ad infinitum et ultra

leemah (to infinity and beyond)

[ever-onwards]

i wish i could’ve gone to church today

(and other things i never expected myself to say)

this afternoon (as in, Sunday the 29th), Coyner texted me saying: I wish you had been at church with us today. During the prayer time a member of the congregation stood up and said "today I am a Muslim, pray for me.” Then another did, then another, then another, etc. Donna and I sat there with tears rolling down our cheeks for five minutes.

i go to church every sunday that i’m home with them, and while this prayer time does sound exceptional, it isn’t much off of par for the course. first united methodist church is always, always exceptional. 

i was raised by a devout sunni muslim mother. i went to the equivalent of sunday school at our local mosque. i dressed modestly (still do, most of the time). i didn’t eat pork (still don’t, most of the time). i prayed a lot. the thing about Islam is it kind of starts to feel like all you ever do is pray. five times a day is no joke. i looked forward to Eid, fasted age-appropriate amounts for Ramadan, and to this day i consider lamb its own food group. 

that devout sunni muslim mother was also a doctor who instilled in me a love of science and greek mythology. somehow this all created a little girl named leemah, brimming with wide-eyed wonder at the world, confused about the difference between Allah (SWT) and Zeus, but mostly curious about if perhaps they lived where rain fell from. how’d that rain stuff work anyway? 

what i’m trying to say to you is that religion has always been a weird part of my life, and to my mom’s dismay it’s been one i always met with skepticism. she considered it a failing as a parent that i never quite mastered ‘faith’, but i would argue now that she did. i have faith in planetary motion. i have faith in platelets, and politics, and purposeful, peaceful protest. i have faith in poetry, and in the keys of pianos. i have faith in the people who defy societal expectations by being good despite a lack of faith in a God. and i have faith in the people who have the faith in God i never figured out. 

i have faith in lacey, who is muslim, and works tirelessly and selflessly to help refugees make their way to the united states. i have faith in ariel, who is jewish, but more importantly is equally fierce and warm in her pursuits of justice. i have faith in gabe, whose social media game is surpassed in strength only by his [scientific, atheist, compassionate] convictions. 

and, as a nebraskan, i have crossed paths with a fair few christians. i have faith in ellen, whose time as a missionary for the Church of LDS somehow made her even more full of joy and altruism. i have faith in thien, whose catholicism and passion for sustainability makes him a better steward of this earth than i could ever hope to be. i have faith in claire, kelli, and hannah who know that to emulate jesus is to act in the best interests of as many people as possible. i have faith in marissa who makes jesus seem less like an intimidating force and more like a good friend. i have faith in grant who patiently teaches me why he believes the things he does. i have faith in vanessa who reassures me with absolute certainty that her dad and my mom are together, swapping stories, at peace. i have faith in families like the devines who glorify their God simply by being good and honest people, and by welcoming me so immediately into their lives. i have faith in donna and coyner who took a chance on a 16 year old girl they’d only known for a short time, and gave me the world in a way my mom never could but always dreamt of. i have faith in jane, and chris, and debra, and cynthia, whose sermons have made me feel welcome in a place i was never really supposed to be. i have faith in kay, and lucy, and ruthie, and the bredthauers, and the ringwalts, and bob, and zaiga, and jess, and every other hug and friendly face that i know is waiting for me when i walk through the doors on the sundays that i’m home.

these past few days have been hard. they’ve been painful. and the faith i do have is admittedly a bit shaken. but bumped and bruised, my faith in these people is enduring. and my faith in doing what’s right doesn’t fade. 

i still identify to others, defiantly and genuinely, as a muslim. i still struggle to keep biblical stories and greco-roman myths straight, and despite my ‘A’ in earth-space science, I’m still a little hazy on the whole rain thing. but i do, finally, in an unsurprisingly abstract sense, get where i place my faith. in people who care. and with that in mind, i wish i could’ve gone to church today. 

[ever-onwards]

i’ve never been good with goodbyes

when you’ve only been alive for two and a half presidencies and fully cognizant of politics for one, calling someone the best president of your lifetime admittedly carries little weight. even so, Barack Obama has been the best president of my lifetime, and there is a heaviness on my heart thinking about what awaits my country. it is a heaviness comparable only to when my thoughts settle on my mom. when the days come that i can’t push missing her to the back-burner, i write. so, in following suit, here i am.

but i don’t know what to say. i could tell you that i’ve loved living under the outgoing president so much that i wept throughout his farewell address. that 44 is now one of my lucky numbers. that as thrilled as i was to vote for Hillary Clinton (and i was, and am equally devastated by her loss), even the prospect of her presidency made me sad because it meant things were coming to an end. i could share that when i’m discouraged with the state of the world, i listen to a very special rendition of Amazing Grace, sung in a Charleston Church. that every day i wake up and open my eyes to prints of his speeches. that, on a lighter note, going to Waiola Shaved Ice and ordering “Obama’s Rainbow” was my absolute favorite part of Hawaii. 

Barack Hussein (a middle name that matters to me) Obama has been the president for almost every significant event of my life. he was the president who kept watch over this country as i navigated high school and college. he was president when i had my first kiss, got my driver’s license, went through my first heartbreak, and cast my first ballot (even if i never got to vote for him). he was the last president my mom voted for and i think the kindest thing this universe has ever done was let her live long enough to see a person of color get elected (though perhaps the real kindness was letting her go before we elected 45). he was one of the first people of prominence to speak truth about growing up too black (in his case) or too Afghan (in my case) to feel totally at home amongst white peers, yet too ‘basically white’ to be fully accepted by the black or Afghan communities. he was the president that made me believe in myself, in our government, and in my potential within that government. he has had a more profound impact on my life and its direction than most people i’ve actually had the pleasure of meeting.

with honor society applications due so soon, i’ve been reading through the i essays i submitted last year. among other things, Mortar Board asked me to tell them who or what inspires me. in a classic Leemah move, i quoted Harry Potter (no regrets whatsoever). in Chamber of Secrets, a few minutes after their initial meeting, Dobby says, “Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew.” i go on, of course, to talk about my mom. while she was alive, she was a great doctor, a great professor, a great mother. but in quiet moments when i fear my heart might break under the weight of missing her i’m not missing her greatness, i’m missing her goodness. soon, i expect, i will say the same of President Obama. he has been a great president -- the best, in my opinion -- and he has been a good man. as life goes on, i will undoubtedly miss his greatness. his competence, his eloquence, his vast knowledge. i fully expect them to go unmatched as long as i live. but when the tears flow today and any other day, i will more so be mourning the loss of his goodness. his decency. his warmth. the humanity he brought to the nation’s highest office. the way he was always ready to get down to a child’s level. the way his good nature made him an obvious friend to so many. the way joy burst out of him, and a trail of swagger followed him. the way he smiled, and laughed, and sang, and danced, and played basketball, and read, and ate almonds. the way he thought deeply, and listened carefully, and admitted his faults, and comforted, and cried. the way he opened himself and the office of the president up to the people. the way he carried himself. the way he cared.

in another classic Leemah move, i’m now going to quote Hamilton. one of the most powerful themes of the musical is that of legacy. what is a legacy? alexander asks, to no one in particular. he then provides his own answer: it’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. Barack Obama’s legacy is one of compassion. whether you agreed with his politics or not, i contend that none of his decisions were born of ill will for this country or any of its inhabitants. from marriage equality, to granting clemency, to expanding national parks, to opening up our communication with countries long out of touch, to the Affordable Care Act, to accepting refugees, his intentions have been true and rooted in a desire to do the most good for the most people.

he has more than earned his moment alone in the shade (or the Hawaiian sunshine with the best shaved ice in the world), but selfishly i don’t think i’m ready to let go. as shakespeare wrote in hamlet: i shall not look upon his like again. 

[ever-onwards]

let me be angry about it for a bit

when i was a little girl, every book was my favorite book. but one of my most-requested bedtime stories was We’re Going on a Bear Hunt. as a family of four goes, as the title suggests, on a ‘bear hunt’, they encounter several obstacles. however, long wavy grass, a deep cold river, a big dark forest, and many other roadblocks prove no match for the characters. each time they are forced to stop they consider turning around, and they look around for some other way, any other way. and each time, they reach the same conclusion: “we can’t go over it. we can’t go under it. oh no! we’ve got to go through it!”

there is a twitter moments compilation of Day 1 in ‘Trump’s America’ and it is my worst nightmare come to life. people are having their headscarves torn off of their heads, being teased that they’re getting deported, being taunted about the impending overturn of the legality of their marriages, waking up to vandalism and threatening messages. i know that a lot of people who voted for Donald Trump did not do so because they are racist/sexist/xenophobic/whatever or because he is. however, whether intended or not, and whether one likes it or not, there is no denying that Donald Trump’s candidacy and election has brought a very scary and hateful part of our population out of the wood work. people are terrified, and the prevalence of hate speech and hate crimes since election day is validation of that. my friends who wear hijabs don’t know if their religio-cultural traditions will be a threat to their safety. my friends who use birth control are frantically researching IUDs, because they can outlast a presidential term. my friends who are queer are living in a country that elected a vice president who believes in shocking them until they turn straight. my friends who are trans are painfully uncertain of if or how they will continue to get the hormones they need. people are scared, and it is not for no reason. it is insulting and willfully ignorant to suggest otherwise. 

i have seen a lot of posts telling people like me to suck it up, to move on, to stop being crybabies. to that i say, i would love to stop crying. i would love to be able to talk to my best friend without being reminded of sitting next to him on election night as my world seemingly fell apart. i would love to be able to keep full meals down, and sleep well at night. but my feelings are my feelings, and the thing about feelings is they demand to be felt. republicans have gained control of the white house, both houses of congress, and soon the supreme court. they have not, however, gained control of my emotions. i will probably be angry and hurt and nauseous for a long time. and it is in everyone’s best interests to let me. 

grief is an interesting thing, and one i have been better acquainted with in my young life than desired. for better or for worse, life has afforded me a bit of an expertise on the subject. it is a long road to acceptance and healing, and it is not the same from person to person. it’s not pretty. but it is necessary. if people really want to see this country re-unite and if people really want to see this country heal, they have to know it will be a long, ugly, slow-moving process. brushing these feelings under the rug is in no one’s best interest. like a broken bone that doesn’t heal properly, or a wound that didn’t get the necessary treatment to begin with, expecting people to quick-fix their pain in the wake of this election is inviting that pain to fester into something much worse, and much more destructive in the future. understand that allowing us to feel our pain full force is our best bet for a tomorrow where we can be stronger together. 

this election outcome and the subsequent heartache/uncertainty/fear has been, for myself and for others, our own big dark forest. it would be nice to circumvent it, but we don’t have that luxury. so while there is a lot i could say, want to say, probably at some point will say about this election, today i am saying this: stop telling people to get over it. like long wavy grass, we can’t go over it. we can’t go under it. we’ve got to go through it. 

ever onwards, leemah

[ever-onwards]

to Brock Turner,

a lot of people have offered their input on what you did, and how you’ve handled the subsequent trial. so many people, in fact, and so eloquently, that i debated if i really needed to put my thoughts down on paper (and then transcribe them into type). but it seems that every day that goes by, you manage to do something to enrage me even more, and today i just couldn’t bite my tongue hard enough. i won’t spare your entitled rich white boy feelings one moment longer. 

i admit that even after days of fuming over this case, and growing more and more upset with each new released statement, i am at a bit of a [rare] loss for words. let’s start with the words you are so unwilling to acknowledge: you are a rapist. the only person or thing to blame here is you. not alcohol. not sexual promiscuity (honestly fuck you for that one). not even rape culture is to blame. not your privileged background (i.e. affluenza), not the patriarchal structure of American society. not the bullshit pervading belief that consent is somehow a tricky concept. these are all things that may explain how something like this happened--how something like this /keeps/ happening--but what these things do NOT do is excuse your actions. all you’ve done and all your father has done and all your ‘supporters’ (gag me) have done is show the rest of us that you /still don’t get it/. you are choosing to be willfully ignorant of what you’ve done and what you are. 

as previously stated, a lot of people have spoken out against you and your punishment and your reaction. in an especially eloquent letter written by one John Pavlovitz to your father, he tells him that he does not believe you are a monster, but that you acted like one. likewise, many of the statements (formal and facebook statuses alike) have stopped short of calling you a monster. but guess what? i can tell you with absolute honesty and zero remorse that I /do/ think you’re a monster. i don’t think you made a mistake. (what, did you trip and fall behind a dumpster and into your victim’s vagina?) i don’t think you’re a sympathy-deserving byproduct of alcohol and good ol’ american misogyny. i have plenty of white, male, affluent, heterosexual, cis-gendered, well-educated friends. in other words, friends who are just like you on paper. some of them are even swimmers! but the difference is this: when they drink, THEY DON’T RAPE PEOPLE. crazy concept, i know. 

to say you disgust me is perhaps the biggest understatement that i will ever make, but it is true nonetheless. you disgust me. when i see pictures of you (whether you’re smiling in a swimming portrait or staring at a police camera without a glimmer of regret in your eyes), I feel my skin crawl. what you did makes me feel unsafe. what you did makes me nauseous. what you did makes me distrustful of those around me. what you did has altered the course of my life, and has stolen some of the little faith i have in my fellow man. what you did has hardened a part of me. AND I’M NOT EVEN THE WOMAN YOU RAPED. I am, instead, thankfully very far away from you. and yet you are everywhere. 

you describe what happened as “poor judgment and ill thought actions.” no, Brock Turner. I exercise poor judgment and ill thought actions when I’m supposed to be somewhere 20 minutes away at 5:00pm, and start a 45 minute Netflix episode at 4:00pm. what you did was rape. stop thinking of clever euphemisms for what you’ve done. stop circumventing the fact of the matter. you raped someone. 

if i make it through my life without being sexually assaulted, it will only be because someone else was. many someones. statistically speaking, many someones that i love. and i can’t do a damn thing about it.  yes, i can avoid alcohol (unlikely, tbh). yes, i can try my best to always employ the buddy system. yes, i can dress modestly (but if you think rapists care what i’m wearing, you are in for a surprise). i could do those things. but do you know what those approaches all have in common? they won’t prevent rape. they might prevent /my/ rape. but at the core of it, all they do is aim to ensure that it’s some other girl. the only thing that will stop rape is people making the decision not to rape anyone. people like you, brock turner. it is not my responsibility, and i adamantly refuse to shoulder this burden. 

in your statement you say “if I were to be placed on probation, I can positively say, without a single shred of doubt in my mind, that I would never have any problem with law enforcement.” now, here’s what really gets me. i mean, i’d laugh about it if i didn’t feel so damn near crying. by offering this infomercial-esque 100% guarantee that you won’t have any more run-ins with the law (read: that you won’t rape anyone else), you have /finally/ acknowledged that you have complete control over whether or not you rape someone. you, unwittingly i’m sure, just said what we all already knew--that no outside factors could force you to rape someone if you didn’t want to. and that no outside factors forced you to rape your victim. that was all you, buddy. that was your choice. perhaps further troubling is the part of that previously quoted statement where you use an if-then clause. if they grant you probation, you won’t rape anyone else. so... are you saying, then, that if you aren’t granted probation - if you aren’t given what you want as i suspect you always have been - you /will/ rape more people? that’s pretty monstrous, if you ask me. 

you know what i’m still just absolutely floored by, though? that your statement is all about you. you tore away someone’s right to feel safe, and you want me to give a damn that you’ve lost jobs and opportunities? good. i’m glad. it’s the least the world can do to you, honestly, since the justice system is failing so grossly. it still does nothing to equivocate the experience and the tragedy of your victim. six months in jail, eh? your measly slap on the wrist should not - under any circumstances - be compared to the punishment you deemed just and correct for the woman you saw in a basement at a party. the fact that you, your father, the judge, your ‘supporters’ (again, gag me) would try to strike such a comparison, just proves my earlier assertion: you are a monster. 

there is so much more i have thought and that i could say to you about the clear benefits you reaped in your treatment by the law enforcement and media thanks to the amount of melanin in your skin, dollars in your daddy’s bank account, and swimming medals that have hung around your neck. but it isn’t worth my time. you aren’t worth my time. and honestly, spending this last hour writing this has made me feel a desperate need to scrub at my skin under scalding hot water. as though maybe if i rub my skin raw enough, i won’t feel so utterly overwhelmed by the horrors that this world has to offer, and the monsters that walk among us (again- i’m talking about you). 

i don’t understand how you, the rapist, can so readily move on while I, a girl reading about it on the internet, am plagued with thoughts and the constant feeling of being sick to my stomach. 

go fuck yourself. 

ever onwards, leemah

[ever-onwards]

a lot of things Americans don’t want to hear

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/09/04/world/europe/syria-boy-drowning.html

 ^ read this first

Earlier this week, the body of 3-year-old Aylan Kurdi, a Syrian child, washed up on the shores of Turkey, and the people of the Western world finally showed a little goddamn emotion. 

In the United States - and in many other developed nations - there is this growing mentality of anger and resentment towards the refugees trying desperately to get across our borders. I am admittedly not the most knowledgable on border and immigration laws, but I am VERY knowledgable on how high the stakes are for refugees seeking political asylum in the midst of turmoil back home. Refugees, like my mother, and extended family, and this sweet little boy from Syria, don't want to have to leave their homeland. Do you honestly think this child's parents would risk his life in some tiny 15-foot boat for no other reason than wanting to steal American and/or European jobs? No. Don’t let people convince you of that. It is not true. It is, more than anything else has ever been, a life or death situation.

The EU is grasping at straws trying to figure this out, and in the United States, the top polling GOP candidate is proposing we build a wall. The media won't even acknowledge the fact that these 'illegal immigrants' are refugees fighting for their lives. There is so much ignorance and xenophobia in the conversations regarding the refugees coming from places like Mexico and Syria, and it has left no room for compassion.

But the next time someone (looking at you, Donald Trump) talks about these HUMAN BEINGS (read: no person is illegal) in terms of numbers or false criminal records or the jobs they will ‘steal’, think of Aylan Kurdi, an innocent child of 3 years old, waiting to hear what you will say in response. Or, if that doesn't hit close enough to home, know that I am here and I am listening, and I could have easily been one of these children being smuggled across land and sea, in hopes of a better life. 

I don't get it, America. You are not the country you think you are.

[ever-onwards]

highs & lows

Friday, July 17th, 2015 13:25 // 19 Bedford Place

Hello, out there! The prodigal daughter has returned with a very, very, very delayed update and an apology for being MIA. 

In the 12 days (yikes) since I last updated, a lot - obviously - has happened. In the interest of not boring you and not typing my fingers off, here is a bit of a highlight (and lowlight) reel...

• high: there is a beautifully wide array and availability of freshly squeezed juices here. yesterday I drank a bottle of orange juice and the only ingredients were water, oranges, and sugar. beautiful. your move, america.

• low: there are a lot of dogs here, but none of their owners are receptive to my obvious enthusiasm towards their dogs. whereas back home people will smile and tell me about their precious pup before inviting me to pet them, here people just avert their eyes. i’ve been here for weeks. i haven’t pet a dog since I was home. morale is low. 

• high: AnnaJean Scarborough. ‘nough said.

• low: 3 hour lectures everyday are beyond the scope of my attention span, and some of our professors don’t think we need breaks. may I never take 50 and 75 minute classes for granted again. 

• high: Caroline, Paige, and I went down to the London Eye and the area along the river last Thursday and had an absolute blast. Paige brought her nice camera, and we got a bit carried away. :) It was truly the first time I’ve felt like I was seeing the excitement and joy that London reportedly has to offer. I think, perhaps, I was able to fully immerse myself in the experience because the Eye is one of the few notable London landmarks with which I do not have any memories with my mom. It’s a bittersweet city to be in, and it’s nice to make some new memories with new people in my life.

• low: THE TUBE STRIKE. no underground transportation meant /way/ more people above ground, and the walk to school suddenly took twice as long. no me gusta. 

• high: i finally got to see my aunt Nilofar and meet/re-meet her five little ones. it was a good day, and a happy - albeit surreal - reunion, but it was also exhausting. children. ugh.

• low: i’ve realized that i don’t remember how to function around my biological family anymore. i’m permanently in a state of slight discomfort around everyone, especially when someone mentions my mom. the day i saw Nilofar and her kids, it was impossible for me not to feel like an outsider. sad, but true. 

• high: on Tuesday it was Caroline’s birthday (!!!) and over the course of the day we went to 3 cafés, 1 super fancy restaurant overlooking the river, ate 2 creme brulees (with lots of references to Zeke’s solo in Stick to the Status Quo from High School Musical- don’t roll your eyes, you know you know the song), the best homemade brownie possibly ever, and toasted some champagne to Carol’s 21st. :) AND, i got to debut my raincoat! priorities. 

• low: happy stomach/tastebuds? unhappy wallet. yikes again. 

• high: Caroline and Paige both watch Scandal, dislike Fitz as much as i do, and know that Olivia Pope should be with Jake Ballard, always. <3 

• the lowest of the lows in the history of lows: staying up until 3am writing a 10 page midterm paper discussing whether or not the state system established in the Middle East during the inter-war period was inherently unstable. i genuinely love learning about this stuff, but that paper kicked my ass. i get my results back on tuesday. #pray4leemah

• high: today, i found ramen at the grocery store (shout out to alex who will understand why this is such a high point), i got to relax and write this over my lunch break, i get to see Conner, Libby, and Harrison later, AND to top it all off, it’s Eid! 

glancing at the clock just now i’ve realized that it’s almost time for lecture. stay tuned for another update soon! hopefully. no promises. 

Eid Mubarak to all those celebrating! 

ever onwards, your same old leemah

[awwww-cute]

[ever-onwards]

never mind

Sunday, July 5th, 2015 16:57 // 19 Bedford Place

It seems that I left you all with a bit of a cliffhanger. Between my social anxiety, jet lag, and the general stress of traveling, I was downward spiraling into a little puddle of homesick-ness quicker than you can say “peanut butter” (seriously, why is that so hard to find abroad!?).

Two days later I am pleased to report that: • the jet lag seems to have left my system (though the lack of air conditioning makes it tough to sleep on these stupidly hot nights) • I [think I] know how to get from my flat to LSE’s campus, which is seriously such a weight off my shoulders (though I’m still abso-bloody-lutely terrified to begin classes tomorrow, so #pray4leemah) • I made friends !!! So far everyone of on the trip, once removed from the cloudiness and exhaustion of jet lag, has been pretty nice. At the top of the list are two of my [four] roommates, Paige & Caroline. P&C are both Alpha Gams at Alabama (roll Tide!), and they are such a gift to have around. I can not stress enough, God bless their sweet, Southern hearts, as well as whatever powers made us roommates. Caroline and I are starting a list of things we agree on because for all intents and purposes, we seem to be the same people. It genuinely feels like a heaviness is slowly being removed from my chest as I get to know people and the central part of London a bit better. 

As far as the program goes, we’ve had different pieces of orientation every day since we arrived, and we’ve also done a fair share (read: an insane amount) of sight-seeing. I fully intend to write up a post about all of that ASAP, but - thanks to that very same touristing - I’m a little too worn out at the moment. (Warning: Reading that post may lead to jealousy and cause one to purchase impulsive tickets to London!)

Despite my fatigue, there’s one more thing I must mention. To all of my friends, family, and those good ol’ workplace proximity acquaintances (as the great Ron Swanson would say) who reached out to me with words of sympathy, empathy, and reassurance: thank you, I love you, and you’re making me miss you all and home even more. Lucky for me, I’ve embraced the realization that this is not a zero-sum experience. My desire to be home with my nearest (figuratively, of course) and dearest, and my positive sentiments towards this adventure can and probably will grow simultaneously. 

I’m going to eat dinner with my aunt and uncle soon, so I’d better wrap this much calmer and more content spiel up. I’ll throw some pictures in just for funziesz, so look for those at the bottom! 

Ever Onwards, A stubbornly optimistic and still quite homesick Leemah

p.s. AnnaJean Scarborough is my hero. More on that later. 

p.p.s. Please write me!  e-mail: [email protected] insta&twitter: leemahperu post: Leemah Nasrati (16D) / 19 Bedford Place / London, UK / WC1B 5JA + iMessage, What’sApp, and Facebook! 

I’ll happily respond as wifi access allows. :) 

[ever-onwards]

LEEMAH! So, I definitely have social anxiety too. It's pretty bad. My inability to talk easily with people I don't know almost caused me to drop DG. There was a Monday night in September where I was standing in the foyer with everyone all around and no one to talk to and I started to cry and I thought I would just drop the next day. But I'm obviously so glad I didn't. It's so hard being lonely, but it's like summer camp or anything else-you'll find something to bond over soon. Love you!! ITB 😘

ABBIE!!! I genuinely had like the exact same experience first semester with DG, and you were one of the first girls to indirectly convince me to stay because I could actually have a conversation with you! Thank you so much for your support, I LOVE YOU. ITB <3 

[ever-onwards]

can i go home yet?

As the title may suggest, I’m not adjusting well. To clarify, i’ve thoroughly enjoyed my time with my family. London is well and good, if not a little warmer than anticipated. But today... today I had to move into my program provided housing, and go through safety orientation for the coming weeks. 

I hadn’t exactly been looking forward to this part of the trip, but I’d done my best to remain cautiously optimistic about meeting the other program participants. The optimism seems to have been in vain, because so far only like three people have talked to me, and only one of my roommates has said more than “hi” to me. I’ve somehow - don’t ask me how - been dubbed the shy and quiet one of the program, and at this point I’m so exhausted that I can’t be bothered to change that impression. I’m genuinely trying my best to meet people, and remain positive, but my willpower is wavering as my social anxiety grows stronger and stronger. I’m sure this doesn’t sound like much of a reason to be so completely low, but alas, here I am. It’s only made worse by my keen awareness that this is probably normal, other people are nervous too, and that it will get better as time goes on. But for now, I’m stressed to no end, and I just want to be home, or at least some place familiar. 

Right now I’m laying on my bed, eating salt & vinegar potato chips (or crisps, if you will), and willing time to go faster until it’s time for my family to pick me up to go to my other aunt’s house. 

Hopefully things get better. I’d say we can only go up from here, but I don’t want the universe to take that as a challenge, so I’ll stick to quiet prayers and requests that I not feel so miserable in the days and weeks to come, and that I can somehow return to cautious optimism. 

It seems that I have good wifi in the student housing, so please please please do not hesitate to e-mail me, facebook me, iMessage me, facetime me... literally anything. I could use some friendly faces.

Ever Onwards, Leemah

[ever-onwards]

transatlanticism

30 June, 2015 21:28; somewhere over the Atlantic

Well, where to begin? I woke up this morning in my own bed, in my own house, in the city I’ve always lived in. It was quite literally my comfort zone. After a decent bit of hemming and hawing, I forced myself out to get dressed and finished what remained of my packing. After double, triple, and quadruple checking, I finally made my way upstairs. Fully expecting to be greeted by a cheerful Donna, I was surprised to find myself alone in the living room. As it turns out, the quiet solitude was exactly what I needed. (I also broke a bowl in half, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Travel is a funny thing, and, for whatever reason, it always forces me into a spiral of introspection. It’s an important thing; looking inward before moving onward. I feel as though this whole trip is a culmination of my trying to get to know myself. Who is Leemah Nasrati as she closes out her teenage years and moves on to her excitingly intimidating 20s? 

In a few hours I will get off of this plane in London, and I will experience the city without my mom for the first time. I will hug my relatives, stare wide-eyed out the window on the journey home from Heathrow, and attempt to allow good ol’ London to sweep me away into its entirely foreign yet eerily familiar transatlantic embrace. It will surely have its moments of being disconcerting, scary, and exhausting. But, I suppose, there’s nothing for me to do except try and adjust.

Ever Onwards, Leemah [AIEU]

P.S. I’m actually transcribing this from my journal at 23:01 on the 1st, from my Khala Zakia’s sitting room. P.P.S. plz write me