;)

QMajd does it again…

Three Things

1) I met the most wonderful Israeli woman this week, who happened to be selling ‘Zatoun’ olive oil and other products made by Palestinian farmers. The idea is that the olive oil is the essence of Palestine’s culture and its people, allowing people in this part of the world to experience a history we’re detached from. And the farmers receive fair trade prices for their products, while some of the funds go back to planting olive trees and other grassroots work in the occupied territories. We spoke for a while about the neighbourhood and how difficult it can be for people who sympathize with the Palestinian struggle. It’s amazing how isolated she’s made to feel as a Jewish person, from Israel, simply because her views on the conflict differ from many in her community. But it makes people like her all the more important.

I ended up getting a bottle of olive oil and some soap, but I did see some of their products at the Toronto Women’s Bookstore, so I’ll be sure to stock up next time inshaAllah. It smells and tastes much better than our regular brand, not to mention cheaper, while still supporting an important cause.

2) Bad news: One of the better bookstores in the city, ‘This Ain’t the Rosedale Library’ on Church street is closing at the end of May. Another blow to the independents.

Good news: They’re opening a NEW location in Kensington Market. Woot.

BETTER NEWS: They’re having a massive sale to get rid of some books and help lighten the load, the email I got said 30% off hardcovers and an extra 50% off already discounted books. As if I don’t have enough books already, I’ll probably check it out Friday before I head over to AlMaghrib.

3) Speaking of AlMaghrib… that’s this Friday. I can’t even put my excitement to words, so I won’t. THIS FRIDAY!!

A series of unfortunate telephone conversations

Safia vs. YouTube watching, hip hop loving, 53 year old father

*ring ring*

Me: Hello?

Dad: HA HALLO? Assalamu alaikum!

Me: Wa alaikum assalam abo, why so loud?

Dad: Oh, how is everyone?

Me: I’m home alone right now.

Dad: Safia, what was the name of the Dangerous poet on YouTube? The one we saw that day?

Me: Amir Sulaiman?

Dad: Ok ciao!

Me: Why?

Dad: I want to show the odheyasha.

Me: Something tells me they won’t appreciate it.

Dad: We’ll see.

Safia vs. bizzare younger brother

*ring ring*

Me: Hello?

Abdi: Hello?

Me: Yes?

Abdi: You called?

Me: No, you called.

Abdi: Safia, for the last time, why did you call?

Me: I’m hanging up Abdi.

Safia vs. 13 year old sister - Part I

*ring ring*

Me: Hello?

Zeinab: Hey ya it’s me, I’m coming home now.

Me: It’s past 5 and you were supposed to be home at 3:30.

Zeinab: I know, but I had drumming practice and I called you so it’s ok…

Me: What’s the use in telling me now that you’re coming home? You should have called before you missed your bus.

Zeinab: Because… OMG SAFIA!

Me: I just want to know what the point is in telling me this bit of information. I don’t even have the car today to pick you up so it’s even more useless.

Zeinab: I HATE YOU!

Safia vs. 13 year old sister - Part II (over two hours later)

*ring ring*

Me: Hello?

Zeinab: I made a stop at Viera’s house…

Me: I still don’t understand why you tell me this stuff after the fact. The point is to call ahead and tell me you’re going to be late or you aren’t coming home in an hour.

Zeinab: OMG SAFIA I HATE YOU!

Green

I am not a hippie.

But I did find myself becoming increasingly upset while listening to someone’s presentation this morning. The topic which was supposed to be discussed, government promotion of business, quite possibly one of the most boringly objective and seemingly straightforward topics available, somehow managed to turn into an environment bashing session. My talent for tuning out of presentations while somehow managing to hear every word was at work for the first bit, so I was able to take note of when the discussion took a drastic turn from the expected, and on to what she described as “global warming propaganda.”

The basic argument was this: tree-huggers worldwide march to their envirofascist drum in an attempt to control the world’s resources by inventing the fantastic claim that we are, in fact, destroying the planet; corporations have caught on to their eco-whining by creating ‘green’ products in an elaborate scheme to destroy consumers and their hard-earned paycheques; and finally, our government further screws over its citizens by making these green products easier and more accessible for companies to produce and place on the market, while still costing more than your regular product. Lovely.

There were other minor points that come to mind, like how the United Nations is a guise for world domination and only aids the envirofascists in their quest to globalize our resources. Of course, it’s clear from the UN’s attempt to have water listed as a basic human right. We all know how that turned out.

Why people continue to deny something that’s been long agreed upon by the scientific community is beyond me. It defies logic to look at just about anything we’re doing on this planet and assume that it can’t be harmful to our surroundings. I mean come on, we chug poisonous toxins out of massive factories and into the air, clearcut forests and destroy natural habitats, create smog alert worthy conditions in the summer, even genetically manipulate our food and still eat it. You don’t have to be Sherlock to know where this story ends.

The irony of today being on Earth Day was not lost on me.

Springtime, Springtime

How do I know? My teary red eyes and itchy skin tend to be the best indication, followed by several empty boxes of tissues and an irritated runny nose. I, like many other people this time of the year, suffer from the worst allergies imaginable, allergies that are no match for the Claritins and Reactines of the world. So I spent most of this weekend bottled up in my house with hot tea and kleenex, while listening to the sounds of people young and old enjoying the wonderful weather outdoors.

One other event that confirms our successful Winter exit and ushers in the new warmer season is the annual reappearance of the Ice Cream Truck. Growing up in Ottawa we used to have what we called the ‘dickadee’, which was basically an ice cream cart that the guy, usually a teenager, would ride around the neighbourhood. During the glory days we used to swap Pogs and marbles for our favourite popsicles, even going as far as trading in Pokemon cards if the ice cream seemed worth it. The actual ice cream truck in those days was an entirely different matter, shadily painted black and shooing off any children that came in its path. I’m absolutely positive that the men driving around this truck were selling drugs, since I can’t think of any rational explanation for the behaviour. Today was the first day this year I heard the familiar tune of the ice cream truck coming around the corner, and the even more familiar sound of children begging their parents for a few dollars and eagerly chasing down the truck before it passed by their house. For some reason we also have a knife sharpening truck that comes around the same time, with the old man who runs it tapping a bell to announce his arrival, and attracting a drastically different and aged demographic than our local ice cream man.

I was in the kitchen cooking up a little something when I realized the open window that had been the source of my sneezing for the few minutes I had been in there. The sound of the pane and the window shutting attracted the attention of old Leo across the street, which enlightened me to the third confirmation of spring. Our neighbours across the street, Leo and Edith, were back in their usual warm weather positions, relaxing in lawn chairs out of their open garage. Watching people. One of the few things I find myself enjoying about winter is being liberated from their ever watchful and judgmental gaze. In the past this gaze would be limited to the outdoors, perhaps while out checking the mail or pulling up into the driveway, but I learned in the kitchen that being indoors wasn’t a guarantee of safety either, so long as it’s within their line of vision. My next door neighbour swears that he looked out his bedroom window to find Leo watching him with binoculars.

Though there’s more about spring that would suggest it being my least favourite and most uncomfortable season, I’ll take it over Toronto’s crippling, soul sucking winters any day.

Perplexed

Rabble has an interesting advice column where you can direct your ‘most perplexingly personal political question’ to the columnist, Ms.Communicate. I’d consider my question to be a pseudo-problem at best, because I’m not unbearably broke, and I’d rather lose a limb than work for Chapters, Starbucks or any of those big name corporations for a variety of reasons. But I had been entertaining the idea, so I went ahead and asked the self described leftist feminist to hear what she had to say.

–

Dear Ms. Communicate,

I’m a broke student in need of a job. I also consider myself somewhat socially and politically conscious, so there are stores and companies I try my best to boycott. My issue is this: I don’t support Chapters-Indigo, and I never step foot in a Starbucks, simply because I don’t agree with their big box “clustering” mentality that puts the independents out of business, as well as their known ties to Israel. They also happen to be the only places nearby that are hiring at the moment.

Would I be a hypocrite for getting a job at these places I would never give my money to? It’s my last resort at the moment, since I’m trying my best to avoid being in this crappy situation.

- Sellout

Dear Sellout,

You are not a sellout!

Many of us have been in similar situations. I will share with you that when I was an undergrad – in the last millennium – I had a part-time job working in a market research call center. You know, those annoying places that call you and ask you questions about your photocopiers (during the day) and about your grocery shopping habits (in the evening). It was not unlike telemarketing, selling subscriptions to newspapers and such, which I also tried to do, made no sales and was deemed not assertive enough and was fired after my first four-hour shift!

Your lefty principles are very important to keep, but at this point in your life your employment options are limited. Take the job. I agree with all your reasons to boycott those chains, but you still have to pay the rent.

I actually know a few progressive folks who have worked and continue to work in bookstore chains, and they tell me the ironic reality is that the people they work with are all quite bookish and interesting. Perhaps unlike other chains, bookstores still attract book lovers to their staff teams. It beats flipping burgers.

- Ms. C.

And OT - I’m going to try out a different layout for a while. The brown was starting to get a little old :/ And I’ll get around to a long overdue update of my ‘C’est Moi’ section.

What more can I say?

The thing I love about this new layout is the custom banner at the top. I knew that I wanted to put a piece of art up there, since the standard stack of books that came along with the layout seemed overdone and boring. My first instinct was to try Van Gogh, but something about that seemed overly pretentious. The same went for the black and white Toronto skyline I had found on google. I’m still on the lookout for something more permanent and fitting, though for a little while I’d temporarily settled on a skyline that looked much better than that of Toronto, which happened to be a painting by Matte Stephens, a pretty neat artist out of Portland. I like the idea of having a blend of 1950s vintage with a modern twist.

It was the sort of thing I envisioned painting for my sister, who was complaining about her newly barren walls after growing out of her Spongebob and Scooby-Doo posters. I told her I’d paint her something abstract enough that she’d be drawn in by the endless lines and curves, mesmerized by the colours and texture as she searched the image for my carefully drawn out meaning. Not that I’m in any way that great of an artist, because I’m not, but my little sister has always taken a liking for just about everything I’ve ever made, seemingly the only one who cares enough to keep them safe and stashed away somewhere, long after I’ve forgotten about it.

So I’m sure anything I manage to throw together will be invariably met with her approval, especially when she feels as though she was a part of the process, usually handing over a brush or getting me some clean water. The other day as I was working on a mural assignment as she painted her nails with the same black paint I had been using, the work somehow changed from being ‘my’ painting to ‘our’ painting. I’ll take it, especially since she’ll probably be going through her ‘I hate my family/the world’ teenage angst phase anytime soon :)

Memories

I was looking for a certain book and some of my paints around the house the other day when I stumbled upon this picture. My family doesn’t tend to take a lot of pictures, though my dad tries to store the important ones, but the vast majority are scattered around the house, usually stuffed inside pages of old books. A quick glance at the photo was enough to feel a rush of memories from the experience; the sights, the sounds, the smells. That’s the thing about old photographs - they have the power to suddenly transport you back in an instant, completely oblivious to whether or not you want to go there or not. I was suddenly a four year old again, surrounded by friends and family in our tiny cramped up apartment, celebrating my fourth birthday.

It was our first place since we moved to Canada, where my brother was born. I don’t remember much about the apartment itself, besides the fact that it was small, and there were two doors in the kitchen that were great for running laps around and chasing my brother when things got boring. The day of the party I went with my aunt and uncle to help pick a cake for the party, and we ended up settling on a vanilla one covered with strawberries and grated chocolate. I’ll never forget that cake, because I happened to drop a strawberry covered in syrup on my brand new white sneakers, the ones I was excited to be wearing. It was the only thing I was happy about wearing, since my mom forced me to wear the same ugly dress I had to wear to my uncle’s wedding a few months before. Looking back, I’m amazed I had such a fantastic sense of style as a four year old, because I still think that dress is hideous.

There are a few other pictures I’ve seen from the same day, all of which look the same - chaos, whether it be my crying brother or cousins, a mischievous act by one of the kids, a frustrated and pregnant looking hoyo or aunts - with me silently observing. I think it’s interesting how someone’s personality is already shaped that early on in their lives, because I was always more withdrawn and quiet than other kids my age. And I haven’t changed a bit. My brother and my cousins are exactly the same and it’s unbelievable how much each of their actions in the photos can tell about how they are today. My brother Abdi squirming out of my arms, my cousin Fatima pushing me out of the way to flaunt her giant ring, Amal looking insanely hyper after having a piece of cake, Amina about to beat someone up, Khalid trying to get out of the picture, my dad not being in any, even though he was there.

My mom calling me to make her some tea forced me to snap back into the present, and I didn’t realize that I had been staring at this photo as long as I had. I didn’t even find the book that I was looking for. Or the right paint.

(I’m the ghost, btw)