put on my new rack. Last night I had a glass of wine and listened to some mood tunes to slow my pulse and calm my nerves. The reason I have been keeping so busy is to put off unpacking anymore. Not that I do not really have an infinite amount of things to do, but last night, I uncovered notes from a deceased lover as I was trying to find new places for everything to go. It is like I am scared of my own stuff. Maybe that means I should get rid of a good amount of my "stuff," again.

Purging things is a relatively easy process for me when it comes to clothes, shoes, paints, food, tools, bags, trinkets, but when it comes to sentimental items like notes, gifts, books...I can't let go of them. If you have given me a book, a note, a painting or even a string in the last few years... I have it. The little "i love yous," come most honestly and simply in the form of hand painted and glittered pine cones, notes left in bike spokes, and hand-knitted leg warmers. Not that words are not beautiful magical things as well, but as cruel as memory is... small physical bits of lovely memories are a vice of mine. Sometimes years later, it is difficult to remember how an "i love you" from a particular person felt/smelled/tasted, and even if you never forget, you can rest assured that if you do, you can pick up that bit of tile and remember what an "i love you" on a rooftop in Yemen feels like. Or finger a little pressed bluebonnet that she placed in your hair the day she told you she loved you on the side of a highway (right after you made her stop becasue you had to go soooooo baaaaaddd you couldn't wait for the next town) so you never have to forget.

I keep things, becasue when I am old and I open that box of things I've moved around with forever, I can examine them with my wrinkled fingers and feel the rush of love, disappointment, lust, pain, friendship, loneliness, humility, humanity or humiliation that made up my life..just in case the memories of my life really don't flash before my eyes the moment right before I die. Just in case.

moving.

Very few of the many fond memories I will have of HoC:

I much prefer the word "moving" to "leaving," because they have significantly different meanings. Leaving implies that there is a negative reason you are moving from your current location, while moving seems to mean that either you are moving for the sake of change or for the sake of something exciting in the distance. Because, there is really hardly anything I dislike about the House of Commons, or any of the beautiful people I met while I lived there, it is time to move forwards. Honestly, I am always moving. When I think about it, the last 4 years I have lived many places: Jester Dorm, Salado House, Duval House, Eden House, Yemen, House of Commons, and now East 51st (i.e. "the love shack"). I hate staying still, and I am excited to experience a new living situation (with four of my favorite people). It will also be a nice environment in which to write my thesis, build/plant a new garden, dance, and cook (for less than 30 people at a time). I must admit, I am excited to have dairy and egg products back in the house. Cheese please.

Now, all I have to do is kick a whole bunch of ass on the GRE in 3 weeks, and all will be well. Not to mention, my last year of school begins on the 25th. Who am I kidding, if I get into grad. school, I'll be in school forever.

Also, I'm missing the Middle East a lot today. Especially, Yemen and Syria. I miss being constantly surprised and amazed, and also never wanting to sleep, but not because there was too much work, but because there was too much living to do, too much to see.

Ahhh, the suq.

Qat trees.

From Maxime's window in Damascus.

Evening coffee, nuts, sweets, and smokes at the garden cafe.

Ya salaam, kan gameel...

the last year. pictoral catch-up.

So, I have been keeping track of life in print lately (pencil and paper style). But, I will attempt to catch you up a tiny bit before I just move forward. I have been busy. And, as they say, a picture is worth a thousand words...so here we go.

I visited Syria, Jordan, and the West Bank/ Jerusalem. Here I am at the Dome of the Rock.

"One day I will put a piece of this wall on the shelf in my living room" at the Separation Wall, Bethlehem.

I played poker, and won all da (fake) moneyzz.

Cuddled in the sunshine with Sheevs.

Rode bikes around town in costumes.

Chilled with Ali Abunimah...err, organized a lecture (or 5)?

Went on field trips to visit mega churches and shrines with the RS Club.

Cooked a dinner for more than 30 people that was: vegan, tasty, and ball-shaped (yes, the whole meal, so, suck it)

Went to NY to visit Columbia, but mostly to get lost and have fun with Amelia. Oh, and to EAT.

Lived with, and fell in love with, all of these people at HoC.

Shaked the booty.

Got sunburned at some protests.

Built a wall in the middle of campus. <3 PSC

Got rowdy. <3 HoC

Was a nanny for some adorable children.

These aren't all of the things I did, or even all of the important things I did. But, for now, we only move forwards.