naivete

There is a lot to be said about loving flaws. Poetically, ideally, it sounds beautiful. Realistically, it sounds impractical. How do you love a family member knowing their disapproval of homosexuality, for instance. How do you create a love that accepts hatred-blind hatred. Sometimes the thought that you could love someone so immensely is awkward to me. Other times, it's more natural than breathing. To be human, and to accept your own humanity is the biggest mystery to me.
It baffles me that over the span of human existence-in this state of evolution-we have created so many religions, so many philosophies, simply to begin to understand ourselves.
I want to go back to being fifteen at times. My words didn't have the barrier of age. I could ask, what does death mean, without sounding like a child. Sometimes I want simplistic questions and even more simplistic answers. What is God? What is life? What does it mean to believe? Can one person change the world? How can I change the world? The simple curiosity of a fifteen year old vs. the greedy twenty-one year old who wants all the answers right now, it's an interesting comparative.
Thoughts are overwhelming and underwhelming but never truly whelming (Clueless reference anyone?). It is always either too much or too little. As an artist, you either create or you are created. As a human, you keep trying to distance yourself from your humanity. By butchering people or by creating supernaturals, you distance yourself from the human in you. Where does this self-loathing come from? Do we inherit it from our ancestors? Do we adopt it from the worst of our kind? You keep hurting and weeping and hurting and weeping.
Telling yourself to breathe, reminding yourself to take it easy.  C'est la vie. But why is life such? Why not better? We are certainly capable of it. Why don't we expect better from ourselves? Why are we so lazy?

Women on Women Crime

[Note: I wrote this as an article for a magazine.]

Is red lipstick too bold for some women? Can a woman be career oriented and a mother? Is a woman hysterical? If not, is she cold? Should a working woman be ‘bossy?’ And the list of such questions, of what a woman should and shouldn’t be, goes on and on. From numerous articles online to morning shows, from cover pages of magazines to YouTube channels, the entire world seems to be concerned with how women ‘should’ act. There is a huge emphasis on trying to be everything all at once. Ironically, women play a huge role in setting standards for what being a ‘woman’ really means when in reality womanhood is a personal and subjective journey.

The oppression of women is not a black-or-white issue. It is complex and sadly has been going on for far too long. The most obvious blame is patriarchy and while that may be true, a lot of discussion needs to be had over the role women play in their own oppression. Kamla Bhasin, a renowned South Asian feminist activist and gender trainer, argued on the Indian TV show Satyamev Jayate that a middle class woman is more likely to brush off domestic abuse and remain quiet about it as opposed to a working woman from the lower-income class of the society. She believes the latter would fight back but the former would consider self a ‘burden,’ as propagated by the norm, and thus wouldn’t want to bring any more light to self. Much discussion has been done on how men collectively need to change their opinion of the role a woman plays in the society, but what about women? If a woman refuses to speak up about the domestic abuse she’s facing, what does that imply? It either means that the society we have created hasn’t made it safe enough for her to speak about it in public or that she feels it would more so be a reflection on herself than the abuser. Bhasin argues that a woman from the working class will probably fight back or scream bloody murder in such a situation. Data collected by Violence Against Women center (VAWnet.org) shows that women from more affluent families have more resources (access to physicians, money to stay at hotels instead of women shelters, etc.) to hide the domestic abuse they face. This implies that either we have associated women who speak up as either something belonging to a lower class or perhaps we have created an environment, as a society, that coerces women from the middle-class to be silent of the abuse they face. This is where we need to, as a society but more so as women, create an environment where speaking up is respected and condoned.

If a woman wishes to get a divorce to escape an abusive relationship, she is blamed for her ‘broken marriage.’ If a woman labels self a ‘feminist,’ countless others make sure the men around them know that even though they do indeed believe in gender equality, they aren’t ‘feminists.’ A Tumblr account titled Women Against Feminism was created that calls all women to share with hand-written signs why women don’t need feminism in this day and age. In 2014, TIME magazine created a poll asking ‘Which word should be banned in 2015?’ and feminism was on the list of words along with words like ‘yaaaass,’ ‘bae,’ ‘kale,’ etc. They did later on apologize for including the word feminism but it did the damage it was supposed to do. Furthermore, women consistently blame others (as apparent in countless ‘morning shows’) over how much make-up is ‘too’ much make-up, over what is considered ‘fashionable’ vs. ‘slutty,’ over how much a woman ‘must’ smile and when she draws the line and becomes promiscuous, and so on. This kind of criticism and rhetoric isn’t something men are doing but what women are doing to other women. And while these may be brushed off as comments from a bored housewife or as women being their ‘typical catty selves,’ we need to analyze the damage they are doing to the perception of women in a grander scheme of things.

It is interesting how women from upper class, who usually appear on such morning shows, are the ones doing so much damage. The women who actually have the power to bring in a change are the ones who are marginalizing women from lower income classes to maintain the little power they have. Ayesha Jalal, a Pakistani historian, calls this the ‘convenience of subservience’ of women in Pakistan in the book Women, Islam, and the State (Women In The Political Economy) edited by Deniz Kandiyoti. She argues that women, who stem from upper-middle class and upper class, tend to be the ones who show least resistance to cultural norms and the perception of women in public arena. Hailing from perhaps a liberal family, they tend to be the ones who aren’t directly affected by extreme chauvinism and patriarchy as a woman coming from a lower-income family would and thus they choose to be subservient to the system to enjoy the few privileges they get over women from the lower income and rural class.

With that all being said, it is important to not ignore the damage certain women rights movements are doing to women either. For example, FEMEN, a women rights movement that originated in Ukraine and now based in France, aims to fight the patriarchy by baring their breasts and protesting topless. Although their intentions are well-founded in trying to win women back the rights to their bodies, their mission automatically claims that a woman who chooses to bare her breasts is courageous and a feminist. That she is liberated from patriarchy and the stigma that comes with showing skin but it ignores the side of feminism that says it is also okay for women to use the very same choice to cover up. By claiming that going around topless equates to women liberation, FEMEN strips the countless women hailing from Muslim countries and other cultures that do cover up by choice off the feminist title. In the end, it does more to aid the sexualized view the society has of women and takes away from the fight of women rights globally.

The fight for women equality will continue for a long time. It is comforting to believe we don’t have much to fight for but the reality is very contradictory. And while much of the blame does lie on patriarchy, on the perception men have of women, it is time we call out women who aid the oppression by their silence or by actively participating in misogynist acts and ideologies. 

I Am Allowed to Hate My University And Be In Love With Education

I am allowed to hate my university and be in love with education.

More often than not, people confuse a hatred for an educational institute with the hatred for gaining knowledge/desire to learn. You are called ungrateful for showing so much apathy towards a privilege very few are bestowed with. "You should be thankful you are getting a chance to get an education...so many people don't have these privileges." They are not wrong in saying that, although that statement comes from a place where  education is a privilege and not a right and well that's a discussion for another day. Still, let me try and explain to you 'why,' as a person, you are allowed to hate an institute that provides degrees and still be in love with learning/education.

Coming from a family of teachers and professors, I value education profoundly. I think it's the greatest weapon a person could have. In my opinion, education is the cure for most problems in this world. The way people view a mosque or a temple is how I view a library/university. I value intelligence to be the greatest quality a human being can have. I think that places of education are sacred. To me, they are more sacred than a mosque or a temple would be to believers. So then, it would seem absurd that I have such an immense hatred for many universities across the nation. But if you think about it, it makes a lot of sense.

Universities, specially across the United States, have become rather than an institution of knowledge, a place of business. Administration isn't interested in producing bright minds that would help make the world a better place one day but are driven by the simple idea of squeezing capital. A program isn't beneficial because it will help the students expand their minds, it is beneficial because it has numerous investors interested which would eventually benefit the university monetarily. Now, I have no problem with running a business. I think business are awesome. I also don't have a problem with having a 'profit' mindset. It is a necessary evil. What I do have a problem with is a business not being marketed as a business. If a University desires to be a place of business, it should market itself as one too. The people associated with it should have the guts to call it for what it is. What I also have a problem with is taking something as sacred as an institution of knowledge and turning it into a money-generating factory. What I am offended by is institutions claiming to be a temple of knowledge when all they do is merely sell information on a piece of paper.

As one would be offended if their church was selling a ticket to heaven, I am offended by this business of education. It shows how far off as a society we have strayed when we see no problem with churning profits out of places of knowledge. This is the consumer mindset United States has created. The one where if something isn't monetarily profitable, it isn't worth doing. And I, as a person and as a citizen of this country, am allowed to despise this circus. If you are allowed to take something sacred to me and sell it for money, I am allowed to despise this institution and all it stands for. It doesn't mean I hate knowledge, it doesn't mean I think learning is pointless, it simply means you have insulted my beliefs. This isn't a university. It isn't producing talented minds that will make this world a better place-by their prose, by their medicine, by their scientific discoveries, by their art, etc. It is a business trading money for a piece of paper and I am allowed to hate it. That's all.

On Separating the Art from its Artist

I have often wondered how important it is to separate the art from its artist. Hemingway was known to be abusive and a misogynist. Woolf and Plath were known to have suffered clinical depression. Sexton admitted to physically abusing her children due to her mental illness. Sartre was known to be a Nazi. John Lennon was known to be abusive. Bukowski was an alcoholic. Bob Marley was a drug addict. How necessary is it to separate the artist from who they were?

It is naive to think that an artist is independent from his art. To think that it is possible to create without bleeding, if you have an inclination towards poetry. But the idea that there are artists out there who have produced work that was solely under the influence of drugs and alcohol is a little troubling to me. As it is in professional sports where steroids aren't allowed, a part of me wishes that in creating art you weren't allowed to be under influence (of drugs, of alcohol, of caffeine, of nicotine). But it made me wonder how limited human thought actually is. The thought that many of the greatest works may have not been so great is more troubling to me than an author who writes while high. It bothers me more that a said piece of art hadn't existed at all than the fact that an artist used a drug as a clutch to produce it. So then it becomes much more important, to me, to separate the work from its artist.

To forget the conditions under which the art was produced, to forget the mindset with which it was produced, and to let it stand as an independent creature that had no origin is how I believe art should be looked at. Imagine a dark room with the light only coming from a spotlight aimed at a piece of art. That, in my opinion, is how art should be looked at.

What I want to discuss now is the social context of art. The first thing that comes to mind when I wish to talk about social context is Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. It is a fair question to ask, how can you fully appreciate that piece of art if you aren't aware of the social, political, economic, etc. background of that work? Well, when I say a work should stand alone, I do not mean you should chop off its limbs that are connecting it to what makes it necessary. I firmly believe that the greatest works of art are deemed so because they were simply a necessity. A poem about a revolution in a tyrannical government, a satire in an absurd system, an absurd painting in a society hell-bent on perfection, et al. are all, in my opinion, necessary for the conditions they are created in. The root of this necessity tends to lie in the artists mind. Therefore it is very naive, as I mentioned earlier, to think art can be created without an artist leaving a part of himself in it. (Think of the tortured artist cliche.) This obsession in the mind of the said artist is very often shaped by the world they live in. One only has to think of the esteemed Harry Potter novels that remind one that even Hogwarts wasn't free from basic social issues of Racism, Classicism, Animal Cruelty, etc. But it is important to note that these works are enriched when one decides to look at its social context, made better from what they previously were. These works aren't great because of their social context, they become greater when seen in the light they were produced in. These works are wonderful to begin with is the thing to remember.

Toni Morrison in an interview with Stephen Colbert, upon being asked if she thought she deserved the Nobel and Pulitzer prizes, answered that her art did. That to me is a very important distinction because here is an esteemed author separating herself from her work. The point I am trying to make is that regardless of the mental condition the person was in while creating that work of art, the piece itself matters. And the piece of art should only be judged by its content and not what the artist themselves did or were like. Because that art isn't the artist and the artist isn't the art. It is a part of the artist. And the artist is a part of the art.

With this being said, when you appreciating an artist leads to that artist financially benefiting from it (for example, the case of Chris Brown-although I wouldn't even consider that Art), separating the art from its artist becomes very futile. In your appreciating, you indirectly are condoning who they are as a person. Problematic behavior must be pointed out and addressed.

Silly Compromises

Hemingway, in his critique of Tender is the Night, once told Fitzgerald that he musn't make any silly compromises in his writing. That he must write and write truly no matter who or what it hurts. It is very comforting to me that all truly great writers struggled with words. That the brilliance that penned The Great Gatsby and For Whom the Bell Tolls was the same brilliance that was superfluous with words and needed reassurance.
I, personally, don't care for writing that doesn't seem human. I have no interest in authors who pretend everything's fine. Who write like they're merely drinking a cup of tea on a cold winter morning. They simply bore me. I don't care for poignant metaphors. Those who merely use big words make me want to roll my eyes so far back I can see the membrane of my brain. Point is, I like rawness. I respect honesty. As simple as that sounds, the only work worth doing is the honest work. Everything else keeps you restless.

the minor fall and the major lift

I keep having trouble with coming to terms with the fact that I am a human. That I am a person entitled to being a person. The ugly and the pretty, it's all me. Too willing to dissect and forego experiencing. Too tired of my mediocre thoughts and too hell-bent on bringing my soul to life.
Listen, I'm not writing a monologue. I'm being a person. Unscripted and unplanned. I want to spend Sunday nights reading Nietzche and I want to be sleep-deprived on Monday mornings.
My thoughts have always disgusted me for how mediocre they are and today is nothing special. We hate the things we understand too deeply, there is no hatred without understanding. I think that's where the cliche of 'thin line between love and hate' comes from.
I have experimented with satire, I have experimented with poetry, I have experimented with perspective writing, and I have experimented with articles. I hate writing. I hate the pressure that I put myself under in that moment because it is so beyond me to be a writer. But perhaps that's why someday I will be a writer because I am beginning to understand the burden you get to carry. It's an absolute honor to carry that burden. You get to claim that there is poetry in you worthy of being written.
I am so interested in reading about human beings. I want to know how you are accepting the art of being. There's something so beautiful about a person bowing his head and accepting the laws that govern the universe (note: universe is not the same as the world, think of sets and subsets where the universe is the set and the world is the subset. the subset must adhere to all the qualities of the universe but the universe is free to be more).
Reflecting on this for the next few hours: "Maybe there's a God above..." (x)

Black Boots, Black Day

You saw death approaching,
I apologized to the reaper.

You held a bloodied pen,
I used the ink for my politics.

You feared the black boots,
I bred them.

Your blood is on my hands.

Your pens, your papers, your notebooks,
Your backpacks, your books.

All soaked from your blood,
That blood is on my hands.

I live because you didn't,
That blood is on my hands.

You died because they didn't,
that blood is on my hands.

Red, not the blood of angry men,
But of your hope and my shame.

Rest In Peace. We, as a society, have failed you.

Coincidence

[This will be a small rant from a Mathematician's perspective, a fair warning.]

The word 'coincidence' is defined as "a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection" or as a "correspondence in nature or in time of occurrence."  

Too often I hear people use the word coincidence as something contrary to "God's will" or "the great plan." How can it be a coincidence when God exists? How can anything be so random? How can anything like that occur? 

Before I move on, let me define probability for you. It's a rather simplistic definition but necessary nonetheless. 1) Probability is the chance that something will happen - how likely it is that some event will happen. 2) The probability of an event is the measure of the chance that the event will occur as a result of an experiment. The probability of an event A is the number of ways event A can occur divided by the total number of possible outcomes. It is important to remember that probabilities do not tell you what will happen, only what is likely to happen. The distinction is very necessary. So when you say that the probability of Heads or Tails in a fair coin is .5 or 50%, you are essentially saying that if you keep flipping the coin and add all those probabilities, it adds up to or comes close to .5 or 50%. It is likely that there if a 50/50 chance of you getting Heads or Tails. It is unlikely, although not impossible, to flip a coin 20 times and get 20 Heads.

The chance of you getting hit by lightening is 1 in 700,000 in the U.S. What this means is that out of 700,000 times that lightening strikes in the U.S., the chance of you getting hit by it is once. That is the probability. You can call it coincidence or God's will or whatever you like, that's your prerogative. 

My problem is with the idea of devaluing the word 'coincidence.' Something is too much of a coincidence. Something occurring that simply can't happen without a greater will involved. The reason I have a problem with that is because it is taking the Math out of the equation and deeming it a farce. When you say the odds are too small for it to be a coincidence, you are denying the principles of Mathematics. You are saying that the Mathematical principles allow for this situation to exist are false simply because your mind is incapable of accepting the odds. The thing is, Mathematics isn't bound by the rules of this universe. You can adjust the variables and constants and go in dimensions our mind is incapable of imagining. Math allows you to consider alternate universes. So by saying, X is too big of a coincidence, you are insulting the principles of Mathematics. When Mathematicians calculate the probability of an event, that probability exists based on past events. It's deductive in nature. Dismissing that because your mind is incapable of understanding the odds is scientifically, and thus mathematically, inaccurate. The probability exists, not for your convenience, but because it is in nature. When you study Probability, you are told two things over and over again. 1) Correlation doesn't mean causation, and 2) You can never get a perfect probability of 1. The reason for the second statement is the possibility of not having recorded for any outliers. So Math accounts for any room there exists for an error. That's why you often see Mathematicians use terms like "almost surely" instead of "surely." It seems like a simple difference of one word but within that word lies an entire frame of reference. You are almost sure something happens but not sure because you are accounting for that freak chance where that thing deviates from the norm. And this is why saying something is too much of a coincidence is redundant and contrary. It can't be too big of a coincidence when it is a coincidence by nature. It can't be a coincidence and defy nature because nature already accounts for the possibility of that event happening.

P.S Correct me if you see any mathematical inaccuracies, I am but a student.

lilies

I haven't written in a while, lately that is how everything seems to begin. I haven't done _____ in a while. If someone asked me to describe what growing up feels like, I would probably say this. It is forgetting to do things you loved and learning to do things you need. It's not a bad thing but some nights are for submission, a silent bow to the past.
You know how when you were little and went back to school after summer vacations, a pencil would feel really weird in your hand? Your words were awkward scratches and sometimes you couldn't believe you had a more graceful rhythm? That's how I feel with words these days. Mine are too choppy, too erratic, too almost. There is a silent grace only practice can gift.
I wanted to talk about beautiful metaphors and analogies but all I can think of is this line by Agha Shahid Ali,

Look, how a God returns to his wrecked temple.

 How we return to our own wrecked temples, with madness and simplicity. Some days you are the tool and others you are the master. Regardless, you create.

On Loving Silently

Pakistanis, I believe, hold doctorates in loving silently.

There is the maid you had who would report you to your parents lest you strayed too far but who would also make you fries behind their back. The choukidaar you had who would always bring you candy. It didn't cost much, of course, but it was worth everything. There is that neighbor who you have known since you were little, the one who has given you rides to school many a times and let their home be a haven when you needed to escape yours.

Then you move on to grander expressions of love. You think of the PE teacher you had who made your life miserable but only because she believed in your potential. The first boy you had a crush on, when you had recently discovered what those wobbly knees meant. Letters and notes passed with the best friend, sly glances, asking for ink for your fountain pen knowing fully well he didn't carry an ink pot and you always had one. The innocent fluttering of butterflies that have just left their cocoons. 

And then there is love so profound it becomes your lungs. You know it's there but you rarely pause to think of it because if you started thinking about it, there wouldn't be much else left to think about. The friends you made when you were little, loyalty so fierce that it still knocks the wind out of you. You know, in your heart, that if you call up those friends now, fifteen years later, you could ask for their left hand and they would be willing to give. I have rarely seen the loyalty Pakistanis feel towards friendship elsewhere. (Believe me, I have looked.) And then you think of your immediate family. You brothers and sisters and cousins and uncles and aunts and your parents. It is an ocean. Immeasurable depth, wild waves, stormy nights, stormier mornings, serenity at 2 pm on a hot day. My God, and the life of it. So much to it that it drives you insane. 

No, no one does love like Pakistanis do. It is silent, in all it's glory. Take your poetic confessions and give me silence worth all our thoughts. Yes, that is love.