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. 

Ramadan 2019: Day 2

Today I finished my paper and read some the interesting ethnography on Cambodian American communities. I had visited Cambodia and I had heard about the community nearby in Lowell, MA, yet I know nothing of these fellow "Asian Americans." I have a new understanding of the importance of writing on second-generation and third-generation immigrant experiences. Perhaps due to the fact that many people view my identity through a cookie-cutter lens, I used to view generational differences in much starker terms.


Ramy's show Ramy is also part of this process: although generations view their lives, pleasures and difficulties through different lenses, one can still synthesize the two "worlds" with an open heart and imagination. Like Ramy, I have also found it challenging in social situations and rarely said outright that I did not drink, even though I had already stopped.

Still from Ramy, with his parents

I also really appreciated the differently abled role of Steve and how he interacted with knowing passive aggressiveness, which reminded me of how some of my Asian American guy friends talk with me as well. Some people seem to have had problems with how much the females in the show are interacting with their sexual identities; for me, it is relatable to see people to explore their desires, even if most people viewed them as "undersexed." (Steve included.)

It also takes a lot of courage to commit to creative work, such as ethnography or a show like Ramy. Walid said before, in an endearing way: I like saying that you are Chinese, because anyone can become "American," but not everyone can be "Chinese."
Between writing my paper, I also heard some of the good news from Liverpool. I did not expect that my team would win, let alone by such a huge margin. I joked later that Mohamed Salah did not even have to appear on the field for Liverpool to win.

Walid told me that Salah wore a T-shirt that said "Never Give Up." I had already given up!

The clouds gathered as I waited for the bus; I gave up and walked instead. The rain started just before my Zumba class.
Our instructor Karen told us about her upcoming marriage and possible change in schedules. I felt surprised and happy for her. Today's class was longer and we were all sweaty by the end. She told us that to feel certain songs, which is totally different with how I approached most media as a historian. Towards the end, I really felt one of the beats and pulled it off.

Walid and I met at 9pm, Downtown Crossing, while I was reading about Donald Glover's baby momma and how it created some controversy. Walid and I embraced very longingly. When I complained that I was thirsty, he showed the banana he brought me and told me about his Somali iftar at his new neighborhood mosque.

Walid's dinner

He was served by other men and had eaten everything with his hands like a good sport. Prior to dinner, he compared the prices of food at the neighborhood supermarkets and found them to be not much cheaper than prices in New York. I also complained that at least NY places give one a sense that they are family businesses, whereas the chain stores of Boston do not bring down the prices as much as one would expect.

While we were waiting for the T, a queerly dressed man, cowboy hat in tow, started passing comments to everyone he saw. He said to us, "You two should get married!" We replied as he walked by, "we're already married!" which made him feel slightly sheepish. Walid was very happy that even strangers could see how much in love we were.

Walid also called many of his relatives today. He passed on the greetings of his cousin, who studied as a pharmacist and said "say hello to your beautiful wife." <3 We returned home and watched the lo-fi version of Patriot Act on the mattress "scam" and discussed which mattress we should buy next.

Finally, a funny desi joke my friend Aaron sent to me!

Ramadan 2019: Day 1

              On Sunday, we ate our "last" lunch together for the next few weeks. Walid made scrambled eggs with dates he bought from the Palestinian shop, whose owner probably overcharged us. But we forgave him anyways. I texted our friend Abdul Latif from Louisville about some news from an archive opportunity. He replied to the news and asked if Ramadan was officially on Monday. I was confused because I thought everyone could check online. Walid was quite expectant of such a question, since he was "in the loop." Upon my request, he typed an affirmative reply to Abdul Latif on my phone. We wanted to play chess but my eyes were sore so we played the Arabic alphabet game (in which we name six categories with any given Arabic alphabet) and slept early around 11pm. We woke up at to Walid’s alarm in the middle of the night. Rather than stuffing himself, Walid was content after drinking some water and went back to sleep afterwards.

The next day, we showered and he prayed. I made some breakfast for myself and was careful so that he did not unintentionally catch the wafts of the aromatic food. He also helped me install my thangka painting into the new frame I bought, which had laid idle in its scroll for months.

I wrote my paper on various communities and their burial grounds in North America. Walid called his brother and some friends to wish each other well. He left to move his things and met up with me again at 4:30pm at Downtown Crossing. It felt like we had parted for a long time and we hugged. Many people headed in the same direction as us. He noted that it was the first Monday for him in Boston. He often left for New York on Monday mornings.

My classmate had asked Walid and I to watch Avengers: the Endgame with him in the theaters, but we were not in the mood. In response, Walid played the “Ramadan” card and said he would be resting at home for the next few weeks. But he joked that he still moved some of his belongings from my place to his new place, and even chaperoned me to my 5:30pm Zumba class. The weather was beautiful and he bought some coffee for me, just to smell and anticipate the taste.

Today's Zumba coordination was quite difficult, and I had not practiced for months. A girl danced in front of me and even thought Walid was looking at her. Walid diverted his attention to his phone instead. By the time I finished, we were both dehydrated and hungry. We passed by a Firestone chain store and I asked Walid if he knew about the Liberian dictator involved in the resource scandal. We arrived at the T station and waited for the subway while a man in a red-checkered turban bounced his rubber ball against the wall. We thought about eating at a Jordanian restaurant, but they did not have main pescatarian dishes. We might visit on a Saturday for their buffet instead.

On the Orange Line, we saw the beautiful sun and Walid joked that it would be nice if someone could push down the sun. Luckily we made it to the Chinese restaurant right around Iftar (7:40) and ate to our hearts content. He said a friend in the Gulf sent him a picture of his sumptuous iftar, and he thought about sending ours to his friend as well. Both of our phone batteries ran out so I drew a picture of our iftar dinner when we returned home. It also occurred to me that this month would be great for some low-key blogging. 

We listened to Sura Isra' together and watched a bit of The Prince of Egypt. Walid noted the animated picture's similarities with the Holy Quran's narration of the events. Then he left for his new place. I helped him pack some of his things and we parted reluctantly.