bodies

Limbs, thighs, torso, eyes, and hair. 

Tight. The lycra clings to her body, leaving nothing to the imagination. I see the outline of her panties, the ripples of skin as she sways back and forth on the bus. Other bodies press close to hers — all calves, thighs, and muscle. Her plumpness and curves were barely contained. The flatness of her belly. The extra love I seem to hold — she does not. She isn’t thin, nor skeletal. Her curves are just right. It’s just a body. Just limbs, thighs, and belly.

Ripples. I was not expecting to see his half-naked body. He lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow, exposing a toned torso. Intentional or unintentional — it was hard to know if he meant to reveal himself to the horde of people watching. I outlined the crevices of his body with my eyes: the dip in the middle, the slight unevenness of his pecs. I had never noticed him before, never paid attention to the strong, tall man standing before me. I was both in awe of the perfect specimen of a huMAN body and uneasy at my inability to look away. It’s just a body. Just limbs, skin, and muscle.

Glow. She moved her hand, exposing the inner forearm — paper white. I had never seen skin so pale. It glistened under the fluorescent light. She was naturally beautiful, with no sign of makeup. If my mother were here, she surely would have commented on the beauty of this young woman. It wasn’t simply that she was white — her skin seemed devoid of any imperfection. Even though so little could be seen as she hid her beauty under a flowy abaya. Despite her best efforts, her undeniable exquisiteness could not be hidden. My cracked, flaky, tanned hands withered away to nothingness beside hers. It’s just a body. Just limbs, fingers, and hands.

Sky. He stared. Unblinking. I stared back. His eyes were small, yet they stood out from the rest of his forgettable face — the bluest of blues, capable of lighting up dark places. They seemed out of place as I closely examined the other features surrounding them. Uneven stubble, wrinkles deep, skin littered with dark spots and roughness, that told me he has lived a well-worn life. These eyes were not meant for such a violent man. These eyes that reminded me of a warm summer day. These eyes that felt like a weighted blanket. These eyes are not meant for this man. No, most definitely not for this man. It’s just a body. Just limbs, nose, and eyes.

Forest. Every inch of me had to be restrained. Sheer self-control had to practiced, as I willed myself not to reach out and touch this strange man’s hair. I imagined how it would feel on my fingers — the coarseness against my well-groomed hands. Tiny, tiny strands of tightly coiled ringlets. Dense, yet light. He busied himself moving around the room, ushering people in and out of the theatre, yet despite his rapid movements, not one hair shifted. They refused to bend to his will, refused to be tamed. His hair had a life of its own, separate from the human who grew it. In truth, it was the human who yielded to their demands. It called to me — "Touch me", it whispered. No! I cannot! I will not! Just a body. Just limbs, fingers, and hair.

47 minutes

It takes me 47 minutes from my house to Manly. Down the M2 and across the city and there I am 47 minutes later. It's like I went from the Shire in Lord of the Rings to Hogwarts from Harry Potter. And yes those are not only very different worlds but don't even reside in the same fictional universe. But this is Sydney, the melting pot of the rich and the poor. 

I sit on beach front watching the waves lap the shore. The water completely unbothered by who steps into it. Human flesh is human flesh regardless of colour, creed or economic status. In the heat I see browned skin burning in the Australian sun. White flesh burnt to a crisp toast. It's hard not see the privilege I'm surrounded by - beautiful bodies, luxurious bathing suits and carefreeiness as I sit in my frumpy body in a Kmart bathing suit and calculating what time I should leave in order to avoid traffic.  What would be like to live here? A casual stroll from my house to the waterfront and wealthy enough to eat health food and genetically gifted to be able to wear a stunning bathing suit. A quick dip in the cool water before slipping back into airy sundress and stroll back to my ocean front home. 

This is an image of this privileged white woman is one of pure fiction wrapped with some truth. I don't know who this woman is and nor have I met her. Well, maybe I have met her but never known her intimately. Does she have struggles? Does she experience anything other minor inconveniences? Has she experienced heart break?  Does she ever run out of money? Does she work in underpaid civil servant role? Oh, what joy it must to be her?! She is the woman that is the opposite of me. Where struggle is finding out that you ran out of milk for your morning coffee or that your plan was delayed for your annual European summer trip.  Not saving tirelessly for years to only to find that your single salary is never going to be enough to afford somewhere nice in Sydney. Or the years of studying your passion-career to be only paid bread crumbs. Living in a suburb where people assume that a shooting happens on the regular and figuring out that 47 minutes will always be your commute time to the nearest ocean. 

Dear you

Dear you,

Much time has passed and our lives have drifted apart. You predicted that and while I had refused to believe that something so intense could be anything but ordinary alas, you were right. But I'm a fighter and hold on to things that may be not be worth holding on to. The way I held on to you.  You were never attainable but wasn't that half the appeal? If I could change you or save you or attain the unattainable then I would be...different?

Needless to say our lives remains as mundane as the day I walked into yours or was it when you walked into mine? I don't quite remember the first day we met, I'd imagine it was rather ordinary. If I had to guess it was sunny day. But we did met in Sydney. And doesn't Sydney have amazing weather?! It is early November today and the sun is shining and yet it not quite warm but I predict much like most Sydney's summers the raging heat will hit us soon. 

The monotony of adult life has bored me. But the bills need to be paid and the children need to be raised. I imagine you lost in some jungle still searching for whatever you were searching for. I really hope you'll find it and then you can return back to me. Because I secretly want you around. While it might be more likely that I travel to space than you coming back to my life with openness and love. 

Or maybe you did find it and now you are in suburbia like me. You surround yourself with a fleet of children. I would say one child would be sufficient but, this world is ironic so you most definitely have at least 4 offspring. You are married, of course. Your wife, I'm sure is lovely. Tired from all the child-rearing but lovely nevertheless. You met her at work and you dated for the obligatory amount of time. You popped the question in an unnecessary show of affection and fanfare. She faked surprise. Your family like her, not love her but tolerate her existence. Then of course the children.  All under the age 10, messy and rosy cheeked. All these things you were not able to give to me.

Or maybe, your time has passed. And the early grave you had predicted for yourself actually eventuated. Under six feet of dirt and soil lay your bones. What is like? The afterlife, I mean. Are there angels or are you in the pits of hell? Is that cheating if I ask?

I'm tired of the wonderful picture I painted in my life. The loyal husband and the well behaved children. I should not complain but here I am writing to you. A love long lost. A love never obtained. Do you remember the time we laughed all night or the time we walked in the rain? I do. 

I lied. I'm not in suburbia, like you predicted. There is no loyal husband and no messy children. No, I sit in my cold apartment. If I drank, I would be downing a bottle of red. But instead I search for you. I sit and imagine our life together now. What would it be like? So much time has passed and memories faded. We've had entire lives without each other.  But maybe now is our time. Or maybe not. I write to you but it remains unsent. It is left unfinished. As much I wish for your return. You left 20 years ago and you never planned to return. Wherever you are, I really hope you're happy.

Your friend,

Samira 

Memories

I closed my eyes and there you are. The sun shining through your hair, the sand between my fingers. Things were simpler then. There were no deadlines, there were no bills and, even the sun seemed to shine brighter. The sky was blue, and I hear the violent sound of the waves smashing the rocks. It seemed that we were there for hours. I know university assessments were just around the corner, but that didn't matter because I know in ten years when we've aged and our smiles are a little less happy, I won't remember the psychological theory that brought us together. It is not the equations that made me laugh or what Skinner wrote for his papers that challenged me. No, it was this memory that I keep in my heart. It's a little faded and probably not quite true. But I remember you told me that cloud looked like a penis, but really it was more like a bear. There goes another cloud, again another penis in your eyes. But this time it was...wait...maybe you are right, this cloud definitely had a phallic shape. We laughed at the ridiculous nature of this activity, but this felt right and warm. There was no pretence and no fake smiles. When I was with you it felt just right.

I closed my eyes and there you are. I smell your oud mixed with your scent. The musk smell that I could never forget. We sit in the sun, the grass beneath us. Your nose slightly sunburnt from not understanding the strength of the Australian sun. That's ok baby, I’ll teach you the ways of this land. Trust me, it’s beautiful here even if it's not the same as the many lands you've been before. I feel your hands on my body and I gently give into you. I feel your lips on mine. The world disappears, the sounds of the cars and buses fade and the glow of the sun dim. It's just you and me.  I feel the breeze in my hair as you drew me closer. As we departed from our embrace, I remembered at that moment this was our last. There will be no us and there will be no stolen kisses, no secret looks, but I will have this memory - I keep in my heart.

I closed my eyes and there you are. It's late at night, you're in my car and I'm driving. We say nothing as you navigate our way home. We sit in silence as the music softly plays in the background. No words need to be exchanged, for this is where I like to be. The streetlights flash before me as I speed through empty streets. The silence is broken by your reminder that I have most definitely missed our turn-off street. Oh well, I say. I guess this means an extra couple minutes to our trip. I smile. You panic, thinking you may not make it through the night. So, my driving isn't the safest and yes, I'm a little lost, but I'm lost with you. Is it that bad? I speak of forgone lovers and distant friends. You sit in unease, but you close your eyes and for a moment, you forget. You forget to think, you forget that I was a girl. A girl maybe you should not be with. A girl that you should not like. I don't know what is going through your mind and I will never know but for a moment in the silence of my car, our inhibitions don't matter. Where there was no need for you to panic. And for a moment, I forgot that this isn't real. But I will remember even if you forget. In a couple years’ time when I'm inevitably not in your life, when you've moved on to girl 7 or girl 15, when you're like, "Samira, who?" I will have this memory - that I keep in my heart. 

I closed my eyes and there you are. We both sit on your couch. Your mother's art collection covers your walls. I stare blankly at the lady with the strange look on her face. She always gave me the creeps whenever I came around. We flick through your enormous DVD collection. “What will it be, Daung?” You ask. Of course, you've seen them all. So, it was up to me. I pick a movie and the running commentary begins. "Look at his hot ass!" "What rubbish acting" "That doesn't even make sense", comments we hurl at the TV. We laugh and with weary eyes, you turn over to me and say, "come on, I'll drop you home", as the credits roll. Those days are passed, you're married now and I'm sure that creepy painting still hangs in your mother's house. But I have this memory - that I keep in my heart. 

Fragments of my life over the 31 years that I have occupied this earth. I hold on to these memories so tight. It's because these memories are all I have of you. I don't have you by my side and you've moved to greener pastures, or so I've heard. You've found love and you're happy now. You ride your bikes, and you had that beautiful wedding. You've committed, you “the-never-committable”. You looked beautiful in that dress in the pictures. You were beaming. 

Ugly turd

I went to a wedding tonight. And it was like every other time I have been to a wedding. I was in a table of people that I don't really know. Although this time I was not surrounded by couples. I sat and causally speak to strangers and semi-friends. But today I feel weird, I over dressed and over done. I wear a dress I hate, I feel like a olive and my make-up is over done. Then it hit, I'm the ugly turd. A green turd. No matter how much make up I put on I'm still the turd. This time I'm an obvious turd.
I don't want to be a turd.

A brown girl in the Australian Muslim Community

***This is not a “throwing shade” at the community post, I'm not airing out our community's dirty laundry nor I am talking about any particular organisation or person. 

I consider myself fairly active within the community and after several years of being involved in active service here is what I have learnt:

1) Merit is given based on who you know rather than what you have know

2) Being a brown person in this community is extremely difficult. But no one, I mean absolutely no one will admit this. No community leader will come out and acknowledge the colourism that occurs within our organisations. People within our community make claims that they are "colour-blind" and that all races/colours matter and yet opportunities are passed on to those whom are the "better" race or the right colour. And I am complacent in this. I pretend it does not matter. Partly because it's subtle and discrete and often you can't prove it. It is the little comment on the side or simply the belief that you are not good enough for that opportunity. I'm complacent because I didn't speak up. I'm complacent because I wasn't honest to others who sought my guidance. And when I do speak out, people tell me I'm crazy or I take things too personally (and this may be true). People gaslight my experiences and invalidate my emotions like they don't matter.

3) Being a woman in this community is extremely difficult. This community still believe that women belong in the kitchen, whether it is cleaning or cooking. As one sheikh in a public forum once said, "you can be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company but once you come home, he's the boss." Enough said.

4) Using the excuse, “it’s Allah's will” to not take responsibility for one's actions or one's decisions

5) The lack of transparency

6) The lack of self-awareness

7) The over abundance of haram police  

I want to highlight this isn’t me throwing shade at the community, it is simply my experience. I know deep down everyone within this community have good intentions. I also acknowledge that we have done so much to make ourselves and greater Australian society better. And I know that the Australian Muslim community is the projection of the greater Australian society and therefore I know that we as the Muslim community do not have the monopoly on these issues. But I think we should do better. No, I know that we can do better. We should be model for the rest of the world. The model for a better society.

Shitty person

Hey shitty person, I see you in the corner of my eye. I see you, with your long hair and blood shot eyes. I see you lurking, I see you pretending to be okay. Fooling everyone but me. I see the dark circle around your eyes and the slightly down turned mouth. The world is so small and so cold. I know you're angry, and so am I. Angry at the world, the cruel hands that has given us life and will take it away any minute. But it's just you and me, babe, How'd 'bout it? The world is so small and so cold. So come, hold my hand and we will set this small and cold world on fire. I'll get the firewood and your grab the matches. I swear, they won't see it coming. But they again they don't even really see you. Not the way you want be seen but don't worry baby, you have me.