a british thanksgiving

For the last decade's worth of Thanksgivings, any part of my family that resides in the States will gather for a family reunion of epic proportions. There is always, of course, much stuffing of faces, much giving, much thanking, and a heck of amount of rejoicing. We pretty much just cram one of our homes to brim with aunts and uncles, parents and grandparents, cousins and babies and whoever else cares to brave our territories. It's my all time favo(u)rite holiday of the year. 

This year was the first year I wasn't there. This Thanksgiving also marked the first time I was homesick. Really, really homesick. 

A couple second year American students invited me and some of their friends to have a small celebration together. One of them said she was making turkey; it turned into a charred black encrusted chicken. I asked my mom for the corn pudding recipe and made a pretty delightful (I'm so modest) dish of the golden stuff. Someone else made sweet yams, bought some cranberry sauce, and made a huge pot of mac&cheese. Some French guy brought pâté. We all sat around a low table in a corner of the JCR, picking at our plates as we balanced them on our knees. I brought Becca and Amina along with me to pass the time, but all we did was sit there and observe the antics of the second years who downed that booze a little too quickly and smoked that joint a little too within a mile radius of me. 

(Did I tell you about the time I accidentally convinced said joint-smoker that I was, in fact, a pothead? It was one of those conversations that takes place solely by the use of facial expressions and half-spoken words. Unfortunately, my confused look appeared to her as one of those knowing look and suddenly she was making plans for us to get baked, saying, "OH RIGHT, you're from CALIFORNIA! I knew you were too mellow not to [smoke]." At which point I'm pretty sure my confused look turned into my horrified look while she gave me an approving look at my apparent acceptance to the International Alliance of Potheads. Seriously?)

Near the end of our oh so precious gathering, while they made plans to go out and get pissed, my parents called. The whole time I was talking to them, I could hear everyone in the background talking and laughing and passing messages back and forth to the phone. My mom felt it necessary also to list the entire contents of their splendid meals they'd been having -- the Moroccan turkey and mashed potatoes and stuffing, the whole shebang. That came the night before Thanksgiving because this year they were having a special treat: an entire lamb. Pretty much my two favorite meals in a row and I was scooping cold mac&cheese out of a cooking pot. Eventually, the phone was passed to my aunt and right as we were about to say bye, my cousins all came home, one Noor short of the usual quartet. And that seriously depressed me. 

All of a sudden, everything just seemed too far away, too across an entire ocean. I miss my family. I miss my house. I miss my room. I miss my friends. I miss good food. I miss California. I miss home. I miss feeling closer, within reach of everything that I love. 

It's incredibly hard being this far. I can only hope that it won't overwhelm me.

becoming brown

brown [broun]
noun

1. a dark tertiary color with a yellowish or reddish hue.

2. a person whose skin has a dusky or light-brown pigmentation.

-- Dictionary.com

brown 
The people, or anything pertaining to something of South Asian descent, as in "That kid isn't Spanish -- he's BROWN."

-- UrbanDictionary.com

Guess which definition I'm using.

It was bound to happen: I spend every waking minute of my life in the same room as an Indian and a Pakistani. They outnumber me; it's easier for them to turn me brown than it is for me to turn them Arab. Plus, being Middle Eastern puts me halfway to brown anyways so I might as well take the full leap.

I'm pretty sure this whole downward spira-- I mean, epoch of enlightenment began around the time a group of brownfolk gathered in the TV room to watch Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (DDLJ, for normal), a classic Indian movie from 1995. It's now the longest running Indian movie in cinemas, having been in theatres since it's release until now. That's over 13 years. It's a long-winded but charming romance (aren't they all?) starring Anjali (who is adorable and I heart her) and MY NOW ALL TIME FAVOURITE Shahrukh Khan. (EDIT: He presented an award at the Golden Globes last night with that girl from Slumdog Millionaire! I definitely had a panic attack while my parents looked on like I was having a seizure for no apparent reason. Sigh.) 

***

A moment from this cinematic viewing:

Me: Why are you putting subtitles?

Aamna: Because you're not Indian.

***

Now, I've seen plenty of Indian movies before while I lived in Kuwait (every Thursday afternoon with the housekeepers on that small grainy television downstairs where the Arabic and English subtitles always overlapped and I really never had any idea what was going on ever), but I consider this my "brownification" because I now have two mentors to teach me the ways of their people.

The brownifying truly began in earnest when we went to see Dostana in theatres. My friends, let me tell you, there is no experience that can equal the awesome of seeing your first Indian movie in theatres. I would recommend doing so to anyone who has a soul. Even Lord Voldemort who only has an eighth of a soul because doing so will cure all his bitter angst and make his soul whole once again. (You know, I tried to keep the nerd in, I really did but it's just too ingrained. I can't restrain it anymore, it just keeps coming out at inoppurtune moments, like a really really intellectual but overenthusiastic tic.) So while Dostana may not have been the best Hindi film out there, it certainly warmed my heart and I could watch it again and again. It's kind of like the Hindi version of I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry where the two main guys register themselves as gay to be able to live in this fantastic apartment with a super hot girl (Priyanka Chopra is most DEFINITELY my girl crush, after Beyoncé and other such Awesome Ladies of the World). And then there's John. Oh, John Abraham, how you torture me. How you torture us all, really. 

But what made this movie the untouchably golden piece of perfection that it is was of course the music. Right in the middle of "Desi Girl," I turned to Aamna and pretty much yelled, "THIS MOVIE JUST MADE MY LIFE." After this movie, we promptly returned to halls to download this song and then listen to it consecutively for, oh, about 63 times. That's no exaggeration.

After this night, it became Aamna and Amina's mission to show me every greatest Indian movie ever created. They also taught me random words in Urdu like 'paagal' which means crazy and shows up quite often in films, prompting me to turn to whomever's closest and yell, "PAAGAL." Then there's: 

chuttputta - spicy hot

buthameez - insolent

bechara - poor

ap kesi hay - how are you?

may theek hoo - i'm fine

tuqloo unda chor - bald egg-stealer

ek do teen chaar paanch chay saat aat no dus - one two three four (tellmethatyoulovememore)

mera naam noor hay - my name is noor

tom chai benara hee (hay?) ho - make me tea

nach ke dika de - show me your dance moves

And other such useful phrases. See how educated I am?!

Most of our date nights are now spent sitting on my bed watching ridiculously long Indian movies into the wee hours and sipping hot cocoa. It's fantastic (like life in plastic). Gosh, what is up with me and all these pop culture references today? 

Anyways. Moral of the story: go find yourself an Indian. It will make all living worthwhile.

***

Annnd a great definition I found on urbandictionary.com for the entry 'brown':

contrary to popular and STUPID belief, brown does not describe those of middle eastern or hispanic descent. those of hispanic descent have their own color - latino, and most middle easterns are of their own color - arab, so arab and brown are not the same ethnic group!  That's right, kids, the newest members of Crayola 64 are the often overlooked colors of Latino and Arab. Find them in the school supplies section of your local Target. or WHSmith, since we're being British. *** Another memorable moment from that night: Aamna and I were just having a lovely two person conversation when suddenly we hear a high-pitched squeal slash shriek coming from our other side. We turn to stare at Amina, who offered up this gem of an explanation: "I felt left out." ***

action palestine

There are a vast amount of clubs (called 'societies') here at Manchester, as there are at any university, I'm sure. I've joined a few so far: we went to the Sci-Fi society's first meeting, I signed up for the Fine Arts one and the Arab Society and Amnesty International, but the one I've taken most interest in and put in the most effort is Action Palestine.  

It was the first society I signed up for and while Aamna was roaming the stalls at Fresher's Fair, she signed herself up too (and me, again). Before there was even a first meeting, AP hosted a small event with a speaker who talked about his experience during a visit to Gaza. After he ended his speech, someone stood up and invited us all to hang around and socialize with our neighbors. So we did. We met some pretty awesome people, including Tom who is equivalent to Jesus in our world -- every word that comes out of his mouth oozes wisdom and profundity -- and this sweet 4th year pharmacist who did a year placement in Oxford (!!!!!) and is as obsessed with it as I am. And through her, we met a bunch of other super cool people and then we all went out for dessert together! And the 4th year became our buddy and now she takes us on occasional dates. 

Then we started going regularly to the meetings and taking part in the discussions and volunteering for things. Now it looks to become a nice chunk of my time at uni and I absolutely love it. And so far it's been a ton of fun. I stood out for a couple hours in the rain handing out flyers and manning the display table. I took part in a silent protest for the Palestinian right to education. I've made sure to go to each of the events they host and most of the meetings. I spent an entire week dedicated to the Right to Education Week, which included a banner drop:

The best parts are all the people I've met. They're not just people in the same club; they've become my good friends. It's so amazing to be around people who are so dedicated and passionate about something, no matter what it is. They're just so inspired. 

I love feeling like that too. I love having something to look forward to and to work for and to support. And to have that something be something I really care about makes it all the more worth it. 

widnes & bonfire night

Guy Fawkes Day, aka Bonfire Night, is the UK's annual celebration that the Gunpowder Plot to blow up the House of Parliament in 1605 was foiled. And yet they celebrate by reenacting what it would look like had the Plot succeeded. Hmm.

Basically, it's the British 4th of July including fireworks and get-togethers and burning effigies. You know, all the normal celebratory rituals. 

Since I've never had a proper Bonfire Night, Becca's family invited me over for the weekend to celebrate with them because they are wonderfully nice, welcoming, and accommodating people. Seriously, I love them all.

Even though Bonfire Night is on the 5th of November, Becca's crew was celebrating on the weekend after. So the following Saturday, Becca and I took the short trek to Oxford Station and hopped on a twenty minute train to Widnes. 

Widnes is a cute little English town, ripe with pubs and narrow streets, old churches and brick walls, and one massive park. It's the most stereotypically English town -- I could seriously imagine "Hot Fuzz" taking place there.* On the walk from the station to her house, Becca pointed out all the areas of interest like her schools and the dog park she and her friend accidentally let loose one day. 

We finally got to her house and just hung around a bit since no one was home. After Becca gave me a tour of her house, we played Wii! I'd never played Wii before. It's awesome. But it seriously tires you out, especially if you're playing Mario & Sonic Olympics which includes much waving of arms and waddling of butts. And apparently, I'm ace at the long jump. Absolutely terrible at hurdles though. And swimming is just a pain in the arms.

In the evening, with a pot of beans in hand, we set out in the ridiculously freezing cold towards Becca's family friend's house, where the bonfire was taking place. There was already a good handful of people there who were all so so sweet and fun. I was just excited to be there since it was the first time I'd been anywhere resembling home for the last couple months. There were little kids running around and their parents were hanging out talking and the teenagers were lounging on the couches. Everyone reminded me of family get-togethers back in LA so I felt at home too. 

They had a potluck going in the kitchen, a bonfire set outside, and the TV buzzing in the background. (We were waiting for the X-Factor to come on.) After a bit of eating, we all went outside to bonfire & sparkler it up.

Then, in true UK fashion, someone pulled out an "effigy" of Guy Fawkes and we set him aflame.

Then Becca and I, being the mature, dignified university students that we are, squealed and danced around with the sparklers, trying to spell out our names and catch it on camera.

We failed quite miserably.

Then, in even MORE UK Fashion, it started to pour. Within seconds, we were drenched in freezing rain. I don't think I've ever been colder than I was that night. But we still pushed onward, setting off all the fireworks whenever there was a short non-pouring spell. I even got to set off my own first Bonfire Night firecracker.

(I don't look too attractive from this angle...)

And we set off all the rest of the fireworks, some of which were duds and others (like that Catherine Wheel) were pretty sweet.

After a while, Becca and I walked back to her house to eat more beans on toast, drape ourselves over the heaters, and watch Heroes. Yum. I heart Bonfire Night.

* If you haven't seen "Hot Fuzz," go see it now. It's amazing.

talent show!

A couple weeks back, my friend Laura asked me if I was going to the Talent Show semi-finals that our coursemate Bernard was in. I hadn't even heard of it but I dragged a few people with me and we went out for a short but highly entertaining show. 

Not everyone was great but all were entertaining. Particularly the emcee, whose horrendous jokes got progressively better as he got drunker throughout the night. There was a belly dancer who had giant shiny wings and a gaping belly button that was mesmerizing, a Palestinian-Iraqi rapper who goes by the name of Psycho Mo and is not a motherf***ing gangsta (his words, not mine. (and his censorship, not mine.)), and a comedian who I really just felt sorry for. Then there were the Hobos who weren't actually called the Hobos but they looked it and we are big fans of naming people things they are not. 

After the show, we ended up walking out in front of them and I turned around to say something to one of my friends only to find the Hobos and since I was walking backwards, I was staggering a bit but I still found it prudent to yell, "HEY! We voted for you! And I'm not drunk, I promise." They just kind of looked at me funny and then said something about trying for three years and getting nowhere. How sad.

The best two acts were an Irish guitarist named Eoin (pronounced Owen) and a duo that went by the Meadow Larks, one of whom is my friend Bernard. Who is made of awesome. Eoin and the Meadow Larks made it to the next round, the Finals, which took place tonight on Bonfire Night. 

Sadly, neither of them won but they did get to the top 3 (Eoin, third, Meadow Larks, second)! This is a video compilation of both their semi-final and finals performances, with a Chinese instrument player in between. Might I add that the Chinese guy introduced himself thusly: "This is called a [insert name of instrument]. It's from China. My name's Geoffrey and I'm from China too."

Ah, I love people.

Eoin is the solo guitarist and Bernard is the dark-haired guy in the duo (not the redhead, who is also awesome and named Kieran).

november 4th, 2008

Election night '08: possibly the most anticipated night all around the world in the last couple years (or, in some cases, the last eight years). 

This most decisive night happened to be during reading week which is kind of like a mid-semester break except no one really goes home and you're supposed to study. Which is why Becca and I decided it was just fine to stay up all night long to watch the Elections. I've been overcome with a bout of insomnia these last few days so I didn't find it difficult to stay up all night. 

We staked out the TV room from early on, wrapped in blankets and warm pjs. I was surprised by how nervous I was. I never expected to feel like I had that much of a part in American politics but I think the entire world was holding its breath with me this time. This night wasn't the most anticipated for nothing. 

People trickled in and out all night long, asking who was up, who had what state (if they understood the process), etc. We sat there, rearranging ourselves on the worn out couches, eating some popcorn, watching one girl paper maché a human body for architecture. 

It was 4am when the Election was decided, with Obama's electoral vote count well above 270. It was the most surreal moment of my life, how quickly it happened. It didn't give me time to process what was going on. And even when it hit me, I was still in a daze. 

Then I leapt on Becca, who had fallen asleep, and I shook her awake, yelling, "OBAMA OBAMA OBAMA." Her reaction was equivalent, one can only expect,  to that of 'who the hell is trying to rape me?' But once she recollected where she was and what she was supposed to be doing, she looked 'round and very very confusedly said, "Oh. yaaay." Then she sat up and we watched McCain give his concession speech and Obama his victory speech. Unfortunately, we did not stay up much past that to see Gordon Brown give two thumbs up in front of 10 Downing Street but we saw pictures of that in the morning.

I promptly sprinted down to my room to yell exclamation marks at my friends and have little IM celebrations with everyone in the States. And then I got a little sad.

I was sad that I wasn't spending what was possibly the most historical night of my life in the place where it was happening. That I didn't get to be in the middle of it, as it was happening, and to feel like I was part of something much bigger than myself, no matter how it would turn out in the future. Just to be in that moment is all that mattered. I felt kind of isolated, a distance away from it all. Which, geographically, I was but that made it all the more absolute. 

So while the rest of the world ran around in happiness (or in sadness), I sat back and watched. And while I'd much rather have been taking part, it was still alright because something right had shifted in the world. But even if it doesn't shift rightly for long, at least it had happened once, you know?

I think Obama can either mostly live up to expectation or fail spectacularly -- the world's critics won't let him settle anywhere in between. We'll see. For now, I'm happy.

amina

I have another introduction to make. When I first wrote about my dear friends at Gabs, this particular friend was still in her jetlag phase and therefore out of reach. She has since recovered and has taken up residence in my life like the termites nested in our wooden floors. Except with more cute. 

Amina is my other third, from Pakistan via England via Croatia via Nigeria. She's studying Management and lives on the top floor. We actually met on Facebook through the St Gabriel's Hall group. 

We talked quite a bit on the Face and then met a day or two after Amina's arrival in Manchester. Facebook always makes real life a little more awkward than normal so while we'd spoken a ton and had made plans to go shopping and knew each other's family histories, it was still weird meeting each other for realz. 

One day I came down to reception on my way out to drop something off at Stopford. Amina happened to be sitting on her own, just chillin'. Weirdo. Just kidding. I figured she had nothing better to do so I asked her if she'd like to come along for the walk and she said, "Yeah, sure, I have nothing better to do." I'm quite good at figuring things. Off we went, chatting a bit, strolling in the sun -- yes, I said sun -- to the medical building. I recall one of the things we talked about was the sun and how we were both so surprised to see it there after all the warnings we'd gotten from our families about how there will be NO SUNLIGHT EVER in Manchester. They lied.

Turns out Stopford was closed so we turned around and walked back. On the return, I recall asking her birthday and when I told her mine, she exclaimed that was her best friend's birthday too. I laughed and jokingly said, "Well maybe now I'll be your best friend!" She laughed too. Later she told me she thought I was a creep.

So while that errand was a total waste, it gave me the delightful chance of talking to Amina for the first time. If I only I knew what I was getting myself into.

Between the time of meeting Amina, Aamna and I have begun living with each other and getting married. Not necessarily in that order because we are good Muslims. Aamna, apparently, has also met Amina and thinks that Amina hates her. So I, being ever thoughtful and totally unaware of others' embarrassment, tell her she's being silly and tell Amina that Aamna thinks she hates her. Amina takes pity on Aamna and Facebook chats her up. At the moment of said chat's occurrence, Aamna bursts into my room yelling, "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU TOLD HER I THINK SHE HATES ME. NOW SHE'S PITY FRIENDING ME." 

She'll thank me later.

It was a few weeks later that Amina truly began to be our (Aamna & my) final third. She got over her jetlag and started coming down to the basement. Now she's an honorary basement member -- even her kitchen stuff has found its way to our cupboards. She lives in either my or Aamna's room, depending who's in and who's door is unlocked. It has gone so far that I have, I kid you not, walked into my room only to find Amina asleep in my bed. 

I am now quite used to finding people in my room/bed and it's actually kind of weird not to have had someone else living in my room for more than a day. Anyhoo.

Amina is hilarious and cute and has spread the arm-flapping dance of excitement to pretty much everyone who hangs out with her. We have hot cocoa together at midnight and share our chuttputty noodles. We have sleepovers in each other's rooms, use each other's stuff, and have conversations which no one else understands. We even refer to ourselves in the singular because we consider ourselves to be one person. We watch Indian movies together, she teaches me Urdu, I teach her Arabic. I hacked her Facebook profile more than once. She unsuccessfully tries to kick me and Aamna out of her room at 3am. (She actually really loves having us there but doesn't know how to express her deep emotions.) She gives me Pakindian music. I gave her my entire iTunes library. She even tells me that she logs into my library on the local internet connection everyday before anyone else so she can keep it on all day and she gets mad when she can't get on it because 5 people have already accessed it. (So far, I've identified 3 of the 5 people who log onto my library every day.)

Amina is just a part of Aamna and me. Everyone knows that if you're looking for one of us, you might as well look for the other two. People looking for Aamna stop at my room first. We've merely extended our marriage to include Amina and now she's quickly becoming us too. It's only slightly disturbing. We love her anyways. <3