Ramadan 2019: Day 22-24

Day 22 Monday

In the morning, Ian made some annoying comments about my snaps of the ICE protest and mentioned for Brexit. I was perplexed by how he made the connections between "problems" at "home" and problems in the U.S.
At 2pm, Walid accompanied me on the bus headed school. Few people appeared on the street during this holiday. Walid departed for work while I went to the department and printed some forms. I met Michael, who was still working on his never-ending paper, and we discussed issues like his favored online community--Reddit. He asked if I was free to take over his plant. I obliged and followed him while he discussed his non-South Asian advisor with me. We saw his roommate Mackenzie packing to go on her vacation just as we approached his house.

I heated my food and ate some at his place. I also borrowed some books from him. The downside was that he continued to make weary comments about his relativistic attitude toward historical research and fussing over his future. Some interesting conclusions we reached: 1. Russian socialist architecture (and the Chinese derivative) are ableist and often carry eugenic assumptions about the productive proletariat.  2. High school history education in both China and the U.S. are much more patriotic than their college versions.

Later, I left for home on a cab with the plant while I gave some reproductive advice over the phone to a person in need. I remembered the restfulness worthy of any holiday and enjoyed watching the sunset from my room. Walid arrived at my place after work at 11pm. We listened to some tracks by Belafeesh, and Walid knew some of the music quite well. We also listened to Surat Sakinah and I thought about the question about why the nonbelievers do not have access to Allah's tranquility.  I drank pomegranate juice and mentally prepared for---

Day 23 Tuesday - My day of fasting

Walid and I woke up for suhoor at 3am. Walid prepared for us sweet fateer, jam, and told me a trick: ignore the feeling of being full... I later found out that we could have stopped eating at a later time, which was what I did last year, but Walid preferred to stop before fajr.

We watched the film Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. I found it quite depressing and joked that the film could have only been shot before the social media era since nothing is truly erasable from the internet.

During the afternoon, we went to buy some marinated chili (harissa) from the Arab shop for only $2.7. We also bought fish and other vegetables from the Super88 market. Walid instructed the man in charge of cutting fish and the other fishermen watched attentively. He expected me to translate and eventually tried.
After arriving back to my place, Walid and I filled out some of the forms despite our fatigue and my dizziness. I felt frustrated, as usual, over the information requested. Walid also read from his book.


When the clock approached 6:30pm, Walid started preparing for the Egyptian dish--sengari fish--for dinner. He learned about the recipe from watching a DIY video on Y0utube. I also busied alongside him as the sous chef. The end result was more watery than he expected, but I liked it since it was closer to the fish I was used to eating. We broke our fast after bismillah at 8:17pm. I ate while my brain was on autopilot. When we finished eating, I sent some of the pics to my grandfather and mom. Tea, among other food items, tasted much better after I broke my fast.


Day 24 Wednesday 

I woke up around 9am and read a very annoying rejection email from an organization. Walid comforted me and said that at least I can spend more time with him.

In the afternoon, I tried going to Zumba but physical conditions prevented me. Walid and I toured around Newbury street and we ventured into an art gallery for the first time. We saw an old French sketch of Egypt for $300. Walid pointed to exactly where he lived on the sketch. I debated whether to drink coffee (in the end I did not). We also browsed at some books in Trident Bookstore. Walid accompanied me back to my place, made the special Syrian apricot drink Qamar-a-din, prepared the thermo-pillow for me, and then left for work. I also missed the last Purifying the Nafs event organized by the Taha Collective, which I planned to attend before.

Captured still from the music video Asrab Shai

In the evening, I visited the big mosque. I saw the green lights shining from the minarets for the first time. Three elderly people walked in front of me. I followed them slowly. Later, I entered the bustling canteen. Walid introduced me to his Egyptian colleague and gave me a plate of mixed pasta and rice. She said hello very warmly. She resembled the ideal Egyptian middle-aged woman, with a very functional headdress, I see on tv sometimes.

I sat in a corner facing the window while Walid busied around with his Kuwaiti colleague. He complained later that he was never scheduled for the same time slot as his Turkistani colleague. He suspected that this was because the management recognized that both of them had good work ethics. Walid later told me that he also made Somali tea with sugar. He was annoyed that I missed it, among other snacks, but I did not mind since I thought that priority for food should be given to those who are fasting.

I also saw the Turkistani man and his wife, among other people coming-and-going around the parking lot or in the canteen. The call to prayer happened and Walid cleared the canteen with his colleague. Some girls sat in the canteen during prayer time as well, which I found comforting. In different contexts, public space meant different things to different people: in Boston, where space is charged for increasingly high rent, I was very grateful to have a warm place to stay, away from the place where I pay for rent. I almost teared up when I first sat down and felt the warmth of people relaxing and chatting.

After the prayer, Walid returned and he continued to serve people, including some black kids. I sipped the coffee prepared by Walid. I finished the book Being Muslim and wrote down some of my thoughts. I overheard one of the guest imams lecturing about the importance of knowing that one's actions are always being watched. I found the overall message of his sermon to be quite confusing since one could easily use that in a pro-surveillance context. I also reflected on my own position of watching others (including Walid) and being watched in the canteen. I saw a man holding a cushion in his hand, and I realized that Walid did not joke when he said people camped at the mosque during the Night of the Decree (laylat-ul-qadr).

I waited to give Walid his advil until he told me that he did not need it. Later, the imam delivered 12 raqa'as. I did not know that this was only one segment and thought that he would go on forever.
I used the restroom upstairs; while I was waiting, I saw a Moroccan man cleaning the floors.

At the T station, I went on the wrong train and waited an addition 14 minutes for the next. Two Turkish-speaking girls, one wearing a hijab, arrived on the new train and they were overjoyed with the festivities of Ramadan. I felt lucky to participate in the events more than last year, despite my initial apprehensions.

Ramadan 2019: Day 19-21

Day 19 Friday

Walid visited me but we did not arrive at the same understanding. I lost my temper and said "STFU." He left my place in anger.
In the afternoon, he asked after my wellbeing. I still was not ready for reconciliation, especially given his adamant refusal to clean some areas of his living space. I went to my university and cleared some of my class materials. I met Michael and he complained about his visa application for Russia. A lot of his frustration seemed to stem from his idea that all plans are connected; in my experience, I learned that "real life" hardships imposed by others did not necessarily hinder my scholarly achievements. But perhaps Micheal will only find that part out through his own experience.

Similarly, academic support is only one aspect of success. Academic book acknowledgments sometimes over-do the whole "naming those who have supported me;" it is important to remember that even people who have little or no support from other scholars have also written stellar scholarship. Perhaps a page in a book called "those who have trolled or backstabbed me" would be an even more indicative sign of academic tenacity.

In the evening, I shared some of the electoral successes from Dalit politicians in India on faceb00k, as well as a nice Nipsey Hussle song. The post-production happened after his untimely death.

Day 20 Saturday

I finished Zumba--the first time I went to exercise in the morning, probably since I left India. I felt lightheaded afterward. On my way back, I still had to fight with Walid over when he will clean his living space. He finally conceded to clean it. He also visited me in the evening.


In between our fight, I also snapped and retweeted the following uplifting message:

@Kylo_Reine May 25

Today, May 25th, marks 19 years since the Israeli Defense forces withdrew from Lebanese land after 15 years of terrorising it, marking the end of the South Lebanon conflict (1985-2000), when South Lebanon was finally liberated. Happy Liberation Day!

N, a colleague from my university, visited the big mosque with her friend and recognized Walid from my snaps. Walid joked that he became famous because of me. I was not happy with the new prospects that might involve too much of his energy, but I have gradually realized that his new opportunities are good for both of us.

Day 21 Sunday

Our signs

I called Chiansan in the morning and discussed my concern with my role in America's society. He discussed how to view the legal profession in America anthropologically, which I found to be useful. He also told me about his discussions about property ownership with his colleagues. He found the statement "Rent is theft" not radical enough, since, in his opinion, all property is organized around the right to use violence to defend it. I was encouraged by him to attend a vigil for ICE detainees and started to make signs for both Walid and me.


Walid and I met up at Downtown Crossing. We arrived at Andrew station and walked to the crowd that led the others to protest against ICE detention. During our walk to the site where we could see the non-adult detainees, we talked to a peace activist, Glenda, who asked which church did we belong. I fumbled over the words and finally settled on something like "Muslim organization." I did not find an equivalent vocabulary for "ummah" in English at the time. She then tried to make a freedom song with the Arabic word for freedom, "hurriya," which was nice. When we arrived at the place where we could see the detainees, we made eye contact with them as well as some friendly, non-verbal gestures. We chanted some slogans and posed for some photos. I realized that I had met one of the participants, Zeba, at a previous Taha Collective event.

After the protest ended, Omar, Zeba, Walid and I visited a homeless shelter, probably one of the biggest in Boston. Walid and I had passed by this place on the way; it smelled like piss but many people seemed to like hanging out there. Such presence would have otherwise been seen as loitering by private police, such as mall security. I felt uneasy because, like Foucault said, many modern institutions resemble a prison. We were chaperoned by public health officials, who guarded us with silent amusement. Omar did his best to befriend the guards and maintained social distance from the homeless.

Upon leaving, we met Majid. He exclaimed that the timing was wrong. Omar said it is good that you showed up. We went back to the parking lot and took more pictures. Then we parted ways. Zeba was kind enough to drop us off at the South end Whole Foods. We browsed the large selection of fancy things and I ate sample cheese. Other people soon followed my footsteps in eating the samples. When we exited the store, we realized that we had also fought near this site. Yet this day we were in high spirits.

-------

6pm, Walid, Michael and I were on the same green line train headed for Riverside. Our classmate S  invited us to dinner at her suburban home. Despite the quiet look, she shared with us some harrowing stories of being surveilled and disturbed by unknown people. After some conversation in the living room, Walid broke his fast with tea and dates in the kitchen. We started watching S prepare dinner in the backyard.

S did not know I was pescatarian so I ended up eating some unwanted meat. Over dinner, Michael bemoaned the state of affairs of the American public, to which I usually found to be elitist. He also said that South Koreans would not grow as tall as they do now if they did not have milk introduced by the American people. I found such imperialist statements nauseating. Otherwise, the night was lovely and we chatted up till 11pm.

Both Walid and Michael appreciated her energetic dog. We had an interesting conversation on women's virtues and dress codes. Michael and S discussed the lack of funding in our department. He tried to dismiss my participation against ICE protests as "activism" that would interfere with "scholarship," a binary that only those with white privilege invoked to discredit others whose life is at risk for not speaking in defense. ("Your silence will not protect you." - Audre Lorde)
Michael also wanted to make a point about Buddhism and its reliance on "magic," which I found to be very self-centered. (His "rational" "secularism" could not explain "magic," and therefore something had to be categorized as "Buddhism" vis-a-vis "magic.") I tried to argue another point, but he found it irrelevant to his concern. After we left, Michael attempted to share impressions about S, to which I found to be a tiring and distrustful exercise. I tried my best to divert such conversations since some infighting between S and others had already occurred prior to Michael's arrival. Yet he somehow wanted to be "in," without even knowing what it means. Walid and I parted with Michael at Park St.

Ramadan 2019: Day 16-18

Day 16 Tuesday

In the morning, I blocked the person who was man-trolling my posts and also wrote posts celebrating Modi's electoral success on Faceb00k.

In the afternoon, Walid and I ventured to the MIT area because I was scheduled to meet a friend from college, as well as her parents. Walid and I parted at H-Mart. I felt nervous because I hadn't seen her since 2014 when she was interning in D.C. She looked good, with a new lipstick habit she picked up from Columbia University. She seemed to have enjoyed my company and her mother was very interested in my Ph.D.-student life. Her mother probably worried that her daughter might suffer if she went on the path of academia. I found out later in the meeting that she was working at a New York corporation. Her father spoke little and us three women enjoyed his non-intrusive presence. We parted ways, and I thought they went to their hotel in Allston.

When I tried to find Walid again in H-Mart, I saw his text that he was in the Cambridge mosque. I felt upset because I did not being in Cambridge on a busy afternoon by myself. I also felt that he ditched me. When I called him I was upset and informed him to meet me. Coincidentally, I also saw my friend and her parents buying sushi and food from the supermarket. My friend's father commented on my purchased good--a bag of frozen dumplings. They did not seem to be very free or talkative as before. When I finally found Walid at the door of H-Mart and we left for the red line, we ran into her parents again. I introduced them to Walid and he greeted them, graceful as always during such occasions. I was ill at ease and we later fought in the subway. I was ready to forgive him when we arrived at my home station. He helped me return my frozen dumplings to my fridge while I hurried to meet Manho at Malden Center. Manho was early as usual. The Vietnamese restaurant we intended to eat was closed on Tuesdays. So we walked around, saw the older-than-America First Baptist church and went to Ming's (See my post on Day 1 of Ramadan). Manho was very pleased by the cleanliness of Malden, in comparison to Boston's Chinatown.

We ordered seafood and veggies. We ate and chatted, even though Manho felt that it was rude to eat before Walid. At around 8pm, Walid broke fast with my friend, Manho, and I. Manho was happy to leave Boston; we celebrated his birthday. By the end, the waiters almost forgot about us as well as the dessert they usually served to everyone. But Walid remembered, and we ate our share of a taro sweet soup.

Here are some other observations we had about tea and eating habits, which I wrote in Chinese: 看得出成长环境的不同 比如喝茶的习惯我到了17才有 而我对象和文豪都是从小喝茶。另，文豪如果早点来 是有机会认识一个四姨太的小孩 结果没撞上。我和对象翻译了这个故事 他没反应到点是什么 . 还有Nutella 我到了德国才吃到 吃过ferroro 但没想到还有如此平凡的酱版。文豪以前吃过 他来到美国惊奇于人对花生酱的热衷 觉得pb&j是一种懒人的食物。对象说他某一天并不知该三明治的做法 但自己却“发明”出来了 所以也很难说到底是美国人造就了pb&j 还是环境使然

In the evening, I was too full to fall asleep. I delved deeper into my insecurities in regards to Walid's visit to the holy place of the mosque. The membership system seems very strict, even though it does not appear as such at the surface. The same issue occurred with a Sikh temple in Germany--diasporas guard such spaces with more scrutiny as well. Walid understood my concerns about his sudden departure today. We made up a scenario about if all humans became 5-year-old children, there would probably still be hierarchies among us. We fell asleep at 3am.



Day 17 Wednesday


I went to Zumba in the afternoon and Walid broke his fast at his work. Ahmad messaged me the day before, "My mobile has been dead for the last few days and I could not have it fixed yet." I found our friendship as resilient as ever, despite the presumed difficulties.


I chatted with Amina about a new e-magazine founded by Chinese youngsters that tried to carry on our legacy from our e-magazine (South Asian Hutong). She was bored by their electoral analysis, whereas I was a bit happier: at least some Chinese-speakers continued to study and write about South Asia, albeit from a more practical lens. We also chatted about the new social media industry of youtubers and gamers. She decided to attend a talk on Afghanistan.


Day 18 Thursday

Riyadh

I went to a therapy session, which I am increasingly suspicious of the efficacy, but Walid finds that it might be helpful for me. He is more patient than me in many matters. On the way there, I read about the Greek architect Constantinos Apostolou Doxiadis' contribution to Riyadh's current city layout. I was surprised the extent to which modernist aesthetics and urban standards affected parts of the world I was connected to. One could argue that Zaha Hadid was as much a child of "Iraqi" (premodern) art as she was of modernist architecture. What I found troubling about Chinese history is that so much of Communism is mixed up with modernist aspirations, such as Doxiadis-style architecture. Yet many of Doxiadis' architectural works were designed for repressing social revolts. Arguably, modernist architecture was not very effective in preventing uprisings on either side of the Cold War. I thought (in an abstract way), that modern architecture largely failed to live up to its expectations of engineering modern human societies.  After digesting this information, I experienced a breakthrough in my research presentation for the MESA 2019 conference. 

Riyadh Development plan

Al-Shaab Stadium, by Francisco Keil do Amaral and Carlos M. Ramos (and the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation), Baghdad, c1966

ملعب الشعب، تصميم فرانسيسكو كيل دو امارال و كارلوس م راموس (و مؤسسة كالوست كلبنكيان)، بغداد، ١٩٦٦

After therapy, I saw a short exhibition for the Asian American Heritage month at the Brookline library and also took a short tour of the Brookline townhall.

I ate at a Pakistani restaurant called Nachlo. I expected a more vibrant eating environment but perhaps due to fasting, I was one of the two customers inside. I wondered when did Pakistani cuisine emerge in America as a distinct genre and how it must have fought hard in the face of competition from the more popular (North) "Indian" cuisine. The owner was a person who looked like he worked in Saudi Arabia and saved enough money to open his own store in America. The main person handling business was a young man Walid's age. I felt that his job was quite difficult. Another more reticent man who looked like me was not speaking. I felt judged for eating at a place where people were fasting. Another Bangladeshi man bought some food and asked enthusiastically about the store's offerings, such as sweets. I found it amazing that he, as a Bangladeshi person, had let certain bygones be bygones and found comfort in desi Muslim brotherhood.

I paid, left and went home. At 1am, Walid told me that he volunteered for free. I was quite upset about it, and I said that we are not in the position to offer that kind of help to workplaces, even if we find it ethically sound. I also read about Betty Shabazz and her fights with Malcolm about similar issues later, and I found my situation very similar to hers. 

Ramadan 2019: Day 14-15

Day 14 Sunday

I went to Cambridge in the morning, and a random fellow in front of Smith Campus Center asked, "Is Harvard's graduation today?" I mumbled "I don't know" and continued. I did not appreciate such interactions, especially that early in the morning.

I enjoy the environment the teachers created, with flute music and inward-looking vibes. A girl later joined our two-student class, who I later found out was a reviewer of this particular yoga set. We did not have much interaction and the course ended a bit later. We received feedback from one teacher--I needed to make sure my back was straight and my hands were in the right positions during the transitions of postures. I wrote this later about this course:

Today I finished my two-day course on Surya Kriya, which is the foundation for Surya Namaskar (sun salutation). Ten years ago, I started my yoga journey at the Claremont Colleges. My teachers today, from Soma Yoga, were also fellow alumni. Still, I never imagined that I could fulfill the requirements that I did for this Isha Yoga course. A lot of yoga teaching in the US focuses on a certain body image, but I think it’s important to combine the non-physical aspects of yoga, which can help reduce karmic linkages of habits. #nonduality #karma

I said goodbye to my teachers and wished them well on their east coast yoga tour.
It started raining and I entered a nearby Mexican restaurant. They had more offerings than I expected in the burrito I ordered. Some students soon filed in as well. I left and found that many booths were set up for, possibly, a certain university's graduation day.

I made a resolve for doing 40 days of this yoga practice in a row as prescribed. Changes in schedules are a lot for my mind to process these days since not everyone shares my schedule. But such changes will be inevitable when I start my archive research as well.

I left for Chinatown for an event on Queering Asian American History and it was raining even harder. My yoga mat was stored in a paper bag so I stopped at certain moments to preserve the bag. I entered the surprisingly well-furnished building hurriedly and poured myself a cup of coffee. Janhavi gave some orientation to the room as well as the organizers of the project of Queering Asian American history. I was surprised by the amount of information they gathered over the short two weeks in-the-making.

I added some of my own posts as well, such as the Asian-cast musical film Flower Drum Song and Chinese laborer relations with Native American women. After some discussion with our small group, I was reminded about caste issues by Anju, a new member of the Pao Arts Center, and added B. R. Ambedkar's accomplishments to the timeline as well. Some people chipped in their issues with the varied definitions of "progressiveness" and "organizing," since some Asian American causes were not always "progressive." Janhavi reminded us to center queer lives, as well as the fact that some of our ancestors were queer. I never thought of framing my ancestors into Asian American history or a history of sexuality, so it was very affirming to hear that statement. I spoke in the small group but not in the big group.

The discussion soon died down. I learned a lot about Southeast Asian communities as well as a short-lived queer-and-Asian-centered newsletter located in Boston in 1984. Although the newsletter is long-gone, it is nice that people are discussing the same issues again now. I had a first-hand experience of community-engaged history, and it was eye-opening and challenging at the same time. Disagreement is a sure sign that your research is relevant to the community.

Around 3pm, the groups disassembled and started cleaning the space. Walid also arrived and we contributed as well. I was so nervous that I forgot he was fasting and offered coffee, to which he denied. Later I remembered. I also bought some lychee wulong tea from my favorite tea shop. One bad thing was that many people were staring at us, which happens sometimes.

Walid fixed his bike and then went to work to befriend coworkers and serve the community. I watched some videos on youtube and some Golden Girls. I also tried to check out some of the people who have also participated in this event and promoted their work, but I did not find any of the groups very inviting as they seemed to be.

We later shared recipes when we were both at home. My roommates also graduated on this day.  Shangliao and I discussed the Indian elections and how Chinese-language reportage on this issue sucked.

Day 15 Monday (also Malcolm X's solar-year Birthday)

Walid continued to watch recipes on Youtube in the morning at his place. We Facetimed and he later came to visit me.

Someone from college started engaging with my shared post on Yogesh Yadav's commentary on polls for particular no reason, other than him having too much time and wanting to man-spread on the Internet. I was angry, partly due to the lack of support for this area of interest. Walid comforted me and shared a quote about not losing one's inner peace over other's mistakes. I later found out that this person from college is a strong Modi supporter.

We studied Arabic at the Waitts Mountain park with an article about the singer Dalida. Walid took off his shirt for the first time in public (since I knew him).  He joked that he could advertise his teaching job with a shirtless photo. Girls were noticing his presence at his new environments as well.

I flipped through my ArtForum magazines and I read a great interview by Raqib Shaw:

It is very easy to classify something and put it in a box so you don’t have to think about it. It boils down to the fact that there are people who have different aesthetic experiences. I come from a very different culture. How many artists do you know that come from Kashmir? My work has a diasporic sense, of leaving but also carrying the memory of a culture. It is an amalgamation, a hybrid, a cocktail. The fabulous thing about it is, the more you look, the more it will reward you. But you have to have the psychological state to accept what you see and engage with it.
When a western art critic reads my work, they have absolutely no clue of the culture I grew up in, the aesthetic sense, the spiritual sense, the mentality. They don't have access to any of those things, and so what’s easiest is to call it decorative, call it kitsch, call it over the top. I’ve dedicated my damn life to this thing.

I could particularly relate to him since I have also dedicated years into my trade, oftentimes alone, and yet many spectators just hate on my work, perhaps it serves as a target for their own insecurities and failures.

Also chatted with Amina a bit as well. We have come into regular contact since a change in the friend situation. She is interested in remaking her diary into a story about her travels in India.

In the evening, I joined my WeChat group's heated discussion on Google's move to limit their operating systems from Huawei's use. I voiced some of my opinions, such as the fact that the court in the U.S. recently denied Chelsea Manning's appeal, which does not make U.S. look good at all from the perspective of tech and human progress.

Ramadan 2019: Day 12-13

Day 12 - Friday


Walid and I met up at 7pm and went to an iftar hosted by members of the Taha Collective. The event happened at an apartment close to MIT. The woman at the front desk asked us cautiously, "are you here for the event?" I said with a tad bit unsure, "the iftar." Walid was more used to communicating such details and soon assured the woman that we were indeed here for the fast-breaking dinner.

We arrived via the stairs since the elevator required card access. Many attendees were also from MIT, mostly desis and some white Americans. The graduate of Rutgers, Omar, talked with us about his Ramadan; he cannot fast due to his health conditions. I had only seen some people at previous Taha events, which had lecturing and/or duas commemorating virtues of the Imams. This event was more relaxed and focused on socializing, which I did not like in such cliquey environs. Someone discussed with enthusiasm about their shared city of Hyderabad and their routine. Another gossiped about the rent of the apartment, which I was also curious.

I remembered the time when I thought I would have no trouble making desi friends when I arrived in Boston, which soon proved to be wrong--not everyone can engage with me fully while also dealing with the strained life of American identity politics. We sat at a fireplace and some college students watched distantly. I had a brief conversation with a woman in the biryani line. She was a researcher at MIT. She also found the pretenses quite strained and gave up. I thanked Irtaza, who was paddling out the chicken biryani. I also said hi to Laila, who looked tired, possibly just finished with her coursework.

He prayed with other Muslims and later wrote a nice message about this interfaith experience on his faceb00k. This created a lot of conversation among his male friends. We both noticed that when readers do not like our message, they tend to note typos in our text rather than say outright their issue.

انبارح كان فيه إفطار منظمه شباب من جامعة هارفرد. فطرنا على تمرات وميه، أُذِن للصلاة وكان الأذان مضاف عليه " حي على خير العمل". وقفنا كلنا للصلاة، كنت فاكر ان الوحيد -المتفتح ومتقبل الاخر- اللي هيصلي زي السنه وسط شيعة، بس لقيت معظم اللي حوليا زيي.افتكرت الجدال العقيم اللي كنت جزء منه عن ان الشيعة مننا ولا من الناس التانيين. بس يبدو إن مستوى التعليم والبيئة المحيطة لها تأثير كبير، لدرجة مكنتش متخيل أن حد من اللي معايا دول كان جزء من جدال بالنوع دا. بالمناسبة طلعوا بيصلوا زيييينا بالضبط تقريباً والأهم من كدا الأكل كان حلو.

There was some confusion over the direction of prayer. We joked that the leader of the prayer is quite headstrong in his mistakes like me. We took a group picture but I have yet to receive it...

I brought pecan pralines from c0stco. I did not think that everyone could finish it at first. Soon after iftar, someone started hogging the whole box and finished all the whole pecans.

Walid noticed another Egyptian man present, who served the dessert. Walid did not feel like striking up a conversation that would soon become too intimate.
We left and walked along the red line over the river. It was my first time walking over the bridge despite crossing it thousands of times on the Red Line. We took selfies and parted ways. I had trouble sleeping because I was nervous from the social gathering as well as for the next day's schedule.

Walid also shared the good news that he secured a job at the big mosque. I am happy for his new opportunity but I am also concerned with the forms of political engagement that this would entail.

Rather than arguing that neoliberalism favors individualism vs. community, we need to focus on the *kinds* of community that neoliberalism fosters -- particular forms of family life, for instance, or new forms of Christian community ("evangelicalism," "mega-churches").

— Adam Kotsko (@adamkotsko) May 19, 2019

Neoliberalism more than secularism is the insidious force that doesn't marginalise religion so to speak but rather mutilates it in every sphere of human endeavour, so that it persists but in forms that are ugly and decrepit. See F S Michaels Monoculture and Kotsko's recent work https://t.co/HqpfSxerGL

— Ibn Maghreb (@IbnMaghrebi) May 19, 2019

Day 13 - Saturday

Art by @ejnoodles

I left the house at 6am in the morning, one of my first times leaving so early, and went to the Isha yoga class taught by Sam and Tulsi at the Democracy Center, Cambridge. There were only two students, one was a person called Jose from Mexico. At 12pm, I went home, felt very tired and slept after lunch.

Walid and I met at 5pm, after my nap. We danced a bit outside the house. I made some Chinese noodles for our dinners.

ZZZzzzzz

We finished the Avengers: Endgame at night. I enjoyed it more than Walid, who thought it would have been a waste of money to watch it in theaters.

(*SPOILER ALERT*)

I noted how the patrilineal message linked with the Avengers' legacy: If the white Captain America stayed anonymous after his decision of not returning to the 21st century as the 40-year-old self, there would have been no proper passing-down ceremony. Still, he came back and gave his shield to an African American superhero. Black Widow sacrificed herself in a very sati fashion, took one for the team in all eternal glory. Tony Stark doesn't have to leave his daughter any symbolic legacy, and we as viewers are happy that she is financially secure. The threat of any female characters using the stones for her own legacy was out of the question (note how asexuality played a role in Tilda Swinton's guardian-of-the-stone character).

We also discussed how literary traditions affect the kinds of films each country makes. Walid thinks that Americans love superhero movies because of the lack of myths their country has in comparison to Egypt. Peter Hessler makes a similar point in his recent New Yorker article: My House in Cairo https://www.newyorker.com/culture/personal-history/my-house-in-cairo

Walid also discussed his techniques of improving family relations with me. I wanted to sleep and we soon slept, even though Walid wanted to talk more. 

Ramadan 2019: Day 10-11

Day 10 Wednesday

Walid and I reflected before on the first instances when people called us "uncle" and "aunty." I was called aunty when attending college. Walid's nephew, Asar, called him "ammu Walid," which made Walid conscious about his age.

I went to the hairdresser in the afternoon. She was quite dressed up, in all black clothing and sharp cream-colored gel-nails, which helped me feel that I was also going for a "makeover." She was also quite focused on making this trip an "experience," asking a lot of well-meaning questions, and showing the end product through a dramatic build-up. She offered a lot about herself as well: unmarried (despite wearing a ring), easygoing, likes to travel to Europe and the Caribbean, of Italian descent...

I felt uncomfortable when she kept praising my straight hair in front of two other ladies of African descent and mused about the origins of this interracial hair salon. She also noticed my frequent yawning and asked if I partied last night. I felt slightly obliged to educate her on the idea of Ramadan. Instead, I gave up and offered a sheepish smile.

I waited for a bus transfer for forty minutes without cellphone service while Walid waited for me at Malden Center. The rushing cars, suburban decay, and the manicured, external facade left me feeling apocalyptic. The habitus of the well-tended gardens and individual houses can render immigrant existence as largely ahistorical and destined for such depressing, parochial pastures.

I reunited with Walid and complained about the foreignness of the aging suburban community and my out-of-place-ness. Walid was quite understanding although he was tired of waiting at the station. We recharged at the Indian take-out restaurant while I ate spicy palak paneer with a mango lassi. The restaurant played a punjabi playlist, including Punjabi Mast, which swept some of the blues away. Other days the TV played teledramas or Hindu and Sikh bhajans. I wondered if internet connectivity was more essential to diasporic people than non-diasporic people in the U.S. I realized that the cook/cashier man lost a lot of his hair over the short time I had met him. Walid thought it could be from stress.

A picture of maqlooba from Fauzia's Kitchen fun

We bought groceries and Walid helped carry it all the way back. He was excited over the $2 / pound mackerel that would be perfect for his baking plans. He broke his fast with the remaining lassi, while uttering the words prior to iftar. He made a vegetarian version of maqlooba and we both enjoyed it.


I felt ill in the evening and Walid read surat al-jumaa for me. I found the message about Jewish people eye-opening and somewhat disturbing as well. One version of the explanation is that the passage meant that if certain people think they are favored by God, they can "prove it" by desiring death since that is a sign that they are sure that they will enter heaven (jannah). But this life is attractive in its own ways, and among all the people I have met, only a few who I have seen in Asia have truly achieved that level of consciousness.


Day 11 Thursday 

The sun finally appeared after days of rain and clouds. I chatted with Amina in the morning, which helped me wake up my brain. I learned more about updates in her life while offering some of my wisdom on how love affects one's spirit, without using those words as such. Later, she messaged me and said that she finally realized that over-rationalizing prevents other sweet aspects of life.

I read Dr. Kecia Ali's interview of scholar amina wadud, and was comforted by the fact that Buddhism helped dr. wadud realize that God's form is not limited to an old white man in the clouds. She also said the following quote about her lived engagement with theology: “I don’t believe in a dead God; I believe in Al-Hayy, the Living God, and I don’t practice a dead religion.” The following passage is also quite illuminating:

I think in becoming a Muslim I intuitively knew, as did Africans who were brought here and enslaved who had Islamic backgrounds, that you are connected to the entire planet. You are not separated from Divine truth just because you’re separated from your origins. The reality of the sacred is manifest everywhere, in every religion, and even in nonreligions. I see that manifestation, so I’m no longer so estranged by the mandate to define a territory as exclusively mine, as a Muslim, as a woman, as an African American.

I felt rather hyper and full of energy. My roommates discussed their graduation plans and incoming relatives. One roommate's deadbeat boyfriend possibly cannot attend her graduation. I felt sorry for her.

I listened to a podcast about a study on migrant laborers in Beirut. In between, I called Ahmad and wondered if any successful Syrian ever wrote about his or her account of life as a businessperson in Lebanon. I finished the podcast, wrote down some thoughts, and ventured to school. I drank a cup of coffee and saw a few fellow students, some of whom were still grading tests before their graduation.

I read the "Repression in the Fieldwork" chapter in anthropologist Pascal Menoret's Joyriding in Riyadh and learned a lot of useful information. I liked his description of his as well as his bedouin informants' tufshan (emptiness and repressed life).  The level of social suspicion described by Menoret reminded me of the telfaz11 short that depicted a thief who tried to enter a shilla and pretended to be related to one of the absent friends of an all-male gathering.

I found anthropology quite personal: if you don't like the researcher, it is hard to relate to the moods described in the ethnography. In contrast, the data in history is impersonal. During that time, my friend CP texted me about the death of I. M. Pei. I told him that I also visited places of his works, and felt the loss of this great Chinese American architect. CP found it impressive that I had traveled to such places.

The Arabic translation's book cover

I returned my professor's book and printed some reading. I printed and began reading Baudrillard's Forget Foucault on the way back to Malden. I would not have been susceptible to such a title prior to this summer break, possibly because I have realized the limitations of working with the archive, truth, and genealogy. The first section discusses how capitalism has destroyed our understanding of sexuality, with finer words. He discusses how liberation can also be part of repression, which is interesting to think in terms of the social conditions of Egypt, Saudi Arabia, and China.

I also found relief in the sensibilities both Walid and I share, to some extent, in regards to how to discuss taboos. While taboos are generalizable, different cultures have different reasons and manners to observe those taboos. Luckily for us, we can come to the same habitus and understanding in regards to sexual taboos. When I was young, I liked generalizable information on such subjects, since they can help navigate the terrain. Now, after marriage, the practice is about what Walid and I share as truth and does not matter what works for others. Science tries to be generalizable, but ethics are specific and interpersonal. I have yet to read works on a queer modernity's vision of ethics, that would be as informative to me as Bedouin ethics of manhood, described by Menoret.

I once lamented to Walid that there are fewer and fewer people who can think with me. Many people can think against me (as is often seen in trite academic debates). But that is perhaps I have matured and found comfort in my own thinking patterns.

I met up with Walid at Oak Grove. He just finished his first day at a pizza place. There were Iraqi kurdish coworkers, one of whom worked at the same place for seven years. The Egyptian owner found Walid's skills to be quite good. Walid did not find the food suitable for himself there and waited to eat his own maqlooba. We listened to the music of the carnatic violin. I was surprised that he could appreciate the music, which my mother cannot. He joked that he cannot change this type of suffering, so he might as well enjoy it. Then he played Black Thema's song fi bilad ay hagga, which was quite depressing.

I quoted to him a version of this quote: “A poet might die at twenty-one, a revolutionary or a rock star at twenty four. But after that you assume everything’s going to be all right. you’ve made it past Dead Man’s Curve and you’re out of the tunnel, cruising straight for your destination down a six lane highway whether you want it or not.” - Murakami

We walked around the neighborhood around 11pm pretending to smoke. We saw the moon and Walid remembered how a sahaba said that the Prophet Muhammad was more beautiful than the moon.

On the way back, we discovered a skunk. Walid remembered my grandpa's cautionary tale of the skunk. We translated its name in Google and found out that skunks are unique to North America. Animals truly humble our ways of knowing and bring attention to our limited existence.

Walid wrote a very beautiful poem for me in our collective journal. We drank a can of soda, ate a lot of pepper jack cheese and slept. 

Ramadan 2019: Day 8-9

Day 8, Monday

We spent the morning browsing at potential domestic appliances for our future house, such as blenders. Walid knows the bougie knowledge of making $10 acai bowls and I am quite intrigued.

picture from allevents.in

Browsing consumer goods is a very nice nesting activity. Walid is very careful when it comes to such matters, whereas I am more impulsive. He also wanted to engage in sketches of the future, possibly because of the rather disappointing present. He lives with four other roommates and they have formed their social circle already. They share a rice cooker. Walid pondered whether the Chinese landowner owned the cooker, which would mean that he could also use it. I reasoned that the rice cooker is jointly owned by the roommates since the landlord could not possibly anticipate what the ("ethnic") dietary needs of his future tenants would be. Walid concurred, yet he still wanted to use the cooker. I said it is much easier if he would just buy his own. (But these are just theories since our information is not very complete.)

He also thought about the possible redundant microwave. I reasoned that the microwave might be useful when we babysit for other future friends. While such concerns of the future have yet to materialize in real life, the theme of diets and health enter again and again in our food-conscious world. My further interest is also whether intercaste "pollutions" also apply to microwaved food... (Because if a lower caste prepares a certain food and the upper caste eats, some upper castes consider that food to be polluting.... but I learned about the version that presumes an India without a microwave. So I wonder what if a lower caste prepared food with the microwave? This is also theorizing because I also know upper caste men who eat at any outside eatery.)

At this juncture, American Islamic discourse is also keen on pivoting Ramadan as a diet-conscious regimen. "It is healthy to fast," so the talking points go. I complained to Ahmad the other day that I found such blatantly market-oriented packaging quite contrary to the point. He agreed with me. A future academic paper can write on this subject.

After meditation, I realized we ran low on time. I scanned some noted pages from my books. We proceeded hurriedly to my school for book returns. We carried around 15 books and dumped them unceremoniously. I haven't finished the extraction of information (on Arab modernism) from these books. Still, I was relieved to hide them from my sight until I am ready to revisit them again. I sat lackluster at the 1000-piece puzzle station while the last remaining finals warriors slaved entered the library to finish their work. I joked that I could destroy the puzzle with end-of-semester rage. Graduating students posed next to the blossoming flowers and benches that no one sat on usually. I jibed that no wonder those benches were built...

We both went to Assembly for my second spa session. The concept of aging has formally entered my mind, perhaps exacerbated by the (ableist) academic timeline. Afterward, the rain began to fall. Walid left for iftar at the neighborhood mosque. This evening, the imam led a curing session for a young boy, possibly suffering from the manifestation of a physical/mental illness. The rest of the (all-male) congregation read surahs from the Holy Quran, since the jinn could leave from the boy's body and enter anyone else's.

In the evening, I chatted briefly with my friend Subhash, who has arrived in China for the first time. He posted some beautiful pictures of his yoga practice in the heart of Shenzhen. Still, he seems to be experiencing culture shock and seeks to alleviate it by talking with me. I am myself suffering from culture shock and the dizzying effects of racial animosity in Boston in my second year, and I have very little to offer him in terms of how to ground oneself in a foreign land.

I also chatted with Amina over Wechat about my recent interest in the Chinese classic Rulin Waizhuan and how it related to current politics. Amina was more keen on sharing her new thoughts based on her romantic encounter with a person from the past. She feels very nostalgic yet tends to over-rationalize her romantic decisions. I, on the other hand, feel no compulsion to rationalize unless I have to explain to often undeserving interlocuters curious about my life.


Day 9, Tuesday, Walid's birthday

Walid's friend Ahmed drove him around the Boston area for jobs. An owner of a pizzeria worried if Walid would learn all the techniques and leave. I joked that a lot of Egyptian food, which Walid has experience in making, requires more techniques than a mere pizza. The making of fateer, for example, requires much more intricate handling. Walid's job interviewers also tested his religiosity by offering him food. After finding out that Walid is fasting, the would wish him Ramadan kareem.

We met up at Wellington and headed to C0stco for the first time. Walid's progress in Hindustani is improving, as he watched more language videos provided by a hijabi Youtube teacher. He enjoyed the prospect of sharing our expenses since it signals a move toward a shared household. I also felt excited over this trip for the whole day. I asked if he wanted to pose next to the C0stco flowers for his birthday. He just took a selfie with me and said that I am more beautiful than the flowers.

On the way back, our Lyft driver played beautiful Nigerian music. I shared some in my music group as well. I ate a bowl of the instant shrimp wonton and added some capers. Walid snapped a photo of me and sent it to my mom, joking about himself about how he can only watch me eat.

English version of the translation

Walid went to break his fast at the Malden Islamic center while I read a book by Qiu Miaojin (邱妙津) from the Public Library. She was the first lesbian author who committed suicide when she was 26, which is also my current age. I enjoyed seeing her handwriting of Chinese characters printed in between the chapters. She suffered from studying abroad and a lot of her ideas of art come from Western forms and definitions. Unfortunately, in my opinion, she did not have the chance to truly experience art forms without a large degree of Western influences, which impeded her ability to create art according to her high expectations. Western definitions of what is "political" also haunt her own identity--she denies that the word "homosexual" has meaning beyond a political identity. Yet does that mean that queer politics did not exist before the arrival of Western science? (which sought to define the homosexual as a medical subject...) Her writings are interesting yet reveal her age and obsessions with the western novel as well, often too vaguely masculinist and dependent on the reader's proper aesthetic engagement, without a clear ethical grounding.

french version of the translation

While I read the book at Dunkin Donuts, a white female "customer" was trying to pick a fight with the Nepali cashiers. Luckily they were very strong and did not heed to the "customer's" aggressive baiting. "I'm going to call customer service and report this Dunkin Donuts!" I focused on the warmth of my small coffee. Soon the tension abated. I joked with Walid on the way back that this is what I got for choosing the "community" coffee spot as opposed to the nearby Chinese coffee establishments, which would have much less commotion. I also told Walid that he can also make great art--the kind that Miaojin aspired to create--and that he just needed more courage and time. He also mused on this subject. On that note, I also shared that Ahmad sent me an Arabic poem recently, and we planned to read it together.

We cooked at home, ate Tiramisu, sang the birthday song in Arabic. During midnight, we watched The Avengers: Infinity war, which caused some unwanted nightmares again...

Ramadan 2019: Day 6-7

Day 6
Saturdayyyyyyy but my work ethic made Walid and I go to the Boston Public Library and finish my last paper project. I prepared a peanut butter sandwich and added some dates from the milk-date drink Walid made. On the way, I read some passages from a borrowed book. When we arrived, I was angry at the library because the way whyte people take up space (one man stood right in front of the entrance as if he wanted to block us); also, people do all kinds of shenanigans in the bathrooms, such as leaving their work clothes in the stalls. I complained, this is not their home!! Walid quipped, and that is why they trash the place. The upside was that Walid successfully obtained his card.
We serendipitously sat at the immigrant help section. I finished my work around 2pm and felt dizzy. I ate the food while Walid explored the law section of the library. He borrowed Our Constitution and I also showed off some of my knowledge about American political institutions. I also felt pretty disconnected from this knowledge, despite multiple efforts in participating in public life and mused whether this was because of Boston's unique climate.

We sat in the library courtyard for a while. Some whyte people played beautiful music. An Indian family tried to take group photos with their professional camera but was stopped by a custodian, possibly due to their camera's settings. I mused about the topic I just wrote about--visualizing resistance--and how people obsessively documented their visual experiences. All the while I wished my brain could just stop analyzing. Walid thought about Mother's day.


Then Walid watched me as I ate at nearby + famous California Pizza Kitchen for the first time. I only knew about it from the show Bojack Horseman. Walid, fasting, as usual, could not even drink the ice water!

Walid thought about replicating the food at home, which we did on day 8.

I went home and watched the special series on manhood as well as other skits by the Saudi Arabia youtube sensation Telfaz 11 for hours. This type of comedy kills me because of its self-awareness, understated acting, as well as deprecation. The subtle commentary is also quite daring at times. The interludes of urban moments are also very beautiful and accurate, although I have never been there to judge...

snapshot from Telfaz11

Day 8

I woke up some more bad dreams, did the laundry with nightmare collateral damage, and read a great poem about someone's mother, which is possibly the best poem I ever read on mothers.

Screenshot from the film Intimates

I called my Syrian friend Ahmad for the first time in a while. He updated me about his life and chess progress. We also shared some rap songs. I skimmed through some of the library books due soon and learned some shocking history about the transnational nature of the Sahwa movement. I also watched a Chinese movie Intimates about women who chose to be celibates their whole lives (partly due to the patriarchal expectations of them to marry against their will). Since the late-1800s, they formed small communities in places of Guangdong and lived together with their earnings from the prosperous silk industry. The film also included a lesbian love-story plotline as well as a very realistic portrayal of an American-born-Chinese woman.


Walid arrived at my place around 6 with all the materials for halal carbonara pasta and prepared food at 7:20. I was the sous chef. He broke his fast while making a lot of food. I joked that the food was worth $60.

We watched The Avengers: Ultron and I did not realize I had already finished it before until the very end. Walid found it amusing that I had very large reactions to special effects and plot twists. I gave some of my opinions of the human-centric notions of good and evil and how both AI bots in the film are too anthropocentric.

Ramadan 2019: Day 4-5

Unfinished books at the site of fighting

The stress was starting to become unbearable. Walid was in a bad mood on Day 4 and I also had a ton of work. We talked with my classmate a bit and I drank two cups of coffee, despite my intention to quit. My classmate was frustrated over the thesis of his paper. We also discussed whether or not to accept my other classmate's dinner invitation. 

I planned to skim through some books at the library, which I did not finish. We fought over the restaurant of choice with other students shushing us. Walid was resistant against going to my favorite falafel place. I thought that Walid was being picky and (male-)ego-centric. He explained that the restaurant’s staff did not speak to him in Arabic. I thought that reason did not qualify as a valid, since I as a non-first-generation Chinese speaker, I found speaking my “ethnic” language to be extremely distressing under circumstances such as a racist city like Boston. The staff in question was not a first-generation immigrant, so I tried to reason on those grounds. Walid said he heard him speaking Arabic to the other staff. He also pulled out his “customer” card and said that as a customer he would like to be treated in the best way possible. I remembered later that Walid, as a long-time worker at a certain falafel establishment in New York, would have such strict standards. Walid probably suffers from his profession, which is to emphasize certain aspects to meet the ethnic expectations of the various customers who visit their business. I myself have had such expectations when I visit falafel places.

We decided to go the overpriced Mexican-indigenous restaurant, which was also close. Walid apologized on the way. He broke his fast with coffee and we entered the restaurant ceremoniously. I ordered a plate of shrimp for $20 and cried over the food due to the upsurge of my past traumas as a student who cannot afford to eat at this place even after long sessions of studying. I started right before it was almost too cold. The waitress gave Walid dirty looks, while the customers continued their merry end-of-semester conversations. Walid ordered fish tacos, which was quite ordinary but a safe choice. I was still hungry after we finished, and the weather was still cold despite my winter clothes. I suggested we go to Cheesecake fact0ry. We ordered a Lyft and I continued to express my stress. Walid apologized again. I ate a veggie burger and Walid ate the 30th-anniversary chocolate fudge cheesecake. He said he wished that we could also celebrate our 30^th anniversary in the future.

I thought later that Ramadan is a time where the gift economy is very robust: people take turns inviting each other and celebrate over the bountiful amount of food and kinship. In Khaleeji as well as Indian and Chinese societies, such opportunities are not limited to the month of Ramadan. I experienced many instances during my teenage years in China, from both men and women, oftentimes without any strings attached. I have still yet to invite those people back.

In the U.S., I have yet to find that type of non-monetary gift economy. There were starts of it between my roommates and me, but it soon broke down under various factors (including the fact that one of the guys used the gifts to start dating one of the roommates at a quite shocking speed). Sometimes our department has a non-monetary exchange of food, but there is always the premise of studying and working after eating the food. It is called “free food.” Even during Ramadan, Walid has started to call his iftars “free” food. But it is much more ritually significant. He joked that the smaller neighborhood mosque has better food than the bigger mosque downtown. He also can put down a lot of pretenses at the smaller mosque, since the feeling of community is stronger. Ramadan in America is more special because of the lack of other gift economies. Yet who is responsible for giving the gift, between a relationship as ours?

At the 2^nd restaurant, I felt better. But at some point, when I tried to speak Arabic with Walid, he started using it as an opportunity to show off his literary skills in pun and satire. I misunderstood the pun and started to remain silent in anger. Sometimes Walid performs his Arabic for no conversational reason, except that he is in conversation with himself or people not present. We share the same levels of peculiar thought patterns and both recognize each other as majnoon. We put on rational masks to face the other people in life, and we have yet to come to an agreement on how to coordinate our masks together so that one does not inadvertently expose the other.

I recovered from my anger and finished some of Walid’s cheesecake. We walked to the T stop. He stopped by DD to use their restroom. I was hesitant to go, but he said since the staff is of a certain racial makeup, they would let him use it for free. I sighed and waited for him.

The frequently seen poster in the metro these days
"An Idea. A Movement. A Musical"

At the T stop, I finally reconciled bits of Walid's personality with what I experienced today--''I guess we are both idealists, and it is hard to live by those ideals."
Then as soon as we entered the train, we saw a poster of We Live in Cairo, a musical about the revolution. I expressed some exaggerated exasperation and pretended to tear out the poster. We cannot escape our dreams, even if we tried to forget them. Walid later posted along with this picture, "هرب من قلبي اروح على فين
ليالينا الحلوة فكل مكان
#25_January"

By the time we arrived back to my place, I was so exhausted and slept immediately, only to be interrupted by many nightmares.

Day 5

I stayed at home and found some new followers on my Chinese social media page. One interesting person, Aroush, goes to school at SOAS and blogged about an event by Dr. Dhiren Borisa that explored queerness, sexuality, and caste in India's gay-dating apps. Fascinating work. I read some parts of Ahmed Shabab's book Before Orthodoxy and articles on the downfall of the Abbasid Empire. There seems to be an underlying argument among many non-Arab scholars that Islam's spread started as an elite-Arab-centric, patronage state. I wonder if the universalizing message of Islam truly reached its intended effect under the rule of the Ottomans. I am appreciating the larger (dynastic) picture more and more, despite my older inclinations to look at very specific sites of historical change.

I also started using the Word-counting website recommended by Put Away the Globe to document the number of words I write. Another scholar, Chao, also messaged me in Chinese about questions regarding liberalism and property law in India. I found some literature and sent it to him, despite his usual air of cliquey, faux sincerity. My classmate, who entered our institution this academic year, also found out on this day that our library was closed for the next week to prepare for graduation. I thought to myself, space for learning and research is so limited and there are always bosses keeping our time. Our lives are dependent on arbitrary management who don't prioritize our needs. Our slacked attitudes are rather consequences of neglect rather than active protest...

Walid attended iftar at the larger downtown mosque and met some new people.
Ramadan is also about trust: how much do you trust the person in front of you that they do not mind that you are eating and drinking as usual? How much do you trust the people who are donating food to have good intentions? How much do you trust the host of the location to not make this event into a free-for-all?

In the evening, I met up with Walid at our supermarket. I went in first while he was on the train. He guessed correctly that I took a nap as well as my precise location in the supermarket. The supermarket had deals on haagen dazs ice cream and we fussed over it until we finally got the $5 discount. I did not feel like cooking and ate bread and cheese prepared by Walid at 10pm. I have been playing host at my place, but now the roles are shifting as Walid becomes more familiar with his new environment.

Ramadan 2019: Day 3

Just to clarify for readers: My partner Walid is fasting, 25th year-in-a-row, but I am not. I might do it on the day we attend the Cambridge community iftar together.

But I still benefit from the spirit: Today, I settled on two resolutions for this month. I do not want to gossip with my former girlfriend or try to "improve" her understanding of my worldview anymore, nor do I want to take on the responsibility of educating my partner of every theory or idea I find interesting. These are old habits that will die hard, but I am feeling a strong imaan this month and I have asked Walid to pray for my success.

From Walid's new neighborhood

After many conflicts with friends, intellectuals, as well as my partner, who is my friend as well as an intellectual, I realized that my opinions only matter to the extent that my life matters. In other words, I have found another reason not to fight over my opinions. As a scholar of the humanities, I have often thought that my opinions can benefit humanity. It is a big claim, but I am sure I am not alone. This is also why scholars in humanities take their opinions so seriously. But I have luckily had an increasing awareness of the limitations of humans--as we know them. I used to abhor geology and its narration of the earth. But now I am more receptive to the idea that human-centric histories are limited and we need new narratives that remind us that we may not outlast planet earth.
I reflected on the question: what is education. The novel Severance by Ma Ling put forward the idea that even though we young folks revere Google as THE resource for any life hack, the repository is just "collective memory." Thus, viewing education broadly, educators are passing down collective memory. (yet a small caveat on forms of memory: I once asked TGT, what do you think about long-distance learning through digital platforms. He quipped, it's a scam. Don't buy into it.)
When I seek to educate someone, especially in the context where people around me can readily access Google, I am more presumptuous than those before me. I do not have to guide anyone beyond the first remonstrance; anything more would be quite self-imposing. These thoughts were mainly due to the fact that I felt a lot of pressure to be my own family historian, which is a lot of responsibility in addition to Walid's move to Boston, Ramadan, as well as PhD-end-of-the-year coursework. Walid and I had a conflict yesterday, which also can be explained bookishly as a clash between a "decolonizer" and a "colonized" worldview...

"Indian" subcontinent tabla , picture from the Silk Road Project

I thought (out loud) today that human knowledge is very limited and the "education" of life-hacks, such as child-rearing, will not outlast humans. Walid pointed out that such broadly-defined education also includes animal-rearing among animals. My friend Amina also noted that all folk music can be read as a language in which humans periodically copy from animal sounds. Other lingering questions: So what is the perspective of a tabla (which I found out today, is the same word in Hindi as it is in Arabic) or another instrument of the downfall of, say, the Abbasid Empire? How is ethnomusicology de-centering human activity, while an archive of visual sources often centers human activity? That is how I see that reconstructing Shi'a history is not just about a Shi'a point of view, but also considering how drastically narratives and sources change when one focuses on something outside of the hegemony.

Arabic t'abla, picture from hotarabicmusic.blogspot.com

Beyond my thinking today, we woke up at 12pm, read some poetry, did the laundry, listened to Dua Abu Hamza, gained taqwa on the way to Walid's new place, took some snaps under the beautiful sun, went to ISBCC to check out work opportunities and classified ads for "Islamic" car-washing (I'm joking), drank some KungFu chai, and ate at Chutney's. On the way back to my place, we discussed possibilities of Walid earning income through stock exchanges. He quickly gave me an update on the mainstream sharia rulings over stock trade, which I found through Google, was oddly accurate for someone who has not studied much in between his work days... When we arrived, we played chess. It was the first time when I almost checkmated someone!

From the view of Walid's balcony

Walid's iftar

Chess is a great way to also re-imagine one's relationship with the world. An empire's history can also be told in a chess game. Also, did you know, in Arabic, there is the symbolic reference to "elephants" in chess, which is also present in the Chinese version of chess, yet not in English chess-language? As Walid likes to express to me these days, China and Egypt have more in common that you expect! The more you know... At times I fear that my eating might influence Walid's will, but fortunately he is used to people eating all around him.