An L.A. Cinderella Story pt. 2: the MPAC Media Awards

So for those of you who may remember, about 2 years ago when I first came out to L.A. I got to attend the second season premier of "Big Love" on account of my artistically-connected uncle. That was Cinderella story #1 - it showed me the glitzy side of lala land. Kind of an "intro to Hollywood" that I was never interested enough in to follow up with.

#2 occured tonight: the Muslim Public Affairs Council (MPAC) Media Awards. Noticeably less glitzy, but probably just as good at making me feel out of place. And, being true to the Cinderella theme, took "economically challenged" Heather and put her smack in the middle of people who can afford things like a $150 per seat banquet.

The progression went like this: Heather has health problems. Heather has an existential crisis due to health problems. Heather starts spending time at the mosque. Heather then learns of an arabic class she can take at the mosque in her time there, then spending even more time at the mosque. Finally, Heather hangs out at the mosque all day due to the arabic class, and gets randomly offered a free ticket to a cinderella event. Fairy-godmother clothing provision not included (unfortunately).

So I put together my best attempt at "formal attire" and headed downtown. In L.A. fashion I was both late and got lost due to road construction. So when I showed up I was reminded of how uncomfortable these kinds of large, formal gatherings are when you don't know anyone - let alone when you show up an hour late. But thankfully I slipped in just in time to eat the salad.

The Media Awards are basically an annual event to celebrate those who help break stereotypes and bigotry against muslims and Islam in the media. Amy Goodman of "Democracy Now!" gave a very good speech. The guy from "Slumdog Millionaire" also had good words to say. The guy from the Simpsons seemed unprepared and I felt a little sorry for the comedian - he was good but it just wasn't really a good time for comedy by the end of the program.

But overall, what do I remember? Well, I can't remember any of the relatively inconsequential chitchat. Actually, what seems to be sticking in my mind is the banquet servers that I watched after the event was over. I worked as one for 2 years in high school and everything from the uniform to the stink and waste of leftover food brought back memories. It's been a while since I've been somewhere where class distinction is so palpable. It's weird, but somehow I felt like everyone there sort of fit into their clothes, spiritually or characteristically. But I felt like I was faking their dress - like I should have been barefoot in an old long skirt on a dirt floor. And then when the event was over and I watched the servers pulling the glasses off the table I remembered being on the outside of these things - wearing the same crap-covered shoes and old clothes to work, having to wait for the guests to have their "presentation" until you can eat any extra food there might be, and just generally aching and slaving (and earning next to nothing) while others are living luxuriously.

So what does this mean? Where do I fit in this community, in the world? I'm content with making my own place, I guess I just wish I knew where that place should be. It's very hard to be in the lower class. But it's too easy to just let yourself be lazy and enjoy everything in life when you're not.

I think this post was supposed to be a little bit more deep than that, but that's what it comes down to I guess.

Hmm.

Candles and Contemplation

When I started this my blog I did so to keep my friends and mostly my family informed of where I was and what I was up to. This was before most of them got on Facebook, so I am officially giving up on keeping it "clean." I'm also letting it go because I don't think they'll actually read it anymore ;)

So I'm going to let some of my more personal thoughts adorn this web space. I need a place to release them - I don't have the luxury of company I feel comfortable talking to about these kinds of things anymore. God willing, they won't be too obnoxious to read :)

At the moment I'm going to take this moment of quiet and candles to go through my "notes" - the notebooks that I use to keep track of who I am, where I'm going, where I want to go, important information, and my dreams, hopes and goals. But no more bland posts! I want to go Hijabman style :)

25

On Friday, April 10, I turned 25. So now I can officially say that I've been having a quarter life crisis - evidently the newest trend in my generation.

So what is a quarter-life crisis? Well, it's sort of like a mid-life crisis, only instead of changing the direction of your life, you're struggling to establish the direction of your life. It makes a lot of sense for my generation I think - since going to college has become less of the "becoming an adult" experience and more of a "celebrating my youth" kind of experience. At least that's my take on it.

And then there are those like me who are having more of a leftover identity crisis from their college days. In my case, not only in career path, but personal development as well. Two years prior to my year-late graduation I not only totally flipped my previously hardcore career path on its head, I also definitely chose a path-less-traveled for myself personally - conversion to faith, and Islam at that. Of course, I don't really regard the second as a decision, more as a calling. I wasn't looking for faith - it came to me and I couldn't ignore it or deny it.

So.

Here I am, trying to keep my tiny craft from sinking in the sometimes storm-surge waves of life on my own in Los Angeles. My analogy at the moment is like being stuck on a tiny craft in the Caribbean, far from land without a compass. I've figured out East and West, and being relatively close to some major piece of land gives me hope - I just have no idea how close or far from it I may be. Further, I'm not entirely alone - every once in a while a big ship comes by and tries unsuccessfully to take me aboard, but then another hurricane hits, we're torn apart, and I'm struggling to keep my head above water again.

OK, so that might sound a little extreme, and maybe it is. But, the upside of being stuck alone on a tiny craft in the Caribbean is that you learn a lot about yourself. Yes, on this tiny boat there has been a lot of deep thinking about life, who I am, God, and the beauty around me. After all, it's the Caribbean! And sometimes you're lucky enough to find reprieve on a gorgeous little island for a while.

Most recently, to continue the analogy, I finally found refuge on a nice-sized tourist boat. I rested, ate, drank, washed, and enjoyed a welcome back to civilization, though it housed just a handful of tourists. But, just when I was feeling solidly optimistic about returning to land and making my plans and getting lost in my company, I discovered that the boat's captain was lost. Most likely I wouldn't end up alone on my little craft again, but where would I end up? And when? And at what cost?

Not entirely accurate, but I guess it gives a good feel to the current situation. In November I finally had found a job that would support me and a solid place to live. Over the next couple months I started to regain ground financially and re-stabilize my life. But then I had persistent health problems. And I couldn't save money. And I stopped going to capoeira (which has been my primary source of happiness since I've been in L.A.) and found myself increasingly isolated as I just tried to figure out what was wrong with me.

And I'm still in that stage. But I feel I have passed through the worst of it. At it's peak, I was terribly lonely and struggling to deal with a health problem that I couldn't identify - digestive issues - and one more frighteningly definite - periodontal disease (advanced for my age). I may lose all my teeth, they told me. Or need braces or expensive surgery that I most certainly couldn't afford. Going back to school would be cheaper. But, sadly, doing that wouldn't make it go away, of course. No known medical techniques can. Scary stuff.

So I cried a lot and it haunted me through miserable shifts at work. And, like people sometimes do when they're ill for too long, I wondered if I might die. Maybe it's cancer! Or worse! Attention K-Mart shoppers: we are now having an existential crisis.

And I think that was the worst of it: the night I was sobbing on the floor after praying. For story-telling's sake, I wish I remembered my own history in more detail. I don't remember exactly what I was thinking, just that I let all of my own fears out. And that somehow, after that, I was incredibly grateful for everything that I have. More than that, I realized that I had mis-aligned my life. Do you know what I wanted when I changed my life so dramatically those 2-3 years before graduation? I wanted to be one of those unusually good people when I got old. I wanted to explore my interests, drop my bad habits, and establish good ones permanently. Of course I wanted to have the kind of character that's mentioned in the Qur'an - but this was in addition to people whose traits I've wanted much of my life. I wanted to have the warm, loving, intelligent personality of and family ties like my grandma Barton. I wanted to have the solid sense of right and wrong and responsibility of my grandpa Herron.

And over the past 1.5 years I ignored the most important thing of all. I didn't realize it until I couldn't escape my loneliness and fear. I didn't remember until I had to get out of my usually comfortable room and house to the most comforting place I know of in L.A. - the mosque. During one of my days off in the middle of this I went there mid-day just to make prayer, read the Qur'an - my only real solace- and rest, away from my demons. The sun shone in through the front doors as I sat on the soft, cushy carpeting in the prayer area, a large area only populated by a handful of people in the middle of a regular day. I couldn't help but just sit there a while and take in the scene - that unmistakable sweet mosque scent and indescribable peace and quiet that even rowdy children can't complete destroy. It was then that some kids were running around, playing with their relatives who had brought them as well as the desk attendant. Their care-takers - be they parents or otherwise, I don't know - were at ease and peace, one even stretching out on the carpeting on the other side of the hall, the other playing with the kids when they ran his way.

That is what I want. I want the kind of peace and love and beauty that I find in the mosque in my life. And I want the kind of warmth of family and friendship that I see among Muslims. There was no mean joking, no harsh words, no threat of punishment to those kids. There was no weariness or resentment or fear despite a failing economy and the end of a work day. There was no drama, despite kids interrupting the peace and the use of the mosque by hundreds of different people, of different income levels, of different ethnicities, with different values, from different places and cultures and skin tones. And there was, simply, that indescribable peace and beauty of putting the most importance on the things in life the matter, and acknowledging all other things as a decoration.

So, at age 25, here I am. It has been a little traumatic, and certainly quite dramatic getting here. But I think I've finally realized how I need to live my life. Remembrance of God, and prayer, and a path of faith needs to be the center of my life. Career, and money, and yes, even health, are decorations. If I were to die tomorrow I would want to feel like I've put something good in this world. I would much rather have taken my last day of life to give food to the hungry or give someone a helping hand than something relatively selfish like going to France or eating the world's most lavish meal.

Now I need to live my life this way. Now I truly remember what the best path is. Alhamdulillah.

Alhamdulilah

Thank God. And that's not just an expression - I am incredibly grateful to be where I am right now. I'm not always happy with/about the job I'm working, or the friends and family I miss, or the things that I would do if I could but can't, but I'm not sure I could be much more happy with where I am. I've recently realized that I am actually doing the things that I wanted to do the most - be financially independent, learn how to cook, get 8 hours of sleep most nights, manage my health better, learn about how the world works, and sit down and really think about where I want to be in it.

And what have I determined about that last important question? After cycles of thought every few months for 1.5 years, all I can definitely say is that it is subject to change. But I think getting some experience teaching English abroad would be a very good base and starting point. After that I've had all kinds of ideas - some kind of environmental work, development, or research; starting my own business; continuing some kind of specialized teaching career; working for an American Embassy abroad; writing or getting published; going back to music; starting some kind of non-profit; etc.

I know I want to go back to school eventually. I had someone ask me recently what I would do with a million dollars. After all the other, "hey, I have money" fun stuff was done, honestly, for some reason I would just take that money, go live in the eco village by LACC (LA Community College), take a bunch of math classes (I hear they have good teachers for that) and just see where it leads me. So I guess in essence, I'd almost do undergrad over, only with more science and math involved - at least in my thinking at this point.

Other than that, I continue to learn about myself and about the world. My only hope is that I continue to find things I hadn't expected, always changing...

The Spoon

For the past nearly 4 months my life has been in near constant turmoil. I was sick, I couldn't find work, I started a new job, I moved, I moved again, and I moved again. In that order. This last move was also my 8th since coming to L.A. and needless to say, I am completely and totally sick of moving. (also, pics of the new place and the last place I was will go up on Facebook soon for those interested)

But there are a couple of interesting things I've noticed with all this transience. Like how much stuff I've lost while moving, no matter how vigilant I am. Or how much better I got at moving every time I did it (last time took 1-2 hours). And of course with every new residence I become more aware of what kinds of situations make for a better home.

Yet just today it struck me how significant only one or two objects can be in a person's life. Most obvious to me is the rug that I bought a few years back. I've used it in almost every place I've lived since I've been here, and as soon as it has its place any room immediately feels more familiar and welcoming. It's not that the rug serves any important functional purpose - hardwood floors don't ever really bother me here (since it never really gets cold), - it's just nice to have something that is both quality and consistent amidst so much chaos.

Yesterday I also bought a very comfy chair. Given that I currently don't have a bed or a dresser, I'm sure this seems like a bit of a stupid purchase. But this chair gives me my own personal place for reading and thinking. Beds are for sleeping. Floors are uncomfortable. The rest of the house might be shared at any time. But this chair both makes my room more home-y, and gives me a second kind of privacy that I guess I value more than I thought I did. It gives me the privacy of thought and reflection away from the possible distractions and criticisms of other people (the first kind of privacy would be the privacy of sleeping without the possible distractions and criticisms of other people).

And then there is the spoon. The spoon is not mine - I accidentally and unknowingly brought it to my new residence in a dirty tuperware container that I forgot to clean after work one day. The spoon comes from the house with 11 people living in it. The house where I slept on the couch, where there is always drama for somebody (if not everybody) and always stress. The house where you never know what might happen and who you might dividing up sleeping space with. This is also the house in which if I feel the most unwelcome if I ever must stay the night. There is a kind of balance if I only ever visit - even if regularly. But once I must sleep there - even if I only sleep there- invariably something much more unwelcome will come my way.

So, the spoon, when I see it, makes me unhappy, almost as much as the rug or the chair make me happy or comfortable. When I see it I have visions of its owners tongue-lashing me for having "stolen" it. I see their annoyed, condescending faces. "WHY HAVEN'T YOU RETURNED THE SPOON, HEATHER?" it says. "ALL YOU EVER DO IS TAKE! YOU NEVER HELP ANYBODY YOU LEECH."

Ug. I really have to return that damn spoon.

I am sitting on the edge today. If I fall to one side, I will stay in California - or try. If I fall to the other I will return to Pennsylvania indefinitely. I have an interview at 7:30 in Burbank. If it goes well, I stay. If not, I am at the end of my rope.

This week will mark the end of 7 weeks without a job. It marks the end of the savings that I struggled so hard to earn up. At this point in time I don't have enough money to live here another month. Previously, I was determined to stay in LA, but just today I finally feel ready to give up.

For 9 1/2 months I was stucks. That was very trying. After 8 of those months I had to live with someone who was kind enough to put me up for free even though they couldn't really afford it. That was also very trying and difficult. For the first 10 months in LA I didn't have enough money to live on my own or be independent. But I put up with and I fought. Now, after 4 more months, I am giving up. The economy is taking a dive - things are even worse here in California. Banks are failing, firms are making layoffs, the government is dramatically cutting its worse pay and has put a hold on all new hires, the local schools have taken dramatic budget cuts, and now Hollywood is expecting an actor's strike on the tails of the winter's writer's strike. Only Silicon Valley still floats - and that's north quite a ways.

And then there's the last 7 weeks that I've been out of work: I was sick for 2 weeks and I had to see the doctor twice. Temp agencies can't find me work (too few jobs, too many resumes), I can't find myself work. My car battery needs replacing. My computer's power button breaks and needs replacing and I don't have my computer for a week and a half. I can't get internet at my apartment. Then the water pressure starts slowly dropping at the apartment. My roommates now want to kick me out because they don't think I can afford to live there anymore. I have another foot injury. I take refuge at my family's house but there's always drama what with 12+ people constantly in and out and the risk of bankruptcy on the horizon. I get a ticket because a headlight is out on my car and I can't figure out how to pay it. Desperate, I take a little job doing occasional labor for a local rental company, but it doesn't pay much and the hours are few and the job sucks. So I apply every chance I get to as many jobs as I can find, getting only a couple of interviews that are mostly very far away and not anything I'd be any good at.

So finally I followed a good lead on Monday and found a job I really want. But today I'm tired and more crap keeps going wrong. The water heater is now not working at my apartment - I may have to help pay for that if we need a new one. The toilet also broke this morning and won't flush. The air conditioner seems to have stopped working on my car. One of my cousins is literally selling food on the street to try to cover his expenses. Most of my clothes are old and not in great shape. I've gained weight, I'm not very healthy right now. There aren't very many places I can go for solace - everybody seems to have big problems.

Monday is the start of Ramandan. Monday will either be the start of a new job, or my last call to the temp agency. If I don't have an interview that goes well by next Wednesday, I'm getting shipped back to Pennsylvania. I still don't like that reality - but it doesn't look so bad anymore.

Facing East

When the sun comes up there is no hiding from it. Its insistently bright, strong rays flood every crack of every room, and the deck is no exception.

It has been a short night. Despair took several forms - a lonely couch stowed in the dirt under the concrete overhang of the pool above, open to the wild canyon. A wolf-like wild dog whose breath awakened me but passed me by before I could even glimpse his tail. A bed on wooden slabs. Memories of a worse evening - in a different time, in a different place, much colder and more shocking to the senses.

But even the smallest amount of sleep causes the weariness of the heart to fade. Faithful watchdog Debbie comes by to protect me from the unseen canyon interloper, and upon moving to the deck in the early hours my old, most faithful Los Angeles friend creeps, curling up next to me and purring.

Everything is a reminder of where I am. Beautiful shades just before dawn broken up by an anonymous swimmer's curved arm and a quiet splashing of water. The swimmer looks somewhat small, their skin overcast by the slowly rising sun behind them. Is it Charlie, that crazy kid? Swimming at 6:15 am? Eventually I realize that the methodical laps could only be those of Liz, a friend, renter, and med student, devotedly exercising before returning to school for the morning.

The morning is peaceful, only the slight sounds of air, bugs, birds, and a man-made stream. A police helicopter flies loudly, low overhead, passing the top of the mountain slowly - reminding me that I was right not to walk home last night. I open my eyes occasionally and see the large meditation tree, reaching up beautifully into the morning sky, some branches dead, others waving with the life. This is the tree I have enjoyed looking up at from the deck and the pool when idling, thinking about life. Soon, the whine of a not-too-distant drill shoots up from the canyon . And a fly buzzes around me, landing on the sweaty, dirty clothes that I'm still wearing from the night before, capoeira cordao spilling out of my blanket.

And the sun shines warmer. Sleep still beckons, but my blankets have become a burden. I must get up. In a house that faces east, I must get up.