Today I ate pork

It was at a friend's bridal shower. The order was messed up. We were all nearly through eating when someone came around to inform us. I feel foolish, because I ate like an animal. It was good food, but sometimes when I'm thinking of other things, I just sorta eat without taking the time or noticing much of anything. My sister was telling me that it tastes like fish that she wasn't familiar with. I just ate.

Afterwards, two cups of coffee, a cup of chia two hours later, then chamomile tea just an hour ago. Nothing is helping. I've got paranoia about that pork and it's translated in my mouth as a very unpleasant taste, or tinge of something.

Long time since I last posted. Classes are over. I've been rediscovering my brothers and sisters in faith and their goodness. A few things helped in that: the every-other-weekly classes with AM that I spoke about earlier (Henceforward, AM shall be known as Ahmed Uncle), Ingrid Mattson’s wonderful speech a week ago, and then my lovely friends, elders, and students I’ve been seeing lately.

Throughout my young adulthood, I’ve always either resented the Muslim community, been baffled by it, or just plain tired of dealing with it. That’s partly the reason I stopped teaching at the Muslim school last year (note: partly). I always expected the adults to show the way, to have a plan. For the most part, they didn’t. When they had coherence and vision, I hung on to them, giving them all the loyalty and respect I couldn’t use on the others. So I did have heroes. A few Islamic studies teachers. The principal. My parents. Ahmed Uncle and Huma Aunty. But they were all exceptions. And then I’d see people doing something right, trying to put their priorities right, and they were badmouthed. Teaching last year, I knew our school had no mission that I could understand or work towards. It was meaningless. They only read it an in-service because strengthening the mission was a suggestion from a teacher. At the same time, celebrating birthdays was the biggest sin on earth, as bad as playing cards during lunch time.

It’s not useful to see just that in a community, it’s neglecting a lot of their collective goodness. So here’s a list:
Good is in my old student who used to focus so hard at a point in her mind, that I could almost see her create it before me in air. Look at this class for instance.
Good is in my friend, who had a brain surgery last year. She was saying today that the only thing she could hear, when all was noise and confusion was, “Allah only tests those that he loves.”
Good is also in my friend the soon-to-be-bride who didn’t shape her eyebrows, out of conviction that it’s wrong.

I meant to write a little about Ahmed Uncle’s talks and Ingrid’s lecture, but I better brush my teeth and go to sleep.