Today, I thought about commitment. About the space between choice and decision, and what sets uncertainty apart from indecision. And which out of the two is harder. I lean towards uncertainty as the greater evil, seeing as indecision denotes options and a point of crossroads. And what if 50 different paths cross one another? Who stops and who passes? What paths do I leave to sow forests over dead leaves?

I want to show you what I mean.

Between the single-digit hours of 9 and 5, so much of everyday life is encompassed. Joys, insecurities, fears, ambitions and hopes. When you go home, you don’t always leave those things behind – especially if you’re lucky enough to be doing something that consumes you. There are so many people who go decades loving and doing the same thing, renewing the promise every Monday and almost-Friday when they don’t feel like getting out of bed.

All the while, I am wrestling my tongue to give a promise. Each word is binding, yet I myself am still unbound, uncommitted, ungiving.

It’s the patience to let go of what isn’t a necessity that I am missing. That is how I will give what I promise to put in of me.

I don’t know how I got here. Most days, I am unforgiving to myself; I am unrelenting. These days, the coolness boils me over and I seep. Over everyone. Over everything. Promises are harder to keep. Commitments are harder to be. The space between choice and decision is slim, and then slimmer. How do I stay myself all while moving forward and reinventing? I am a person and I can only be repurposed and recommitted so many times. There is a threshold and I am at her gates often these days.

Commitment is compassion, towards the self or the other. There has to be more to life than repurposing. I haven’t maxed myself out, especially not at 20. Commitment is not boring, and neither is pace. A slow simmer gives a steady boil, and sometimes, predictability isn’t the worst thing in the world. Steady I go, I tell myself. Live densely, be earnest and throw yourself into your endeavours wholly. Most importantly, do it for yourself. Make a home out of yourself.

In this, you will find private avenues of fulfilment, if only the beauty of discretion is not lost on you as it has been on me. In its truest sense, it means living a life in which my actions and character are my mouthpiece instead.

As much as I would like to, I can’t trust it – I can’t trust me.

Everyday, I am learning to honour my place. It’s the only honest way to get ahead. To build a kind character and to abandon pride and pick up integrity in its place. To cross waters instead of burning forests and to take the road less traveled by if it means a clearer conscience. The art of committing is a lost one, made up mostly by a life-long balancing act. I owe it to the people who bled for me, who taunted me and who loved. We all do. Commit to yourself if you can help it. Commit to building over burning, and crossing over reaching. I’m inclined to believe so much of you will be changed for it.

“20 minutes of action”

In light of the ex-Stanford rapist father’s comments, I think it’s time we admit to ourselves that rape and the misogynistic ways of our society aren’t rooted in a no-strings-attached brand of misogyny. We resort to the term “rape culture” as an ambiguous catch-all, and we often neglect the weighted history of this culture.

Lately, I’ve been looking into the relationship between Arabia’s pre-Islamic tribalism and its remnants that still mark the religious culture of Muslim Arab customs. It taints the way  a woman is seen, the perception of her as not sub-human on the condition of her ability to excel in a capitalist work model, and much more. This intersection of oppression that many Arab Muslim women face is only one branch of larger misogyny.

It is very easy to cast judgements on the wrong-doings of other societies because, despite my being a feminist and a Muslim Arab woman, there is a detachment from their reality. I will never completely know what it is like, because I am outside, a part of a diverse diaspora. And I will always have to remind myself not to infantilize these women and not use my avenues of expression to speak over their voices.

Now, we have to assess the patriarchal structures looming over our larger culture, and how it intersects with other oppressions, most markedly colonialism, racism and ableism. Because when a judge decides to “cut some slack” for a rapist on the basis of him not deserving to have his life taken away from him, he isn’t saying that a woman’s life is less – he is blatantly acting on the deeply-held belief that women are accessories to man and that women have no right to life.

This quickly escalates to a conversation on colonialism and the genocide used to occupy Canadian land. It is the culture of the white man, who is stronger, whiter, and superior to everyone, and that the whole world is his for the taking. Note that Indigenous teachings do not enforce gender binaries, nor do they perpetuate oppressive conditions on women. Then, it only makes sense that our country is founded on a history of misogyny, patriarchy, racism and ableism. Further, to no one’s surprise, women, particularly racialized, economically disadvantaged, disabled, and LGBT+ women are overrepresented in sexual assault statistics. These identities are not (obviously) mutually exclusive.

What I’m trying to say is that the history that surrounds us necessarily has an influence on how we think and how we see the world. However, it has less power over us when we are aware of it and when we turn this awareness into a critical tool under which we should seek to examine the dealings between people. Because a label is useful, but it only matters if we choose to rummage through the box.

This post is a rant in response to the letter read by Brock Turner’s father.

No, I am not a fan of punitive justice. But I am not a fan of rape, either, to say the least. But in this society, that is how you pay a fraction of the price and it makes no sense to me for a person to be allowed to escape that.

“Where do I start?”

This has been my most agitated week of the year. Despite this, as I ran from one place to another, racing to secure employment, I noticed that I wasn’t accomplishing much at all. There’s a unique sort of glorification reserved for being on edge and busy all the time, but what about when all your work doesn’t end in reaching your goals? I’ve grappled with the tension between believing that I am either delusionally ambitious or that I am trying to talk myself out of my own plans, and I am beginning to understand why.

Ambition is the drive to accomplish. Put a driver who doesn’t know what turns to take to get where they’re trying to get and you’ve got someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing. But what about someone who does know where they’re going and doesn’t seem to be moving forward at all?

There are barriers, inside and out. For some, there is a social privilege that allows them the luxury of entirely by-passing certain barriers to opportunity. The (arguably) most important barrier of all to accessing opportunity happens to be the easiest to remove. That is the barrier to first steps. So many socio-economically disadvantaged people, particularly people who fall into this group and first generation immigrants or their children, don’t know where to start.

The more I think about this, the more I begin to see it everywhere I go. I’ll give you an example. For the longest time, I didn’t know that you could get funding for art projects. The concept was foreign to me. You’re thinking, “Whatever. It’s not really something people talk about”. It’s something you’d think you would know of, though, when one of your parents is an artist, yet he was just as surprised as I was. Many art communities are  very niche. Networking is important, yes, but there is a very specific-unspecific trajectory that leads to timely interactions. These interactions lead to a broader audience and the sincere consideration of a person’s work.

When you aren’t born into the social context of success, the “specific-unspecific” trajectory I mention above becomes even murkier. To be specifically unspecific in the face of opportunity means to be different while remaining in line with norms of the culture in which you are participating. In other words, it means to be qualified but to be more, too. There are three things that happen first when you face barriers to the first step.

  1. You don’t know what the first step to take is.
  2. You can’t take the first step because you don’t know how to.
  3. You can’t take the risks that give you the “more” factor because you don’t have.

The first step is always the hardest, but for a lot of people, it’s near impossible. I can’t help but wonder how many people have been needlessly prevented from giving whatever it is they had to offer because they didn’t get the chance to start.

This is not something we should be setting out to remedy: it’s a structure that we have to undo. I’m not calling for a restart of social capital. It’s just the rerouting of information and opportunity transmission, and many people are doing just that by offering representation for groups that tend to be left behind, and mentoring young people and acting as positive role models. I’m grateful for the people in my life who played those parts. If you’ve also had that privilege, consider paying it forward in your community. Together we’re better.