Sunday, September 19, 2004
I feel the need to write, but not the inspiration/motivation yet. But I’m on the road again and want to write this now before I have even more to write about. I'm feeling a bit lame for just writing "this is what we did," "this is what happened," but that's all I can do for now.
I'm in Melaka, a cute little town 2 hours south of KL, for a research interview in the morning. I won't have much time to explore here, but am slated to come back in two weeks for another interview and intend to do it then. Tomorrow afternoon it's a mad dash into Singapore for the sole purpose of getting a visa extension (I said before it may be the first country I've visited where I thought it didn't matter if I never returned again). There I'll be meeting up with a Canadian friend just off two years of teaching English in Korea. We'll head to Tioman Island to soak up the sun, assuming the monsoon isn't too far underway.
But first:
Having Andi here was great. These days Andi has hair long enough to pull into a pony tail—something I haven’t seen since freshman year. And she’s got major guns from all her sword swinging. In Malaysia, she saw things I had stopped seeing/appreciating and reopened my eyes. I can’t wait to read what she writes about her trip here once she gets the chance. I also feel hesitant to write about it now because I know she’ll do a much better job (and be more analytical). I not-so-secretly wish I wrote like her!
Her first full day here we went to the big Buddhist complex in Brickfields. They practice Theravada Buddhism, as opposed to Andi’s Mahayana (the difference as I understand it is like that between sects of Christianity). Andi joined them in a short service of chanting and bowing because it was the half moon or new moon or full moon. Lay people (us included) served food to the Sri Lankan monks after a blessing of some sort and then we had the free vegetarian lunch provided.
Lay people bow to monks—I suppose that’s okay as a sign of respect of their vows and devoting themselves to Buddhism. But if part of Buddhism is obliterating the ego, it doesn’t seem to make much sense to me. The way I see it, a good monk shouldn’t allow it and certainly shouldn’t require it...
That same day we wandered into a Chinese temple through a thick cloud of incense and half a block later glided through a Hindu temple, not exactly sure of what we were seeing or its significance.
Inside
Then we bussed out to the Islamic University to meet my Muslim friends there, who were supposed to take Andi into her first mosque. We waited near the sisters’ entrance as the rain started. When Farida (Tanzania) got there, she asked Andi questions about why she wanted to go to the mosque and revealed that her friends inside had told her that non-Muslims weren't allowed in mosques.
I was floored--just last Ramadan they'd insisted I come along for prayers; mosques in Egypt, Lebanon, Syria, Turkey, and Malaysia allow tourists, even providing robes to ensure proper coverage. (Actually, in one or two touristy mosques in Egypt, they didn't even require non-Muslims to veil, which I thought was wrong--you've gotta show respect!) I can understand not being able to go to Mecca and being required to dress properly, but to hear that someone thought non-Muslims couldn't enter was a shock to me. Islam places a high priority on knowledge and if a non-Muslim (tolerant and respectful) is interested in being educated, it be seem logical to me that it would be alright.
Farida was in a difficult position though; her friends were still inside and she wasn't sure what to do. So we postponed the trip and headed to her room where we would look for the answer in a 4 volume set of fatwas (religious rulings). Farida is very legalistic about Islam, always wanting to consult legitimate scholarship. Unfortunately, the answer wasn't readily available, so we stayed in the room and talked. When I got home, I googled for an answer and got the following, though Farida later SMSed me that it was not an acceptable source...I have yet to hear from her on her own findings. But my Malaysian friend Lathefa said it was "stupid" and the professor serving as my advisor at the Islamic University said it was "bull" to believe that non-Muslims couldn't enter a mosque...I guess this is just another reason why I'm unlikely to accept a religion: I value my own logic/judgment too much to defer to someone else, wherever he may have been educated (be it a Mufti or the Pope)!
The conversation that day was great, as always. And both Andi's first time talking to conservative Muslim women and their first time talking to a Buddhist. We watched them pray and they asked Andi to demonstrate how she prays. They joked about whether I have a special way to pray. The great thing about the exchange was the openness and the desire to understand the other's faith. I learned more about Buddhism in Andi's week here than I'd ever known before!
I had once wondered why the women didn't completely unveil when I hung out with them (of course, my scarf always comes off immediately!) and assumed they were just used to having something on their heads. It wasn't until that day that I discovered it was because I was non-Muslim and they believe that they should remain covered in case I should report to others about their hair and appearance. Others are not so strict about this, of course. I noticed that after this discussion, one Sudanese sister reappeared with a scarf loosely over her head--it was the first she'd heard of it, too.
Penang, in brief
The ex-girlfriend of a former Fulbrighter called me up and asked me to look after an American rugby player in town for a tournament...When he called and we said we were headed to Penang in about an hour, he somehow managed to get a bus and arrive before we did. We found him at a cafe near the hotel we'd decided to stay at. He told us that they said there were no rooms left. I had an inkling that it was because he was black. After we ate, Andi and I headed back to the front desk and asked if they had any more rooms--they did. So we went and got Ray.
"Oh, you," said the guy at the front desk. They'd turned him away because "Africans always make trouble and the police always have to come." If he was American ("show me your passport!"), then it would be okay.
I know people have different experiences than I do in other countries. Africans in Egypt are also treated very poorly, so sometimes it's difficult for them to understand when I proclaim my love for the country and its people. And Arabs in Malaysia are seen as $ signs much the way Westerners in Egypt are. But this may well have been my first encounter with out-right racism.
This was my third time to Penang. We went hiking to Turtle Beach and I managed to do the trail in flip flops. We went back to the Park Royal, where Erika, Kin and I had snuck in and subsequently gotten kicked out of back in February. I was on a mission, looking for my (original Sufi) friend L., who I hadn't seen since he'd come back from Europe. Only he wasn't there (he has a stall there, painting). But the guys working there found out we knew him and we got special treatment; we got to zoom around in the speed boat while others parasailed and got the guest rate for the parasailing.
We met my friend F. on Thursday night at the Shamrock and it turned out to be ladies' night. The bartenders were doing really cool Tom Cruise "Cocktail" type moves, which was enough to bring us back the next night. We ended up hanging out there the whole night (brushing off pesty men, who were surprisingly mostly Aussie and British), grabbing food with the bartenders at 4 am, and watching the sunrise on the beach as dolphins played in the distance.
There was a newspaper article a few days ago about people selling fake bus tickets (mostly to unsuspecting/gullible/naive women, children, and foreigners!) and the picture accompanying it: me, Andi, and my Malay friend A. with his face blurred out! We had been hanging out by the bus station before we left to Penang and the photographer must have been standing on the overpass bridge when he shot the pix...A.'s friends at Central Market showed us, knowing it was him because they recognized me!
When I was in an internet cafe in Penang, a guy standing behind the computer next to me made a noise that caught my attention (like he was drawing his breath in or letting it out, I can't remember now), so I looked over. It was a video clip of a beheading. I couldn't look away for a second and when I did, I couldn't get the image out of my mind. A few days later, A. was using my computer and when I saw he was looking at an email with photographs of a beheading, I asked him to stop. The email had come without any commentary, so he says, just the pictures. I can't imagine what people think when they send it, why they do it. Do they feel joy at seeing it? I turned back to my book to take my mind off of it, which didn't work since the book I'm currently reading is The Problem from Hell: America and the Age of Genocide, by Samantha Power. Now I had a visual image to go along with the "bloodbath" referred to in the first sentence I returned to. And that sent my mind off to the stories of the refugees I had worked with...[just got an email with a link to the following poem by a Burmese mother: How Can I Feel Other Than Broken-Hearted?]
Found out
I don't tend to write bad things about people on here; the one exception was about my old roommate who cheated me. Well, a few days ago I got a phone call; I'd been found out, not by him, but by someone close to him. I felt like Harriet the Spy must have. I went back and read what I wrote and stand firmly by it. At her request though, I removed the email link to his business website. She worried it would be bad for business; I suppose at the time I had hoped that would be the case. But now, months later, after a polite request to change it, I yielded. Part of me, though, wanted to rebel and make it even more prominent. But what is past, is past.
I'm in Melaka, a cute little town 2 hours south of KL, for a research interview in the morning. I won't have much time to explore here, but am slated to come back in two weeks for another interview and intend to do it then. Tomorrow afternoon it's a mad dash into Singapore for the sole purpose of getting a visa extension (I said before it may be the first country I've visited where I thought it didn't matter if I never returned again). There I'll be meeting up with a Canadian friend just off two years of teaching English in Korea. We'll head to Tioman Island to soak up the sun, assuming the monsoon isn't too far underway.
But first:
Having Andi here was great. These days Andi has hair long enough to pull into a pony tail—something I haven’t seen since freshman year. And she’s got major guns from all her sword swinging. In Malaysia, she saw things I had stopped seeing/appreciating and reopened my eyes. I can’t wait to read what she writes about her trip here once she gets the chance. I also feel hesitant to write about it now because I know she’ll do a much better job (and be more analytical). I not-so-secretly wish I wrote like her!
Her first full day here we went to the big Buddhist complex in Brickfields. They practice Theravada Buddhism, as opposed to Andi’s Mahayana (the difference as I understand it is like that between sects of Christianity). Andi joined them in a short service of chanting and bowing because it was the half moon or new moon or full moon. Lay people (us included) served food to the Sri Lankan monks after a blessing of some sort and then we had the free vegetarian lunch provided.
Lay people bow to monks—I suppose that’s okay as a sign of respect of their vows and devoting themselves to Buddhism. But if part of Buddhism is obliterating the ego, it doesn’t seem to make much sense to me. The way I see it, a good monk shouldn’t allow it and certainly shouldn’t require it...
That same day we wandered into a Chinese temple through a thick cloud of incense and half a block later glided through a Hindu temple, not exactly sure of what we were seeing or its significance.
Inside
Then we bussed out to the Islamic University to meet my Muslim friends there, who were supposed to take Andi into her first mosque. We waited near the sisters’ entrance as the rain started. When Farida (Tanzania) got there, she asked Andi questions about why she wanted to go to the mosque and revealed that her friends inside had told her that non-Muslims weren't allowed in mosques.
I was floored--just last Ramadan they'd insisted I come along for prayers; mosques in Egypt, Lebanon, Syria, Turkey, and Malaysia allow tourists, even providing robes to ensure proper coverage. (Actually, in one or two touristy mosques in Egypt, they didn't even require non-Muslims to veil, which I thought was wrong--you've gotta show respect!) I can understand not being able to go to Mecca and being required to dress properly, but to hear that someone thought non-Muslims couldn't enter was a shock to me. Islam places a high priority on knowledge and if a non-Muslim (tolerant and respectful) is interested in being educated, it be seem logical to me that it would be alright.
Farida was in a difficult position though; her friends were still inside and she wasn't sure what to do. So we postponed the trip and headed to her room where we would look for the answer in a 4 volume set of fatwas (religious rulings). Farida is very legalistic about Islam, always wanting to consult legitimate scholarship. Unfortunately, the answer wasn't readily available, so we stayed in the room and talked. When I got home, I googled for an answer and got the following, though Farida later SMSed me that it was not an acceptable source...I have yet to hear from her on her own findings. But my Malaysian friend Lathefa said it was "stupid" and the professor serving as my advisor at the Islamic University said it was "bull" to believe that non-Muslims couldn't enter a mosque...I guess this is just another reason why I'm unlikely to accept a religion: I value my own logic/judgment too much to defer to someone else, wherever he may have been educated (be it a Mufti or the Pope)!
The conversation that day was great, as always. And both Andi's first time talking to conservative Muslim women and their first time talking to a Buddhist. We watched them pray and they asked Andi to demonstrate how she prays. They joked about whether I have a special way to pray. The great thing about the exchange was the openness and the desire to understand the other's faith. I learned more about Buddhism in Andi's week here than I'd ever known before!
I had once wondered why the women didn't completely unveil when I hung out with them (of course, my scarf always comes off immediately!) and assumed they were just used to having something on their heads. It wasn't until that day that I discovered it was because I was non-Muslim and they believe that they should remain covered in case I should report to others about their hair and appearance. Others are not so strict about this, of course. I noticed that after this discussion, one Sudanese sister reappeared with a scarf loosely over her head--it was the first she'd heard of it, too.
Penang, in brief
The ex-girlfriend of a former Fulbrighter called me up and asked me to look after an American rugby player in town for a tournament...When he called and we said we were headed to Penang in about an hour, he somehow managed to get a bus and arrive before we did. We found him at a cafe near the hotel we'd decided to stay at. He told us that they said there were no rooms left. I had an inkling that it was because he was black. After we ate, Andi and I headed back to the front desk and asked if they had any more rooms--they did. So we went and got Ray.
"Oh, you," said the guy at the front desk. They'd turned him away because "Africans always make trouble and the police always have to come." If he was American ("show me your passport!"), then it would be okay.
I know people have different experiences than I do in other countries. Africans in Egypt are also treated very poorly, so sometimes it's difficult for them to understand when I proclaim my love for the country and its people. And Arabs in Malaysia are seen as $ signs much the way Westerners in Egypt are. But this may well have been my first encounter with out-right racism.
This was my third time to Penang. We went hiking to Turtle Beach and I managed to do the trail in flip flops. We went back to the Park Royal, where Erika, Kin and I had snuck in and subsequently gotten kicked out of back in February. I was on a mission, looking for my (original Sufi) friend L., who I hadn't seen since he'd come back from Europe. Only he wasn't there (he has a stall there, painting). But the guys working there found out we knew him and we got special treatment; we got to zoom around in the speed boat while others parasailed and got the guest rate for the parasailing.
We met my friend F. on Thursday night at the Shamrock and it turned out to be ladies' night. The bartenders were doing really cool Tom Cruise "Cocktail" type moves, which was enough to bring us back the next night. We ended up hanging out there the whole night (brushing off pesty men, who were surprisingly mostly Aussie and British), grabbing food with the bartenders at 4 am, and watching the sunrise on the beach as dolphins played in the distance.
There was a newspaper article a few days ago about people selling fake bus tickets (mostly to unsuspecting/gullible/naive women, children, and foreigners!) and the picture accompanying it: me, Andi, and my Malay friend A. with his face blurred out! We had been hanging out by the bus station before we left to Penang and the photographer must have been standing on the overpass bridge when he shot the pix...A.'s friends at Central Market showed us, knowing it was him because they recognized me!
When I was in an internet cafe in Penang, a guy standing behind the computer next to me made a noise that caught my attention (like he was drawing his breath in or letting it out, I can't remember now), so I looked over. It was a video clip of a beheading. I couldn't look away for a second and when I did, I couldn't get the image out of my mind. A few days later, A. was using my computer and when I saw he was looking at an email with photographs of a beheading, I asked him to stop. The email had come without any commentary, so he says, just the pictures. I can't imagine what people think when they send it, why they do it. Do they feel joy at seeing it? I turned back to my book to take my mind off of it, which didn't work since the book I'm currently reading is The Problem from Hell: America and the Age of Genocide, by Samantha Power. Now I had a visual image to go along with the "bloodbath" referred to in the first sentence I returned to. And that sent my mind off to the stories of the refugees I had worked with...[just got an email with a link to the following poem by a Burmese mother: How Can I Feel Other Than Broken-Hearted?]
Found out
I don't tend to write bad things about people on here; the one exception was about my old roommate who cheated me. Well, a few days ago I got a phone call; I'd been found out, not by him, but by someone close to him. I felt like Harriet the Spy must have. I went back and read what I wrote and stand firmly by it. At her request though, I removed the email link to his business website. She worried it would be bad for business; I suppose at the time I had hoped that would be the case. But now, months later, after a polite request to change it, I yielded. Part of me, though, wanted to rebel and make it even more prominent. But what is past, is past.
Friday, September 17, 2004
From Penang
Just a quick note to say that Andi and I are in Penang. Lots to post about, but I'm going to wait till I have more time. You can get Andi's take on hanging out with my African Muslim friends from the Islamic University here. More soon!
Just a quick note to say that Andi and I are in Penang. Lots to post about, but I'm going to wait till I have more time. You can get Andi's take on hanging out with my African Muslim friends from the Islamic University here. More soon!
Monday, September 13, 2004
Somehow, someone, someway, that internal time bomb mentioned in the previous post has been defused; when I woke up yesterday, things appeared to have returned to normal. I'm not sure what caused the change, but am happy to be rid of that business. Il humdo, as my NYC hip-hop-loving un-PC roommate in Egypt would say.
Andi comes in a few hours! Yippeeeeeee!
I just got an email from my sister with the lyrics of a song that reminds her of me. I like 'em, but haven't been able to download the song to hear it yet. Delilah (that horrid, horrid woman) plays it at the end of every show, so my sister writes: "It makes me happy everytime I hear it and whenever it gets near 1 am if I can, I try to turn it on because I know she'll play it." :D
Close Your Eyes
Edward Bear
I dreamed she came back home last night
Asked her where she'd been
She said I've been around the world and
It almost did me in
She said I hope you didn't wait too long
I have no sense of time
I see you've written one Last Song
And I realized that it's mine
Think of all the times we talked
Sing a nursery rhyme
Close your eyes
I'm right beside you
Run for miles you know I'll find you
Cause it's all the same
Change your lovers
Change your name
If you need a friend
Close your eyes
I'm back again
She really came back home last night
Seemed as if she'd changed
Said that she'd go back to school
And try things once again
But you know it didn't take too long
Till she lost her way
And all the reason in the world could see
She couldn't stay
As I helped her pack her things
It didn't hurt to say
Close your eyes
I'm right beside you
Run for miles you know I'll find you
Cause it's all the same
Change your lovers
Change your name
If you need a friend
Close your eyes
I'm back again
Andi comes in a few hours! Yippeeeeeee!
I just got an email from my sister with the lyrics of a song that reminds her of me. I like 'em, but haven't been able to download the song to hear it yet. Delilah (that horrid, horrid woman) plays it at the end of every show, so my sister writes: "It makes me happy everytime I hear it and whenever it gets near 1 am if I can, I try to turn it on because I know she'll play it." :D
Close Your Eyes
Edward Bear
I dreamed she came back home last night
Asked her where she'd been
She said I've been around the world and
It almost did me in
She said I hope you didn't wait too long
I have no sense of time
I see you've written one Last Song
And I realized that it's mine
Think of all the times we talked
Sing a nursery rhyme
Close your eyes
I'm right beside you
Run for miles you know I'll find you
Cause it's all the same
Change your lovers
Change your name
If you need a friend
Close your eyes
I'm back again
She really came back home last night
Seemed as if she'd changed
Said that she'd go back to school
And try things once again
But you know it didn't take too long
Till she lost her way
And all the reason in the world could see
She couldn't stay
As I helped her pack her things
It didn't hurt to say
Close your eyes
I'm right beside you
Run for miles you know I'll find you
Cause it's all the same
Change your lovers
Change your name
If you need a friend
Close your eyes
I'm back again
Thursday, September 09, 2004
Something's amiss
I've been waiting. Waiting for phone calls, waiting for friends, waiting for someone to rescue me, waiting for my future. The impatience isn't the "what's taking the train so long" kind; it's more structural than that. Something deeper and more maddening.
The job didn't pan out (jinxed by mentioning it prematurely here, no doubt). So I'm back to visualizing countless possibilities. Should I apply to law school now so I can start next fall? Or graduate school in the UK? Or wait? But if I wait, then that means I've got over 1.5 years to fill up---with what? If I go to Africa for six months after Christmas, will I then be ready to settle down a bit and focus on schoolwork? I actually like the idea of having homework, something to fill the time, and (best of all) deadlines.
I managed to occupy myself for about two days by going out, seeing people. But the last few days, I wake up and think, maybe I should sleep more so I have less hours of the day to fill. Sure, I have work I could do--start working on my final paper or read those chapters I photocopied a couple weeks back--but I can't sit still. This feeling of anticipation makes me look up from the computer or book I'm reading every few minutes.
I thought I'd learned to be by myself since coming to Malaysia. I can happily dine alone now, but the last week has me doubting anything more substantial than that. I have a pattern of seeking out new settings, new people, excitements, distractions. Beneath it all, there's something missing, a sense of emptiness.
With less than 2 months left in Malaysia, I'm a bit surprised by my current funk. That looming departure should set me in motion, put things in perspective, make me feel like I'm running out of time. I guess I'm waiting to leave, too. I thought about going out to explore a new part of town or going to a museum, but I just don't have the motivation. I've possibly watched more TV and movies in the last week than I have in all my time in Malaysia combined. But restlessly, the whole time thinking, what should I be doing? What should I do next?
I've spent a bit of time with a new Fulbrighter; she's been here a month today. She's just starting out and can shape her experience anyway she wants. I'm winding down and maybe I'm a bit envious that she's got a year ahead of her (though I don't want to stay another year; I realize I'm ready to move on). She already has friends with cars who are willing to take her places. She has friends who are girls. She has an advisor who actually advises. Is there a sense of regret? A twinge of if I had it to do over again?
I'm not at the top of my game right now. And I guess I'm waiting for that to change, too.
While I was waiting...
Earth
I went to the grocery store for the first time in months. There used to be one in the mall right across the street, but it closed in May. Since then, I haven't had any food in the house besides the EasyMac I brought from the US. The nearest supermarket is two stops away on the LRT, which really isn't that far. I bought a can of tuna, granola, OJ, milk, cheese, and yogurt.
Fire
I am incredibly annoyed with claims made by male friends lately. Last night, my Omani friends argued that women are not as smart as men. Women aren't in leadership positions; they're not in the army. (Um, historically disadvantaged, kept in the home, only recently got the right to vote, etc.) They cited some doctor who said that a woman has half the brain a man does. (Let me see his credentials.) Women aren't as strong. (Obviously there are biological differences, but there are some women who are stronger than some men and that has nothing to do with smartness.) Women can't control themselves. (What about men who abuse women?) Women cry too much. (Men have been conditioned to not cry, that it's unmanly and unacceptable. Crying shouldn't be seen as a negative.) I'm not saying women are smarter; I'm saying it's not a gender thing, it's a person-to-person thing.
My Malay friend I. said women couldn't be Sufi because they cry too much. A. said it was because we're not patient enough. The reason was later amended to the fact that women are devoted to their children and husbands and therefore cannot give themselves up fully to God in the way a Sufi should. They made the exception that if a woman didn't marry, then she might be able to attain that level--but that a woman's should be married.
(Hot) Air
Z., a Malay nurse, and I are regulars at a restuarant behind Central Market run by a British couple. She came in today visibly upset. Suliman, a Muslim convert from Chicago, helped her get a new job with an Egyptian doctor. Z. put in her resignation at the Chinese hospital maternity ward and started training several days ago. Yesterday and today, Suliman sent her several text messages saying that she must stop disobeying Islam and wear tudung (the Malay word for the headscarf) and that if she would not, their friendship could not continue.
Never before had he mentioned tudung to her. And now, only by SMS. It's as if he did her a favor and now he expects her to obey him. I'm sorry, but just because you have a long, white beard, that does not give you the right to tell someone how to live her life. And besides--appearances are not as important as what you do and how you behave.
Water
It's getting to be monsoon time. 4 pm and the downpour started. I had just gone out and though I had an umbrella, my lower half was drenched because the wind makes the rain fall sideways. I love it. People stand under any awning, at the LRT station. Motorcyclists stop under bridges to wait out the storm. The rain mellows out after half an hour and ends completely in an hour. The sun shines.
As Dolly Parton says, "The way I figure it, if you want a rainbow, you’ve gotta put up with the rain."
I've been waiting. Waiting for phone calls, waiting for friends, waiting for someone to rescue me, waiting for my future. The impatience isn't the "what's taking the train so long" kind; it's more structural than that. Something deeper and more maddening.
The job didn't pan out (jinxed by mentioning it prematurely here, no doubt). So I'm back to visualizing countless possibilities. Should I apply to law school now so I can start next fall? Or graduate school in the UK? Or wait? But if I wait, then that means I've got over 1.5 years to fill up---with what? If I go to Africa for six months after Christmas, will I then be ready to settle down a bit and focus on schoolwork? I actually like the idea of having homework, something to fill the time, and (best of all) deadlines.
I managed to occupy myself for about two days by going out, seeing people. But the last few days, I wake up and think, maybe I should sleep more so I have less hours of the day to fill. Sure, I have work I could do--start working on my final paper or read those chapters I photocopied a couple weeks back--but I can't sit still. This feeling of anticipation makes me look up from the computer or book I'm reading every few minutes.
I thought I'd learned to be by myself since coming to Malaysia. I can happily dine alone now, but the last week has me doubting anything more substantial than that. I have a pattern of seeking out new settings, new people, excitements, distractions. Beneath it all, there's something missing, a sense of emptiness.
With less than 2 months left in Malaysia, I'm a bit surprised by my current funk. That looming departure should set me in motion, put things in perspective, make me feel like I'm running out of time. I guess I'm waiting to leave, too. I thought about going out to explore a new part of town or going to a museum, but I just don't have the motivation. I've possibly watched more TV and movies in the last week than I have in all my time in Malaysia combined. But restlessly, the whole time thinking, what should I be doing? What should I do next?
I've spent a bit of time with a new Fulbrighter; she's been here a month today. She's just starting out and can shape her experience anyway she wants. I'm winding down and maybe I'm a bit envious that she's got a year ahead of her (though I don't want to stay another year; I realize I'm ready to move on). She already has friends with cars who are willing to take her places. She has friends who are girls. She has an advisor who actually advises. Is there a sense of regret? A twinge of if I had it to do over again?
I'm not at the top of my game right now. And I guess I'm waiting for that to change, too.
While I was waiting...
Earth
I went to the grocery store for the first time in months. There used to be one in the mall right across the street, but it closed in May. Since then, I haven't had any food in the house besides the EasyMac I brought from the US. The nearest supermarket is two stops away on the LRT, which really isn't that far. I bought a can of tuna, granola, OJ, milk, cheese, and yogurt.
Fire
I am incredibly annoyed with claims made by male friends lately. Last night, my Omani friends argued that women are not as smart as men. Women aren't in leadership positions; they're not in the army. (Um, historically disadvantaged, kept in the home, only recently got the right to vote, etc.) They cited some doctor who said that a woman has half the brain a man does. (Let me see his credentials.) Women aren't as strong. (Obviously there are biological differences, but there are some women who are stronger than some men and that has nothing to do with smartness.) Women can't control themselves. (What about men who abuse women?) Women cry too much. (Men have been conditioned to not cry, that it's unmanly and unacceptable. Crying shouldn't be seen as a negative.) I'm not saying women are smarter; I'm saying it's not a gender thing, it's a person-to-person thing.
My Malay friend I. said women couldn't be Sufi because they cry too much. A. said it was because we're not patient enough. The reason was later amended to the fact that women are devoted to their children and husbands and therefore cannot give themselves up fully to God in the way a Sufi should. They made the exception that if a woman didn't marry, then she might be able to attain that level--but that a woman's should be married.
(Hot) Air
Z., a Malay nurse, and I are regulars at a restuarant behind Central Market run by a British couple. She came in today visibly upset. Suliman, a Muslim convert from Chicago, helped her get a new job with an Egyptian doctor. Z. put in her resignation at the Chinese hospital maternity ward and started training several days ago. Yesterday and today, Suliman sent her several text messages saying that she must stop disobeying Islam and wear tudung (the Malay word for the headscarf) and that if she would not, their friendship could not continue.
Never before had he mentioned tudung to her. And now, only by SMS. It's as if he did her a favor and now he expects her to obey him. I'm sorry, but just because you have a long, white beard, that does not give you the right to tell someone how to live her life. And besides--appearances are not as important as what you do and how you behave.
Water
It's getting to be monsoon time. 4 pm and the downpour started. I had just gone out and though I had an umbrella, my lower half was drenched because the wind makes the rain fall sideways. I love it. People stand under any awning, at the LRT station. Motorcyclists stop under bridges to wait out the storm. The rain mellows out after half an hour and ends completely in an hour. The sun shines.
As Dolly Parton says, "The way I figure it, if you want a rainbow, you’ve gotta put up with the rain."
Success
I was going stir-crazy. I was a caged animal--in one of those bad zoos that make you feel sorry for the animal. I couldn't sleep. I could feel energy pulsing through my body and I just couldn't sit still. This is perhaps the longest I've been in KL for one time. Usually I'm traveling every other week.
The energy-running-thru-my-veins happens to me every once in awhile...the last time I remember it was back in December, before I had any friends, when I wasn't really doing anything and feeling directionless. Periods of insomnia. I fixed that by joining Gold's Gym, where I managed to make friends, work out so I was physically tired, and have something to fill my day with.
This time I had another plan and I think it worked. Run away from home.
I left my apartment at 1 pm. Had lunch with human rights lawyer friend. Went to KLCC and joined another old friend I haven't seen lately during his lunch. Went to the bookstore. Read in the food court. Walked to Bukit Bintang (thought the heat might help to tire me out!). Had some tea with a friend and talked. Another friend met us for dinner. We all went to another friend's office and had more tea. Went to Planet Hollywood and danced. Friend of a friend was there. And saw another friend there. Packed for a Wednesday night.
Whew. 3 am now and I'm tired. In a good way. As planned. No staring at the ceiling tonight, lah!
Also determined that monsoon season will be upon us next month, which sort of foils my plans of an East Coast beach holiday with Canadian friend when she's here...Will have to reconsider, though rain (especially storms) on beaches can be nice. If I was spontaneous, I'd pack up and go tomorrow for one last hurrah while I still can...If only.
I was going stir-crazy. I was a caged animal--in one of those bad zoos that make you feel sorry for the animal. I couldn't sleep. I could feel energy pulsing through my body and I just couldn't sit still. This is perhaps the longest I've been in KL for one time. Usually I'm traveling every other week.
The energy-running-thru-my-veins happens to me every once in awhile...the last time I remember it was back in December, before I had any friends, when I wasn't really doing anything and feeling directionless. Periods of insomnia. I fixed that by joining Gold's Gym, where I managed to make friends, work out so I was physically tired, and have something to fill my day with.
This time I had another plan and I think it worked. Run away from home.
I left my apartment at 1 pm. Had lunch with human rights lawyer friend. Went to KLCC and joined another old friend I haven't seen lately during his lunch. Went to the bookstore. Read in the food court. Walked to Bukit Bintang (thought the heat might help to tire me out!). Had some tea with a friend and talked. Another friend met us for dinner. We all went to another friend's office and had more tea. Went to Planet Hollywood and danced. Friend of a friend was there. And saw another friend there. Packed for a Wednesday night.
Whew. 3 am now and I'm tired. In a good way. As planned. No staring at the ceiling tonight, lah!
Also determined that monsoon season will be upon us next month, which sort of foils my plans of an East Coast beach holiday with Canadian friend when she's here...Will have to reconsider, though rain (especially storms) on beaches can be nice. If I was spontaneous, I'd pack up and go tomorrow for one last hurrah while I still can...If only.
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
Massive Mumblings from My Mouth
It's not good when you have a telephone interview and your horoscope says: "Your mouth and brain are at cross-purposes." I am SO inarticulate! Maybe that's what I should have send when asked about traits/qualities I could improve. How do you answer that, anyway? (That is NOT an invitation to tell me what you think my negative qualities are!)
I felt like a beauty queen contestant (though thankfully I never uttered the words "world peace"). I could hear my voice's echo, though the two people on speaker phone interviewing me could not. Hopefully, they'll think my fumblings were because of the bad connection!
I'll find out Friday if I get a second interview--far from the job offer at the end of this conversation I had been hoping for. More details then--this alone may jinx me!
Tomorrow's forecast: Stop mourning your wilder days. Didn't you just paint the town? Even your fiery sign occasionally needs time to rest, regroup and get ready for the next fiesta. Yawning is perfectly acceptable. But I've been stuck at home the past 5 days already--I'm soooooooo bored! (But at least Sex in the City was on tonight.)
Health tip: A spoonful of honey to battle any ailment. According to my Turkish friend, it's the elixir of life. (Though too much 'medicine' may give you a tummy ache!)
Stock market: I could buy my plane ticket home. But I'm reluctant to do so, because then the countdown will have to begin. Without a set date, I can ignore the inevitable departure a bit longer. Da Nile.
Update: My mom is great. After discussing some of the questions (she calls stupid) and my answers, I guess I didn't do half bad. And I realized this was my first real interview!
It's not good when you have a telephone interview and your horoscope says: "Your mouth and brain are at cross-purposes." I am SO inarticulate! Maybe that's what I should have send when asked about traits/qualities I could improve. How do you answer that, anyway? (That is NOT an invitation to tell me what you think my negative qualities are!)
I felt like a beauty queen contestant (though thankfully I never uttered the words "world peace"). I could hear my voice's echo, though the two people on speaker phone interviewing me could not. Hopefully, they'll think my fumblings were because of the bad connection!
I'll find out Friday if I get a second interview--far from the job offer at the end of this conversation I had been hoping for. More details then--this alone may jinx me!
Tomorrow's forecast: Stop mourning your wilder days. Didn't you just paint the town? Even your fiery sign occasionally needs time to rest, regroup and get ready for the next fiesta. Yawning is perfectly acceptable. But I've been stuck at home the past 5 days already--I'm soooooooo bored! (But at least Sex in the City was on tonight.)
Health tip: A spoonful of honey to battle any ailment. According to my Turkish friend, it's the elixir of life. (Though too much 'medicine' may give you a tummy ache!)
Stock market: I could buy my plane ticket home. But I'm reluctant to do so, because then the countdown will have to begin. Without a set date, I can ignore the inevitable departure a bit longer. Da Nile.
Update: My mom is great. After discussing some of the questions (she calls stupid) and my answers, I guess I didn't do half bad. And I realized this was my first real interview!
Some days it feels like this
Stumbled upon this gem at http://jasang.blogspot.com. (I've been stealing lots of pictures lately, as you can see. If you right click on the photo, you can see the source I nabbed it from...)
Stumbled upon this gem at http://jasang.blogspot.com. (I've been stealing lots of pictures lately, as you can see. If you right click on the photo, you can see the source I nabbed it from...)
Death of a Tradition?
I just read that Nebraska's fair faces extinction. The buildings are crumbling, attendance is down, and the fair is a money-loser.
"There's so much other stuff for people to do nowadays," said a 77-year old mechanic. "When I was young, you came here and made a day of it, brought a picnic lunch. Now people are kind of bored when they come here--especially the young people."
Honestly, I got bored when I went to the 4H Fair while I was back in Iowa this July. I wandered around a bit, reminisced about all my youthful summers spent there, but then I had an overwhelming sense of having not only grown up, but outgrown.
But I'm a stickler for tradition (my whole family is). And it makes me sad to think that other children might not have the same chance to display their craft projects and show the livestock they've cared for all year, not to mention be able to run wild the week of the fair.
Luckily, Iowa's State Fair is not facing a similar fate. In fact, USA Today ranked it #2 in its "Top 10 Places America Goes To Have Fun." That was right behind Sin City and right before Times Square. (My mom was so proud she clipped the article and taped it to our kitchen cabinet.)
This was the 150th birthday of the Iowa State Fair and there were over a million visitors. Perhaps the most notable feature of the fair? A 550 pound sculpture of a cow--made of out butter! There's always a cow and for the past 45 years, "Duffy" Lyon has been the sculptor (pictured below).
A second buttery buddy usually makes an appearance. In the past, it's been President Eisenhower, John Wayne (Iowa native!), Hansel and Gretel, and the Peanuts comic strip characters. This year: a Harley-Davidson motorcycle.
Da Vinci's "The Last Supper." The piece attracted praise and criticism across the country, and was the subject of a Des Moines Register editorial that jokingly questioned the constitutionality of the religious sculpture because it was funded by public money.
Nebraska's last hope is that voters will pass a referendum channeling 10% of casino profits to the fair. Either that or pass the butter!
I just read that Nebraska's fair faces extinction. The buildings are crumbling, attendance is down, and the fair is a money-loser.
"There's so much other stuff for people to do nowadays," said a 77-year old mechanic. "When I was young, you came here and made a day of it, brought a picnic lunch. Now people are kind of bored when they come here--especially the young people."
Honestly, I got bored when I went to the 4H Fair while I was back in Iowa this July. I wandered around a bit, reminisced about all my youthful summers spent there, but then I had an overwhelming sense of having not only grown up, but outgrown.
But I'm a stickler for tradition (my whole family is). And it makes me sad to think that other children might not have the same chance to display their craft projects and show the livestock they've cared for all year, not to mention be able to run wild the week of the fair.
Luckily, Iowa's State Fair is not facing a similar fate. In fact, USA Today ranked it #2 in its "Top 10 Places America Goes To Have Fun." That was right behind Sin City and right before Times Square. (My mom was so proud she clipped the article and taped it to our kitchen cabinet.)
This was the 150th birthday of the Iowa State Fair and there were over a million visitors. Perhaps the most notable feature of the fair? A 550 pound sculpture of a cow--made of out butter! There's always a cow and for the past 45 years, "Duffy" Lyon has been the sculptor (pictured below).
A second buttery buddy usually makes an appearance. In the past, it's been President Eisenhower, John Wayne (Iowa native!), Hansel and Gretel, and the Peanuts comic strip characters. This year: a Harley-Davidson motorcycle.
Da Vinci's "The Last Supper." The piece attracted praise and criticism across the country, and was the subject of a Des Moines Register editorial that jokingly questioned the constitutionality of the religious sculpture because it was funded by public money.
Nebraska's last hope is that voters will pass a referendum channeling 10% of casino profits to the fair. Either that or pass the butter!
Monday, September 06, 2004
I'd run to IRAN
Add it to my list!
Most people know that women in Iran—even non-Muslim women—must cover when in public. But recently I learned that women’s history in Iran is so much more interesting and not nearly so simplistic! (I got much of the following from a really good, but really long article here. Quotes are from here unless otherwise indicated.)
Pre-revolution
Up until the mid-1920s, the chador (an ankle-length cape which covered the women’s hair and body, though not her face) was part of the traditional Iranian costume. When Reza Shah came to power in the mid-1920s, he wanted to modernize. A big part of that was a push for women’s education, which had previously been deemed as being against shari’a (Islamic law) by a previous Ayatollah at the turn of the century, even though girls’ schools had been separate, Islamic dress was enforced and all the teachers were female.
To modernize Reza Shah decided the veil must go. In 1936, the chador was outlawed and any headgear other than European hats was made illegal. Men also had to wear European clothing, though this was no so strictly enforced.
“For lower middle class and low-income urban women, who were socialized to see veiling, in the form of chador, as the only legitimate, acceptable way of dressing, the unveiling law was far from liberating.” Rather than set women free, the measure forced many no other choice but to stay home and give up their public activities: shopping for the family, engaging in economic activity outside the home, visiting neighbors, going to the public baths. The result was that many women became dependent on their husbands, sons and male relatives to do things they had normally done for themselves.
Revolution
Women participation in street demonstrations during the Revolution was unprecedented. The movement adopted the black chador as a symbol rejecting the Shah’s regime. Non-veiled middle class women put it on and traditional segments of the population—those who had stayed home when told to de-veil—joined in.
Because the Shah’s regime had been progressive in women’s rights, the women participating in the Revolution did not raise gender specific issues and their demands were those of the Revolution’s in general. Women who raised concerns that the Ayatollah Khomeini (who the Revolution brought to power) had traditionally been against women’s rights were silenced and accused of being divisive.
Ayatollah Khomeini, upon his return to Iran from exile, barred women from becoming judges. Three days later, he declared women should wear the hijab at work. Beaches and sporting events were segregated.
Spontaneous demonstrations occurred for several weeks to follow, including a March 8th International Women’s Day gathering that mushroomed into a protest rally with thousands demonstrating. There were several sit-ins at the Ministry of Justice. A March 11th protest drew 20,000 women.
Counter-protestors—religious zealots, paramilitary forces, and even some women—threw broken glass, bricks and stones and injured those protesting the new regulations. The government backpedaled, saying that Khomeini had been misunderstood and there was no plan to impose hijab. 15 months later, in June 1980, the hijab became compulsory.
Interpretations
Women’s groups in Iran offer similar arguments to Malaysia’s Sisters in Islam (which I’ve written about before, including here). “Through distortion and manipulation, and by exaggerating some aspects of Qur'anic verses and downplaying others, Muslim societies have oppressed women for centuries and denied them their genuine Islamic rights and dignity…Islamist women, many of whom were well versed in religious matters, continued to present a new gender vision based on a woman-centred interpretation of Islamic text. They pointed out that much of what is being presented to women as Islamic and ‘authentic Islamic ways’ is nothing but ‘patriarchy in Islamic costume.’”
E.g.: women had been denied political rights and prevented from parliamentary political processes prior to the Shah on the grounds that it was against the text of the Qu’ran, “despite the lack of a single reference to elections in the contemporary sense in the Quran. Ayatolah Mudress…claimed that God had not given women the capacity to engage in politics. God, he claimed, had said in the Quran that women are in the custody of men and may not have the right to vote.”
Unconventional
A great bit of logic pushed forward by Iranian women created the ojrat ol-mesal (wages for housework) law: Islamic tradition obliges women nothing more than to be faithful to their husbands; they are not required to work in the home, to the extent that women are not even obliged to breastfeed their children without payment from their husbands. However, women do work in their husbands’ homes and so are therefore entitled to proper compensation to avoid exploitation.
“The argument, though novel and unconventional, was based on Islamic texts supported by Qur'anic verses. The bill was initially resisted by the Islamic parliament and conservative religious leaders because it was an unconventional interpretation of ‘Islamic law.’ However, as the conservatives could not prove that it was un-Islamic, it gathered considerable popular support, and the law was eventually passed in December 1992. Presently, a man who intends to divorce his wife without proving fault on her part must first pay housework wages for the duration of the marriage.”
Resistance
Today, women have been pushing the limits of the law requiring them to cover. For some, it’s fashion. For others, it’s protest in the form of “letting a little hair out.”
My friend Bridget’s friend’s sister is currently in Iran, working on her PhD from the U of Chicago. She emails:
“I…haven't managed to get arrested (although since I've been here there have been a bunch of arrests of women wearing "slutty hejab" ie bright colors, tight, small head scarfs. Not much chance I'd get detained—during which they lecture you on being a better Muslim and make you sign a paper saying you will dress better—since I'm a foreigner and the rules are different for us, but that would TOTALLY make my CV: "summer 2004, arrested in Tehran for slutty hejab"! I'm still obsessed with slutty hejab as form of resistance and am trying to meet with this clothing designer in Iran who is very political, but the [Institute] doesn't understand why...everytime I bring it up they are like, do you want us to take you shopping? Or do you want to go to a clothing museum?”
Iranian media is reporting that the Interior Ministry is drafting guidelines as to what is deemed appropriate hijab and what is not. Read here and here for more about "slutty hijab" in Iran. (I tried, but couldn't find any pictures!)
For a discussion of resistance to the French law that bans hijab and other religious symbols from schools, visit Andi's second blog, Ditch the Raft, in a September 1st post, near the bottom of the page.
(Random note: I love the names Iran uses for political offices! The Council of Guardians, Assembly of Experts, the Supreme Spiritual Leader, the Revolutionary Guard, the Supreme Council of Defense. Perhaps a bit scary, but fun!)
Add it to my list!
Most people know that women in Iran—even non-Muslim women—must cover when in public. But recently I learned that women’s history in Iran is so much more interesting and not nearly so simplistic! (I got much of the following from a really good, but really long article here. Quotes are from here unless otherwise indicated.)
Pre-revolution
Up until the mid-1920s, the chador (an ankle-length cape which covered the women’s hair and body, though not her face) was part of the traditional Iranian costume. When Reza Shah came to power in the mid-1920s, he wanted to modernize. A big part of that was a push for women’s education, which had previously been deemed as being against shari’a (Islamic law) by a previous Ayatollah at the turn of the century, even though girls’ schools had been separate, Islamic dress was enforced and all the teachers were female.
To modernize Reza Shah decided the veil must go. In 1936, the chador was outlawed and any headgear other than European hats was made illegal. Men also had to wear European clothing, though this was no so strictly enforced.
“For lower middle class and low-income urban women, who were socialized to see veiling, in the form of chador, as the only legitimate, acceptable way of dressing, the unveiling law was far from liberating.” Rather than set women free, the measure forced many no other choice but to stay home and give up their public activities: shopping for the family, engaging in economic activity outside the home, visiting neighbors, going to the public baths. The result was that many women became dependent on their husbands, sons and male relatives to do things they had normally done for themselves.
Revolution
Women participation in street demonstrations during the Revolution was unprecedented. The movement adopted the black chador as a symbol rejecting the Shah’s regime. Non-veiled middle class women put it on and traditional segments of the population—those who had stayed home when told to de-veil—joined in.
Because the Shah’s regime had been progressive in women’s rights, the women participating in the Revolution did not raise gender specific issues and their demands were those of the Revolution’s in general. Women who raised concerns that the Ayatollah Khomeini (who the Revolution brought to power) had traditionally been against women’s rights were silenced and accused of being divisive.
Ayatollah Khomeini, upon his return to Iran from exile, barred women from becoming judges. Three days later, he declared women should wear the hijab at work. Beaches and sporting events were segregated.
Spontaneous demonstrations occurred for several weeks to follow, including a March 8th International Women’s Day gathering that mushroomed into a protest rally with thousands demonstrating. There were several sit-ins at the Ministry of Justice. A March 11th protest drew 20,000 women.
Counter-protestors—religious zealots, paramilitary forces, and even some women—threw broken glass, bricks and stones and injured those protesting the new regulations. The government backpedaled, saying that Khomeini had been misunderstood and there was no plan to impose hijab. 15 months later, in June 1980, the hijab became compulsory.
Interpretations
Women’s groups in Iran offer similar arguments to Malaysia’s Sisters in Islam (which I’ve written about before, including here). “Through distortion and manipulation, and by exaggerating some aspects of Qur'anic verses and downplaying others, Muslim societies have oppressed women for centuries and denied them their genuine Islamic rights and dignity…Islamist women, many of whom were well versed in religious matters, continued to present a new gender vision based on a woman-centred interpretation of Islamic text. They pointed out that much of what is being presented to women as Islamic and ‘authentic Islamic ways’ is nothing but ‘patriarchy in Islamic costume.’”
E.g.: women had been denied political rights and prevented from parliamentary political processes prior to the Shah on the grounds that it was against the text of the Qu’ran, “despite the lack of a single reference to elections in the contemporary sense in the Quran. Ayatolah Mudress…claimed that God had not given women the capacity to engage in politics. God, he claimed, had said in the Quran that women are in the custody of men and may not have the right to vote.”
Unconventional
A great bit of logic pushed forward by Iranian women created the ojrat ol-mesal (wages for housework) law: Islamic tradition obliges women nothing more than to be faithful to their husbands; they are not required to work in the home, to the extent that women are not even obliged to breastfeed their children without payment from their husbands. However, women do work in their husbands’ homes and so are therefore entitled to proper compensation to avoid exploitation.
“The argument, though novel and unconventional, was based on Islamic texts supported by Qur'anic verses. The bill was initially resisted by the Islamic parliament and conservative religious leaders because it was an unconventional interpretation of ‘Islamic law.’ However, as the conservatives could not prove that it was un-Islamic, it gathered considerable popular support, and the law was eventually passed in December 1992. Presently, a man who intends to divorce his wife without proving fault on her part must first pay housework wages for the duration of the marriage.”
Resistance
Today, women have been pushing the limits of the law requiring them to cover. For some, it’s fashion. For others, it’s protest in the form of “letting a little hair out.”
My friend Bridget’s friend’s sister is currently in Iran, working on her PhD from the U of Chicago. She emails:
“I…haven't managed to get arrested (although since I've been here there have been a bunch of arrests of women wearing "slutty hejab" ie bright colors, tight, small head scarfs. Not much chance I'd get detained—during which they lecture you on being a better Muslim and make you sign a paper saying you will dress better—since I'm a foreigner and the rules are different for us, but that would TOTALLY make my CV: "summer 2004, arrested in Tehran for slutty hejab"! I'm still obsessed with slutty hejab as form of resistance and am trying to meet with this clothing designer in Iran who is very political, but the [Institute] doesn't understand why...everytime I bring it up they are like, do you want us to take you shopping? Or do you want to go to a clothing museum?”
Iranian media is reporting that the Interior Ministry is drafting guidelines as to what is deemed appropriate hijab and what is not. Read here and here for more about "slutty hijab" in Iran. (I tried, but couldn't find any pictures!)
For a discussion of resistance to the French law that bans hijab and other religious symbols from schools, visit Andi's second blog, Ditch the Raft, in a September 1st post, near the bottom of the page.
(Random note: I love the names Iran uses for political offices! The Council of Guardians, Assembly of Experts, the Supreme Spiritual Leader, the Revolutionary Guard, the Supreme Council of Defense. Perhaps a bit scary, but fun!)
Sunday, September 05, 2004
Short story
About the Wedding Night
Heidi Vogt -- 08/30/2004
Saltmag.net Contributing Editor and writer Heidi Vogt spent two years as a Peace Corps volunteer in West Africa before returning to America to work in New York City. Here, she writes about Yabirgi, a young woman she met when she was a volunteer, and asks the question: what is it like to attend your own husband's wedding?
About the Wedding Night
Heidi Vogt -- 08/30/2004
Saltmag.net Contributing Editor and writer Heidi Vogt spent two years as a Peace Corps volunteer in West Africa before returning to America to work in New York City. Here, she writes about Yabirgi, a young woman she met when she was a volunteer, and asks the question: what is it like to attend your own husband's wedding?
Saturday, September 04, 2004
Visit #4
This time the clinic smelled like a nursing home. I hadn't noticed it when I was there two days ago.
My symptoms: sore throat, especially when I swallow; swollen glands; headache; achy body; earache. I didn't know if I had a fever.
The same doctor and this time I noticed his name: Dr. Amajarit (or something) Gill. I figured it was a good sign that his second name was nearly my first.
The diagnosis: acute follicle tonsillitis. I'd gone to the doctor because I thought it might be strep throat. When I heard tonsillitis, I had to fight back tears because that fear had worried to me, too. There was no way I wanted to have to go to the hospital and have my tonsils removed in a country far away from home, without my family, and where the ice cream isn't as good.
Luckily, they don't just go and remove your tonsils on a whim anymore these days. It's gotta be severe and you have to have recurring tonsillitis. This was my first bout with it, as far as I know.
Instead, I got an injection in my butt.
Which made me recall the last time that had happened: I had gotten a shot so that I could go to kindergarten. Not sure what it was for, exactly, but your standard going-to-school type. At that time we lived in small town Hills, Iowa. I used to push my doll carriage to the corner to wait for my big brother to come home from school.
I proudly told him I'd had the shot (because it meant I got to go to school, just like him!). He asked me if it hurt and I said no. Then he hit me there and said, "Now does it hurt?" Evil brother.
So all day yesterday and today I've been sleeping and watching movies. Goonies, Heist, American History X (don't know how I hadn't seen that one before. Good movie, plus my fellowship to do refugee legal aid work in Cairo last year was funded by Yale alum Ed Norton. Never was sure why he had specified projects in the Middle East and Central Asia and am sorry it didn't mean I got to met him!), Mulholland Drive (weird movie, which should be expected by director/writer of Twin Peaks, I suppose, but I hadn't know that going into it), The Usual Suspects (thought I'd seen it, guess I was wrong).
Microcosm
The Cafe is right by the pool. Open from 11am - 9 pm, except on Sundays.
It is run by a Chinese family and one of the helpers is their Indonesian maid. Sometimes the young woman's 5 year old daughter is there and she is the cutest giggle-box I've seen in a long time. A few days ago, when I was doing work on my laptop there, I let her listen to my headphones. Then she showed me how she could spell. B-o-y. Boy. G-i-r-l. Girl. She could count in English and Malay. And she speaks Chinese, of course. More spelling. T-i-t. Tit. Giggle giggle giggle. What?! I thought. Why does she know that word!? Who taught her it?!
I practice my Arabic with students from Oman and Yemen (but most of the Yemeni live in Saudi). I meet a Chinese Malaysian girl and her French girlfriend and their Scottish roommate. A Pakistani man strikes up a conversation.
Two Turkish women, each with 2 and 4 year old daughters, invite me to join them while their kids are playing in the pool. One used to be a high school teacher in Turkey, but quit when the government forbid hijab (headscarves) from the public schools. She wanted to know if it was true if a lot of young Americans have lost themselves, using alcohol, making trouble, shooting each other. A Korean mother sits with them.
The old Irish man talks at me, not to me, so I try to avoid him. I realize the young Indian guy looks familiar because he works at nearby Starbucks. He introduces me to his French girlfriend who is leatherizing her skin by being poolside all day, everyday.
There's a transsexual who is sometimes there and one day a man came and yelled at her in Malay. I shot arrows at him: Don't air your dirty laundry in public. His eyes were bloodshot and at the end he added in English something about her saying he was gay, for my benefit most likely.
The guards in my building are Nepalese mostly.
There's a Cypriot who grew up in Singapore; I mentioned him before because he says ridiculous things like, all Chinese Malaysians make me want to throw up. There's an Algerian footballer. And a Filipino businessman who is lonely.
A few new faces lately, to keep me entertained.
Note: A friend from home recently inquired if I ever did any work. The answer is YES! I just don't bore you all with those details. Just yesterday morning I went for an interview two hours outside KL (before collapsing in my bed the rest of the day). And I've cut that 3 pages of To Do in half.
Thursday, September 02, 2004
Decide(d)
I used to be pretty terrible at making decisions. I'd hem and haw. But I think I've gotten better over the last couple of years.
Today, heart beating a little faster thinking about possibility, I'm stuck again. Gripped by fear and excitement.
Switch on the radio! Within the first song I hear will be an answer to my dilemma:
"Baby, I like it when it feels this good. You always seem to make me smile.....I know you've got somewhere to go......maybe I'll just wait awhile.....Can't stop thinking about the things we do...."
Thanks, Janet. I suppose the interpretation is Go. Unless I hone in on the "wait awhile" part...But really I'll looking for affirmation. Courage. I haven't felt so alive, awake, nervous, daring about something in a long time.
Another solution: Flip a coin. When you're flipping for a decision about yourself, you can always figure out what you really want. If it turns out one way and you say, best outta 3. Or 5. Or. Or. Or. Then you know.
Wasn't it Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's that said you should do something new everyday? What're those lines?
And my horoscope concurs.
Olala.
Where's my helmet?!
Update: 45 minutes and one Happy Meal later, the pendulum has swung. I walk home singing to myself, "I'm lame, I'm lame, I'm lame, hi ho the dairy-o, I'm lame, I'm lame, I'm lame."
What? You didn't know I'm psycho?
Update to the Update: I'm not lame. But what was all the fuss about?
I used to be pretty terrible at making decisions. I'd hem and haw. But I think I've gotten better over the last couple of years.
Today, heart beating a little faster thinking about possibility, I'm stuck again. Gripped by fear and excitement.
Switch on the radio! Within the first song I hear will be an answer to my dilemma:
"Baby, I like it when it feels this good. You always seem to make me smile.....I know you've got somewhere to go......maybe I'll just wait awhile.....Can't stop thinking about the things we do...."
Thanks, Janet. I suppose the interpretation is Go. Unless I hone in on the "wait awhile" part...But really I'll looking for affirmation. Courage. I haven't felt so alive, awake, nervous, daring about something in a long time.
Another solution: Flip a coin. When you're flipping for a decision about yourself, you can always figure out what you really want. If it turns out one way and you say, best outta 3. Or 5. Or. Or. Or. Then you know.
Wasn't it Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's that said you should do something new everyday? What're those lines?
And my horoscope concurs.
Olala.
Where's my helmet?!
Update: 45 minutes and one Happy Meal later, the pendulum has swung. I walk home singing to myself, "I'm lame, I'm lame, I'm lame, hi ho the dairy-o, I'm lame, I'm lame, I'm lame."
What? You didn't know I'm psycho?
Update to the Update: I'm not lame. But what was all the fuss about?
Anwar Ibrahim Freed
Anwar Ibrahim was Deputy Prime Minster in the 1990s while Mahathir was PM. As such, Anwar was positioned to become the next PM, once Mahathir (who had been in power since 1982) stepped down.
However, political tensions between the two led to Anwar's dismissal from the government, six years ago to the day. Part of the problem had been on how to handle the 1997 economic crisis. But beyond that, Anwar's popularity posed a problem to Mahathir, who probably really sacked him to avoid a possible challenge to his leadership.
The SF Chronicle reports, "Anwar refused to go quietly and led tens of thousands of protesters demanding "Reformasi" -- democratic reform and an end to corruption -- that were the largest demonstrations orderly Malaysia had seen in decades."
Several weeks later, Anwar was arrested on national security grounds and then formally accused of corruption and sodomy. The corruption charges are for abusing his official powers to cover up allegations of sexual misconduct. Human rights organizations, both in Malaysia and abroad, see the charges as being politically motivated and the trial lacking judicial independence.
Anwar has already completed more than a year of his 9-year jail sentence for sodomy, as well as his 6-year sentence for corruption.
Today, the High Court overturned his sodomy conviction, saying that the lead witness was unreliable: "Azizan Abubakar alleged he had been sodomised by Mr Anwar in May 1994. The date was later amended to May 1992, but when it emerged that the condominium where the alleged act supposedly took place did not then exist, the charge was amended a second time." (BBC)
Anwar has been requesting permission to travel to Germany for medical treatment due to a slipped disc in his back, a condition which he claims was brought on after being beaten by the police chief upon his arrest (his black eye at the time was widely photographed as evidence of police misconduct).
Anwar's wife, Wan Azizah Wan Ismail, formed the opposition political party Keadilan, after his arrest. In the March 2004 elections, however, she was the only one to win a seat in parliament. Anwar will have to wait five years after convicition to run for political office, though there is rumor that there may have been a behind-the-scenes deal that he would stay out of politics if released.
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Other politically motivated cases
Human rights activist Irene Fernandez was sentenced to 12 months imprisonment for "maliciously publishing false news" as a result of a memorandum she wrote on "Abuse , Torture and Dehumanized Treatment of Migrant Workers in Detention Centers," based on over 300 interviews with former detainees and the information from Sun Magazine journalists who did their own independent investigation (and later won an award for their report!).
She is out on bail right now, pending appeal, but has been denied access to her passport to travel abroad for conferences. The claim is that she would probably tarnish the country's image further. The case demonstrates that there is no protection for human rights defenders to raise concerns over human rights violations in Malaysia.
**********************
Egyptain Saad Edin Ibrahim, one of my professors at the American University in Cairo, was convicted of similar charges of defaming Egypt and misapprobriations of EU funding (though the EU itself said that their audit showed no problems). I attended one day of the hearings and wrote about it here for the Yale Journal of Human Rights. His conviction was overturned by the High Court in the spring of 2003.
Skin
My sister has red dots all over her body. Not from fleas or some creepy crawlies that were biting her, but a skin thing called psoriasis (and not the normal kind, either). It can be brought on by stress. She's having light treatments and taking tar baths.
Andi's got painful blisters on her calf: "I was half afraid I had something out an urban legend--you know, flesh-eating bacteria or some such." Nope--it's 'infective dermatitus.' Also can be induced by stress.
Me? I've got white spots on my shoulders and neck. Loss of pigmentation, almost like super-sized freckles, but not so cute. They don't hurt or itch and if they're multiplying, they're doing it at a snail's pace, thankfully. I noticed them after I'd been to the beach two months ago, though I had put sunscreen on and hadn't gotten sunburnt.
Hearing the Epidermal Enigmas of my loved ones sent me a-searching for an answer to my own. And since I don't really have any stress in my life right now, I knew that their culprit probably wasn't mine.
I consulted the pharmacist at the nearby mall, who thought it could be fungal and suggested over-the-counter tablets and/or lotion (virtually everything is over-the-counter here). I didn't want to jump to any conclusions so fast, so I went a-Googlin'. I read a description of something that was two long words (the first started with a T, the second with a V), but I've forgotten what it was now. It sounded plausible: brought on especially in young adults and especially in tropical climates...So I copied and pasted it to My Mom The Nurse, who told me not to self-diagnosis. (Though she was doing the same when it came to my sister's dots!)
So I headed to a clinic today.
This was my third visit to a clinic in Malaysia. The first: when Erika and I took a tumble on some jagged rocks hidden underwater in Penang and needed to get cleaned/bandaged. The second: when I got an infection near my nose ring that kept getting uglier and uglier and grew so much that it threatened to engulf my whole nose.
Both times I was amazed at the clinic experience: go in, register, want a bit, see a doctor, get some medicine, pay less than $25 US, get better. The consultation fee is only about $5 or 6 US, as compared to the outrageous prices for barely stepping foot into a doctor's office in the States. The rest was for medicine.
This time, too, it was that simple. (Well, the getting better part remains to be seen.)
Like Andi's account of her diagnosis: "All well and good...except that he didn't do any tests. Nothing. Now, I'm no skin doctor, but I am neurotic. Where were the swabs? The microscopes? The lab coats and the blood tests and the skin patches? Even the natural doc had a microscope!"
My doctor used a magnifying glass, at least.
And he was just the second opinion, anyway!
My sister has red dots all over her body. Not from fleas or some creepy crawlies that were biting her, but a skin thing called psoriasis (and not the normal kind, either). It can be brought on by stress. She's having light treatments and taking tar baths.
Andi's got painful blisters on her calf: "I was half afraid I had something out an urban legend--you know, flesh-eating bacteria or some such." Nope--it's 'infective dermatitus.' Also can be induced by stress.
Me? I've got white spots on my shoulders and neck. Loss of pigmentation, almost like super-sized freckles, but not so cute. They don't hurt or itch and if they're multiplying, they're doing it at a snail's pace, thankfully. I noticed them after I'd been to the beach two months ago, though I had put sunscreen on and hadn't gotten sunburnt.
Hearing the Epidermal Enigmas of my loved ones sent me a-searching for an answer to my own. And since I don't really have any stress in my life right now, I knew that their culprit probably wasn't mine.
I consulted the pharmacist at the nearby mall, who thought it could be fungal and suggested over-the-counter tablets and/or lotion (virtually everything is over-the-counter here). I didn't want to jump to any conclusions so fast, so I went a-Googlin'. I read a description of something that was two long words (the first started with a T, the second with a V), but I've forgotten what it was now. It sounded plausible: brought on especially in young adults and especially in tropical climates...So I copied and pasted it to My Mom The Nurse, who told me not to self-diagnosis. (Though she was doing the same when it came to my sister's dots!)
So I headed to a clinic today.
This was my third visit to a clinic in Malaysia. The first: when Erika and I took a tumble on some jagged rocks hidden underwater in Penang and needed to get cleaned/bandaged. The second: when I got an infection near my nose ring that kept getting uglier and uglier and grew so much that it threatened to engulf my whole nose.
Both times I was amazed at the clinic experience: go in, register, want a bit, see a doctor, get some medicine, pay less than $25 US, get better. The consultation fee is only about $5 or 6 US, as compared to the outrageous prices for barely stepping foot into a doctor's office in the States. The rest was for medicine.
This time, too, it was that simple. (Well, the getting better part remains to be seen.)
Like Andi's account of her diagnosis: "All well and good...except that he didn't do any tests. Nothing. Now, I'm no skin doctor, but I am neurotic. Where were the swabs? The microscopes? The lab coats and the blood tests and the skin patches? Even the natural doc had a microscope!"
My doctor used a magnifying glass, at least.
And he was just the second opinion, anyway!
