I Bleed Red, White, Black… and Blue

Reflections on the uprisings from an Egyptian-American

“Hourayaa.”  It’s a funny word when repeated with an American accent.  It’s a universal word uttered in different shades of gray, black, and red, etched across countries struggling to break free from an oppressive regime.  It’s “freedom” with all its loaded implications.  It’s a chant that falls from the lips of thousands of Egyptians and rankles in the minds and hearts of those who watch the drama unfold.

Words like “historic,” “momentous,” and “critical,” pepper the nightly news and the on-going conversations.  It’s the first time in many years that Egyptians are taking a stand and taking back their country.  The collective conscience of a sleeping beast, 80 million strong--transcending divides of age, religion, and class, has been awakened.  Hunger, pain, and hopelessness can only fester for so long until spilling over and giving way to overwhelming bursts fueled by passion; tempered by fear and hate.

Watching familiar faces of people who might be my third cousin twice removed or my brother-in-law’s fifth nephew makes me feel a certain affinity to the events that are unfolding.  I struggle in deciding whether I should call myself American-Egyptian, American-Muslim-Arab, or Egyptian-American.  The differences are subtle but each sings a complicated story of hyphenated identity. 

I think back to summers spent wandering Tahrir Square with cousins, fool and falafel sandwiches in one hand, termous rolled in newspaper in another, lost in the irony of a place called “Liberation.”  I remember the months spent living in Alexandria, awakened by the sea and shouts of the roaring “Rubabickya” man.  I remind my children of the happy places we visited two summers ago, now ablaze with anger and flames.

My memories make me realize that the Nile streams in my blood and banks in my heart.  The sunny country known for iconic ancient structures, sand, and sea is embedded in my identity.  It takes a revolution sometimes to remind us where we come from.  It takes a revolution in countries thousands of miles away to remind us of the freedoms we take for granted. 

As Americans, we might argue about our government and fight about our factions—but at least we have the right to do that.  We may hate our presidential politics and hate the proposed economic reform-- but we know that there is an end in sight and that we, the people, have some say in who presides over us every four years.  This basic inalienable right to express our voices and speak our thoughts without fear of repercussion is what the Egyptians are fighting for.  Waking up free and able to afford basic amenities can’t happen without moments of friction.  Knowing that the side dish of change is often a period of chaos and terror should not deter our people from speaking up and finally letting loose the centuries-old silence of repression. 

Even though our hands are helplessly tied and we can’t share Egypt’s hunger, we can feel her pain.  Our hearts are chanting support for all those who are struggling.  The fight against tyranny has to begin somewhere and at some time.  Egyptians have chosen now.  As much as my heart bleeds for the people of Egypt who are battling government-supported convicts, looters, and gangs to stand up for a cause, my heart also bleeds for my grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends who are struggling to feed their families and resume some sense of “normalcy” amidst the chaos. 

The ripples of change inevitably come with waves of anguish that the average citizen, far-removed from any political embroilments, must also ride out.  While I am genuinely afraid for my family, I am also proud of my “mother” country.  To find a voice and articulate it clearly as a cohesive nation standing in solidarity is a first in Egypt.   History has shown that revolt is sometimes the only way to oust a corrupt government.  From our own American Revolution, to the French Revolution, to the most recent South African revolution—each struggle ended in ultimate upheaval and eventual liberation. 

Will all people’s lives improve if the current regime is ousted?  No, but the nation itself will begin to heal eons of wounds simply because people stood shoulder to shoulder shouting in unison for a cause.  Why should we, as Americans, care?  Because we are so embedded in the Middle East’s interests that we can’t afford not to care.  Because we are watching a people etch out their own path towards freedom for the first time.  Because we call ourselves protectors and promoters of democracy.  Because “Masr”  has finally spoken and the world cannot ignore the faint syllables of freedom’s familiar call.  

          --Suzy Ismail

Too Much of a Good Thing? (Musings on the art of writing)

I’ve been sitting in front of my laptop for a solid fifteen minutes staring at the vertical cursor blinking insistently at me from the blank screen.  I’m clueless as to what today’s blog post should be about.  I don’t have much to say, but I feel that I should say something.  After all, I should have something monumental or miniscule that I want to share with the world today.  Right?

Sure, I’ve got lots of ideas floating around my mind.  Maybe a book review for one of the many Sci-Fi books I’d just read, or maybe a movie review on one of my recent rentals, or possibly a reflection on MLK’s words in honor of the recent holiday or even an analysis of Cicero’s “Treatise on Friendship” if all else fails.  But, none of these ideas sound appealing in the least.

It seems criminal though, to take up a modicum of cyberspace with just any sort of nonsensical babble.  So, if I am going to post something today, as I desperately want to, shouldn’t my writing hold at least half an ounce of value to someone out there? 

With that, the metaphoric light bulb goes on.  I suddenly realize that there’s a very valid reason for my lethargy.  No, I’m not feeling lazy or unproductive or unwilling to dig a little deeper today.  It finally dawns on me that I am just all “written out.” 

For the past three weeks, a friend and I have been hard at work at JaNoWriMo.  Essentially, beginning January 1^st we committed ourselves to creating our own version of National Novel Writing Month (normally held in November and known as NaNoWriMo).  The only rule we had to remember was that we would begin with a novel idea and commit to writing about 1,650 words a day so that by the end of the month we would have a nicely-packed approximately 50,000 word manuscript as a starting point to build upon.  Oh, and one other stipulation—we’re not allowed to read anything that we’ve written until the month is over.

And so the month began with ups and downs.  There were days where the words literally flew off my fingers and onto the page of their own volition.  Characters basically created themselves and complicated plot twist were resolved completely on their own.  And of course there were days where the only words that filled the page were long lines of “Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.” 

As we pass the midpoint of the month, I’m beginning to understand the magic of forcing out “unforced” writing.  You may decide to set an egg timer for uninterrupted writing time, or get a little less sleep, or type away at your laptop while waiting to pick up your kids afterschool.  No matter what way works best for you, “finding time” to write that novel is the only way our stories will ever be told.

True, I may never want to write again after January 31^st—but I highly doubt that.  As another good friend once told me-- “If you write, you are a writer.”  And the writer in me refuses to quit.  With that bit of wisdom, today’s blog post comes to a close, and I realize how painless the writing really was and how enjoyable the journey.  J

        --SuzyIsmail

Blood Ninja II: The Revenge of Lord Oda, by Nick Lake (A book review)

You had me at wakizashi.

Many of you know I am a romantic, a lover of fantasy/paranormal YA, a ‘give me a happy ending or I’ll hurt you’ kind of girl.  But…I have a deep dark confession.  Please refrain from snickering.  I am a lover of most things Japanese:  manga and anime (ninjas and samurai only please) and have spent hours of my life watching Naruto and Ninja Warrior on G4.  We’re all dorks about something and I suppose this is mine.  So reading the Blood Ninja books allows me hours of blissed-out Japanese dorkdom.  I also confess that ‘wakizashi’ is my most favorite word in any language.

The quest for the Buddha ball continues in Nick Lake’s follow up to his debut novel (Blood Ninja).  Male protagonist, Taro, born and raised as a peasant in a fishing village, continues to come to grips with the fact he is now not only a ninja vampire, but also the lost son of Lord Tokugawa, the most powerful daimyo of 16^th century Japan.  Accompanied by his most loyal friend, Hiro, and the beautiful wakizashi wielding princess, Hana, daughter of Lord Oda, the second most powerful daimyo, Taro continues on his quest to find his mother and beat the evil Lord Oda at retrieving the all- powerful Buddha ball.  

Mr. Lake follows the tried and true formula for fantasy:  a simple person (Taro) who is greater than he knows, who unwillingly gets caught up in the supernatural.  There is the best friend (Hiro), who would willingly die for his friend (ala Samwise Gamgee), and ah, the princess of course (Hana), rescued by Taro when her father orders her to commit seppuku (Japanese ritualistic suicide…I’ll let you google the gory details if you are unfamiliar).  It’s a formula that works and this author is gifted enough to work in some surprises along the way.   

I thoroughly buy Mr. Lake’s rules of vampirism, unlike Stephanie Meyer’s (sorry, Steph).  Sunlight and vampires don’t get along as a general rule, unless there is something special about them, like Taro.  Not all vampires are ninjas but all ninjas are vampires (say that ten times fast).  They have super human strength and agility, the ability to feed off of humans or animals to sustain themselves, and the capability to feed without killing.  These vampires have blood in their veins and you can only kill them with a good old-fashioned decapitation or sword to the heart (ah, the good ol’ days of Buffy).  Yes, they heal from all other wounds, but it takes time and they are not free from the pain of injury. 

Note to author and spoiler alert:  Nick…Nicky… may I call you Nicky?  You make me wait two whole books for a kiss and that’s what you give me? <I’m shaking my head affectionately at you> No, it was not the worst kiss I’ve ever read.  I was even thinking I’d get all sexist and say, “he’s a guy, of course he can’t write a good kiss.”  But dude—you wrote an entire paragraph of Hana just touching Taro’s hand.  Gorgeously written by the way, bordering on lyrical.  I swear I read it three times in a row because it was so beautiful.  And then you wimp out on the kiss???  Please…consult me on the next book for all collision of lips.  I promise to drop everything for you.  Email me, Facebook me, text me…call Cassie Clare or Lauren Kate, if you must.  Just please, write better kisses.  The Hogwarts kids are seriously getting better snogging action.  J

Bottom line:  An easy, enjoyable read.  Lots of blood and violence, but a bit of swooning and pining as well.  Do yourself a favor and get the first book first.  I myself am already waiting to pre-order the next one.  Oh, and every time you read the word ‘wakizashi’, I highly recommend shouting it out loud with your arms in the air like your favorite team just scored a touchdown (in my house that would be the Eagles).  Yeah…I’m a dork. 

          --Suzi Ryan

Resolutions in Reverse (Reflections on Eat, Pray, Love)

Every year around this time, I head over to the gym with renewed dedication only to find half the townsfolk with the same noble intention.  This year though, I decided to approach my resolutions a little differently.  A few days before New Year’s Eve, I accidentally grabbed the movie “Eat, Pray, Love” rather than my intended first choice.  Of course, not wanting to let the dollar rental go to waste, I watched the movie despite the fact that I had distinctly disliked the book.  After getting past the subversive Hollywood messages promoting selfishness, thinly disguised as following your dreams, I gathered a few interesting bits and pieces of pearls that helped form my reverse resolutions this year.

1)      Early on in the movie there is mention of a poor man who goes every day to pray before a sacred statue.  He consistently begs the statue “Please, please, please let me win the lottery.” After years and years of the same unanswered prayer, the fed-up statue finally responds “Please, please, please buy a lottery ticket.”  While I am morally and religiously opposed to the whole concept of the lottery (whether it’s Pick 6 or Shirley Jackson style), I still appreciate the moral of the proverb.  I realized that my former knee-jerk reaction would have been to metaphorically buy ten thousand lottery tickets to increase my chances of hitting the jackpot.  Instead, my reverse resolution this year is to adopt the mantra that “less is more” and to accept that as powerful as prayer is, action is also a must.  But, the key is to find a happy balance somewhere between utter inaction and obsessive neurotic over-action.  Maybe one lottery ticket and lots of prayer will be just enough this year.

2)      “Il dolce far niente”—the Italian art of doing nothing.  It’s a foreign concept for most of us stress-loving, productivity-addicted East Coasters. The delicious idea of “doing nothing” and being satisfied with a do-nothing day once in awhile is as foreign as the words themselves.  Reverse resolution on this one:  accept that it’s okay to sometimes stay in bed a little longer than usual, leave a few dishes in the sink and order take-out for dinner-- without scheduling it in.     

3)      Enjoying food, family, and fun—guilt free, without measuring myself or anyone else by a productivity scale that’s sure to disappoint.  Getting rid of the Size 2 dress that I know I’m never going to fit back into and accepting that whether I’m a size 2 or a 12, I’ll always find something to wear, even if it means draping myself in my old baby blue maternity muumuu for awhile. 

4)      Letting go—“It is what it is”—beginning with tearing up this year’s list of resolutions.  Knowing that it’s okay to break these resolutions and slip back into my old familiar neurotic self is as liberating as tearing through a bag of Doritos and washing them down with a chocolate chip cookie-- a cardinal sin for any weight watcher.  Ironically, the “do something” Doritos campaign mocks me from the nearly empty red bag as I lick the sticky orange stuff off my fingers.

5)      Resist the urge to whine and realize that a little faith and a lot of love goes a long way in putting everything in perspective. 

I hope you have as much fun as I did putting together a ‘dispensable’ resolutions list and that 2011 is filled with new blessings and new beginnings for all!

                      -Suzy Ismail

Dichotomy Bites

After thirty (mumble) years, I’ve finally figured out what my problem is <insert drum roll>.  I have a split personality.  Completely not qualified to go all psychoanalytical here (though I had such an awesome Psychology professor in college, I almost switched majors).  But the whole theory explains a lot in my life. So for kicks (clearly my life is not very exciting), I’ve decided to name both of them and talk in third person (my husband is thrilled, of course).  I’ve got a friend who’s doing it too. We’ve even discovered one of his alter egos is a female. How’s that for enlightenment?  I dare you to try it when you’re in the mood for some introspection (like after a high school reunion).  Hey, you might even determine you have more than two.  Write them down.  Writing is always a good thing.  Let me introduce you to the two Suzi’s (for the record, my co-blogger Suzy is completely innocent in my lunacy).  Here’s my example:  

Susan— can count to three and have her children snap to obedience (most of the time), is a “what you see is what you get” kind of girl and wishes more people were the same, listens to Contemporary Christian music, impatient but has learned how to fake it, a slightly cynical realist, sarcastic, likes to use big words (especially Latin derivatives) just to watch people fake like they understand what she says, tends to be a bit self-righteous, is quite skilled in emotionally abusing herself for the things she’s done wrong, and believes true love exists but is jaded enough to know that happily ever after isn’t a sure thing.

Suzi—perpetual hopeless romantic 17 year old who has wanted to be nothing other than a writer since the age of 12, puts her heart before her head which has been known to get her into trouble, likes her music loud, played by real instruments, and preferably sung by guys who had long hair and leather pants, billowy open shirt optional though highly recommended, loses her train of thought easily, wait, don’t forget the black boots on the guy with long hair, um what was I saying? Oh, yeah maintains a list of guidelines for a perfect kiss (available upon request), favorite expression is “it’s not fair”, thinks happy endings should be required by law, believes with every cell in her body that true love absolutely, positively exists and is worth waiting for, LOVES to talk…well ramble really, gets her feelings hurt easily and cries without effort, laughs loudly and has been known on occasion to snort if the person she is with is particularly funny, especially her brother, and when she gives her heart to you, she gives it for life.

Oh, alright.  No new concepts here, right?  Bit of id and ego with a splash of superego.  Yay, Freud.  Even Biblically speaking, we are told we are at war with our flesh.  Clearly Susan is the mind and Suzi is the heart and flesh.  And even though they often end up on the floor punching each other like siblings for control, they can’t exist without each other. 

It’s that way for all of us, depending on our location and company.  At work, we show whichever alter ego conveys responsibility.  At our place of worship, whichever is moral.  In front of our children we are authoritative yet loving, an opportunity for a coordination of our different selves.  And lying in the arms of true love, we can hopefully be all of our selves, completely vulnerable and whole.    

So, make your list.  I dare you.  My hat’s off to you if you find more than two personalities.  Two is all I can possibly handle. Please be more original with your names.  And you absolutely must talk in third person.  Just don’t be surprised when your kids start doing it too.  J

          -Suzi Ryan

Power of Prayer

As the holidays approach for many, the upcoming days are usually a great time of reflection and prayer.  Whether the prayers you offer are Muslim, Christian, Jewish, Hindu, or any other faith you adhere to, an inherent belief is needed to give the prayers meaning. 

A common Muslim phrase that is often repeated before embarking on any task is “’id’eelee” which essentially means “pray for me” in Arabic.  Asking others to pray for you is common across religions and cultures and shows the power of prayer to transcend religious boundaries that may otherwise seem insurmountable. 

Recently, a professional acquaintance sent me a link to preview his blurb book of inspirational quotes, images, and stories.  One story in particular caught my attention since I had just been asked by my Christian friend to pray for her, even though my Muslim prayers were probably very different from hers.  The following story struck a chord that showed it’s often the intention of prayer that matters more than how, when, or in what way you offer those prayers.  I hope this story is as stirring for you as it was for me.  Reprinted with permission from Fahim Munshi (http://www.blurb.com/books/1879938).     

“A ship was wrecked during a storm at sea and only two of the men on it were able to swim to a small desert-like island. The two survivors, not knowing what else to do, agreed that they had no other recourse but to pray to God for help.  To find out whose prayer was more powerful, they decided to divide the territory between them and stay on opposite sides of the island.

The first thing they prayed for was food. The next morning, the first man saw a fruit-bearing tree on his side of the island, and he was able to eat its fruit. The other man's parcel of land remained barren.  After a week, the first man was lonely and he decided to pray for a wife. The next day, there was another ship wreck, and the only survivor was a woman who swam to his side of the island. On the other side of the island, there still was nothing.

Soon the first man prayed for a house, clothes, and more food. The next day, like magic, all of these things were given to him. However, the second man still had nothing.  Finally, the first man prayed for a ship, so that he and his wife could leave the island. In the morning, he found a ship docked on his side of the island. The first man boarded the ship with his wife and decided to leave the second man on the island. He considered the other man unworthy to receive God's blessings, since none of his prayers had been answered.

As the ship was about to leave, the first man heard a voice from heaven boom out, "Why are you leaving your companion on the island?"

"My blessings are mine alone, since I was the one who prayed for them," the first man answered. "His prayers were all unanswered and so he does not deserve anything."

"You are mistaken!" the voice rebuked him. "He had only one prayer, which I answered. If not for that, you would not have received any of my blessings."

"Tell me," the first man asked the voice, "what did he pray for that I should owe him anything?"

"He prayed that all your prayers would be answered."

Pray as we might for ourselves, it’s often the unselfish prayers of others for us that are most likely to be answered.  This holiday season be sure to repeat the mantra of “id’eelee” in whatever language you speak to anyone who believes in the power of prayer.  If we all pray for each other, the prayers of the world are bound to be answered one by one.  May all your prayers be answered this season and happy holidays to all!

     

          -Suzy Ismail

         

       

Ho Ho…No?

“So are you guys all ready for Santa?”  the well meaning Target clerk stoops down to ask my children.  My son replies plainly, “Santa isn’t for real.”  The woman’s eyes turn to saucers and I have to explain, once again, that we don’t do Santa.  For us, it’s just a Jesus thing.  The woman looks over each of my little ones sadly and then returns her disapproving eyes to me as if she’s just caught me beating my children. 

So, here it is:  we don’t do Santa…or the Easter Bunny…or Halloween…heck, we don’t even do the tooth fairy.  Wait!  Put down the phone.  Before you report us, let me explain our reasoning.  Good.  Now slowly step away from the phone, nice and easy.  Here is why:

Jesus was born at the North Pole in a stable because there was no room for him in Santa’s toy shop.  Yeah, not really.  But the duality of Christmas can get confusing, especially for the little ones.  I mean, my kids have always been taught there is no Santa, but my daughter, who is four, is still not sure because she overhears other children talking. The influence of peers is evident already.  And let’s be honest.  Which is more appealing?  An imaginary guy who brings you lots of toys or the birthday of some guy you’ve never met. 

Okay, hear me all the way out for this next part.  I try very hard to always tell my children the truth.  Yeah, I admit I’ve been known to say, “Yes, I ate my peas in the kitchen while I was cooking dinner.  Now eat yours.”  But I try very hard to keep my fibs to vegetables.  As a Christian, I’ve been handed the mammoth task of leading my kids into a relationship with the God of the whole universe.  A God they can’t see or touch.  And I have this reoccurring nightmare of a teenaged version of one of my kids, screaming in my face because he or she doesn’t want to go to church—accusing me of lying to them about Santa and the tooth fairy and how dare I expect him/her to believe in an imaginary God.  When I tell my kids about God, I don’t ever want to give them reason to doubt me. 

For the record, I am not a Santa hater.  I don’t turn off Santa Christmas music if it comes on and I don’t turn off Dora or Olivia at the mere mention of the fat guy.  We have a tree and we have presents.  What’s a birthday party without presents?  It’s just my kids know exactly who the presents come from.

And so, nice Target check out lady, may we please reach an agreement?  I will do my best to teach my children not to spoil the secret for yours.  I will not look down on you or judge you because you chose to include Santa in your Christmas.  I acknowledge that your comment to my children was meant as a friendly gesture and I am not offended by it in the least.  In exchange, please don’t look down on me for following my own, personal convictions.  Let’s respect each other.  And for the love of God, please put the slip of paper with the DYFS hotline number back in your drawer.  J

Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays/Happy Hanukkah/Shalom/Peace on Earth/Happy Birthday, Jesus

          -Suzi Ryan