Something I need to say

This world is a dark place. Tragedies fill the 24 hour new-cycle and people die. You can be a Syrian toddler on a sinking boat in the Mediterranean without a life preserver, you can be a black man walking down the street in New York City suddenly impaled on a sword helmed by a white supremacist terrorist, you can be caught in a flash flood in Trujillo Peru and swept away in a landslide. So may tragedies I cannot begin to categorize them. No matter where you are you cannot escape the soul-dampening cruelty of this broken world.

Last Wednesday, my commute was broken by several texts from my mother and my boss as both began checking in, I had been in my own world of obliviousness to the high profile shooting of a congressman and several aides that took place less than a mile from where I live. On the year anniversary of the death of a British MP Jo Cox, a high-profile shooting targeting national law-makers carried additional weight. Last night, after spending a weekend unplugged from the internet and a wonderful Father’s Day with my parents, I opened up my social media feeds to news of the tragic murder of Nabra Hassanen, a 17-year old Muslim girl, who was walking with friends between late-night prayers at the ADAMS Center Mosque. Her body was discovered in Fairfax County, where I grew up, where my parents still live, where I had just spent the whole day, oblivious.

This tragic murder pierced through my Sunday night and comes on the heels of the June 5 double homicide of young men in Maryland Shadi Adi Najjar, 17, and Artem S. Ziberov, 18, shot in a car while sitting in a cul-de-sac of a residential neighborhood.  Even more so, this news called me back to my first month working at KARAMAH: Muslim Women Lawyers for Human Rights. In February 2015 hatred took the lives of three beautiful, intelligent young adults full of potential: Deah Shaddy Barakat, 23, his wife Yusor Mohammad, 21, and her sister, Razan Mohammad Abu-Salha, 19.

As a Christian, I believe that this world is irrevocably broken and can only be saved by redemption through God and Jesus. As a coworker and friend of several Muslims who are fasting this month during Ramadan, their devotion and prayer to God inspires me on my own faith journey. As an American who works in D.C., I am in the process of examining my own core values, questioning our nations’ historic narrative as is the freedom and I believe obligation of every citizen of this nation.  As an attorney providing direct representation to survivors of domestic violence I see firsthand the impact of small, unspoken, unceremonious tragedies that take place privately but affect all life publicly.

The newsworthy “high-profile” cases of tragedy can put stark relief on the relative privilege those of us who are not surrounded by violence carry.  While we glaze over things that don’t directly affect us, when violence pierces through the façade of daily peace, it shakes us. But more piercing are those “smaller” less public, and more intimate intrusions of cruelty, violence and evil. The ones that happen in our own backyard, in suburban neighborhoods, walking on a sidewalk from an IHOP to a mosque on a path that was supposed to be safe.

Even more disheartening is that after each act of violence, it is not long before the story is already twisted and hammered and chiseled into something personally tailored to fit personal crusades or beliefs. Already pundits are focusing in on the ethnicity of the suspect alleged to have murdered Nabra, pitting one minority against the other. After the Wednesday shooting, I watched the gun control debate  explode once again on Twitter. The toxicity and vitriol that exists beneath the surface of each of us waiting for an outrage outlet is so caustic that the moment we are shocked by a tragedy it bursts through any outlet: conversations, the news, and certainly social media.  While I certainly can get swept up in the compulsion to say something, anything, in reaction to tragedy, I’m beginning to understand that beyond a simple message of shared sadness and comfort, silence is often the best option.

For any tragedy, there needs to be space for those people involved to heal. Grief affects everyone in their own way and it is not for us in the peanut gallery to utilize someone’s hurt for publicity’s gain. Those of us not directly involved need to withhold judgment and agendas and just let people mourn and be sad and recover before twisting their grief into a convenient politically-minded narrative. Sure, we can have conversations about it especially to speak out against hate, but those talks should be free from critical commentary, hurtful hypotheticals, and moral judgements about what people might deserve. Because the truth is, only God’s mercy prevents any of us from getting what we deserve.

The month of Ramadan for many Muslims reveals how in His mercy, God provides, just as the time of Lent or Yom Kippur reveals something similar to Christians or Jews. In this broken world, each tragedy reveals how we need God so much. Those committing these atrocities are just exposing who we all are if we don't have love, if we don’t have God; the dark twisty parts of being human where we desperately need God's light. Only His love can illuminate this dark world in any meaningful way.

Blog Every Day in May: Day One

So I'm trying something this month called Blog Every Day in May, which, as the name suggests, is a challenge to blog about 31 different prompts throughout the 31 days in May. This will be quite challenging for me as I struggle to post 2 times a week and am lucky to post 6 times a month, let alone 31. But for reasons that are likely insane, I figured I'd try it.

"Day 1, Wednesday May 1: The story of your life in 250 words or less (or one paragraph... no one will be counting your words... probably)" (so it's 30 words over, but here it is):

The first and last time I was a morning person was September 19, 1987, when I arrived into this world, in Monterrey, California, at 6:35am. With two older sisters, I lived my early life striving to catch up and be just like them, which fostered my competitive streak, but to also strike my own path and be completely unique, which inspired my creative tendencies. 

As a child I was a tiny star: bright, but spacey.  Soccer, art, swimming, reading, tennis, drama, and diving defined most of my free time. Mom and Dad were (and are) amazingly loving and found ways to nurture and support my sisters and I. We grew up in the Methodist Church, which instilled a sense of purpose in selfless service as a demonstration of the Gospel. I played soccer at the University of Richmond, becoming co-captain my senior year. I also dove on the Swim and Dive team after my soccer career finished and learned about how to overcome what I thought my limits were, and how a coach fosters a championship spirit. 

Growing up outside DC led to a double major in International Studies and Spanish. Santiago, Chile, where I studied abroad holds a special space in my heart, especially because my family got to visit. Next I did what "smart" people do and followed college with Law School, staying in Richmond, focusing on international law and public interest law. After seven years, I finally fell in love with the city, but it was time to graduate. I'm now back up near DC, enjoying time with family and trying to appreciate the job I have while still trying to break into the career I want. 

Free Write Every Day: #6

Well, I remembered to write all my posts for my assignment... even if I forgot to post the last one here... oops.
Anyways, I am taking a week-long "fast" from social media for a week, so if you're looking for an update in the next 7 days, sorry but it might be awhile =) But really, let's be honest, my blogging is sporadic at best anyways.
Last free writing assignment, I actually attempted to get creative with style and form before letting my time-crunch, procrastinating, gotta get it over with ways kicked in:

Sunday February 26 11:00pm
I’m currently back in Richmond and unpacked from a fun and refreshing trip to see the family. I’m surprised that I have not used this writing time more creatively but have merely used it as a journal or reflecting space for myself.  I have never spent time trying to cultivate a writing to this extent before so I guess I fell back on a default of writing as a reflection, or subjective report of events.  I’m going to try something else for the rest of today (the last day’s) entry.
Words or short phrases relating to the weekend:
technological detox, glittering blackness, reunion of friends, paleontological diets, she spoke with the adroit word choice and the cattiness of a roommate and almost friend, laughing while feeling a deep uneasiness, further motivation to regularly exercise: swimsuit shopping in February, exhausted and sore yet feeling like I accomplished very little, with the camera as a shield protecting mt from unwanted conversation, I ventured into the throng of people.
Meta-ReflectionSince that was harder than I thought and the deadline is short approaching (as well as the knowledge I must awake in less than 7 hours, I will strive for a mixture of quantity, quality, and ease to finish this last entry of the week before searching for reflections to share or writing a new one. I guess I never had really paid attention to how much of my writing is never manifested due to the delete/backspace button.  I used to wonder what happened to the used and then discarded letters.  Since they are a digital projection onto a screen, there is never any proof over what once existed, unlike writing by hand or typewriter, where the tell-tale trace of white-out at least belies the effort a writer undertook to adjust what was written. this can be sort of a metaphor for life in the digital age.  Photos are taken, reviewed, and deleted within seconds.  No longer does the casual or amateur photographer have to wait an hour at the very least to evaluate the shots.  140 character manifestations of thoughts are instantly broadcast to the world (and can be just as quickly deleted) through twitter.  Does this mean less thought, intention or planning goes into what we produce? Is there really any sort of valid argument to counter this thought?

Free Write Every Day: Day #5

Saturday February 25 10:00am


Today my plan is to spend all day with my sisters and then various friends as we set up the party for "Rah", my middle sister.  Her birthday is tomorrow and that is the reason I traveled up to northern Virginia to see the family.  For the last three years I have been able to do this and I definitely enjoy the short-lived breath of fresh air I can get outside of Richmond and away from the law school.  Unfortunately, my obligations follow me up here, and do not cease to exist but at least I have plenty to motivate and distract me up here.  My other sister does get a little bit jealous and she has let me know how bummed she is that I am not able to make it up for her birthday.  Unfortunately hers is in late April during exam-study-crunch time and I can’t quite justify leaving everything to travel home at that stage in the game.

The odd thing about this particular trip is that my parents have just about finished the process of renovating the kitchen/family room and other parts of the main floor.  This means all of the furniture that normally adorns the foyer, living room, dining room, kitchen/family room space has been moved into storage.  Lamps, tables, couches, chairs, pots, pans, bowls, shelves, and plenty of boxes fill our garage, our neighbors garage, and the upstairs.  This includes my old bedroom, which as I am the daughter living furthest from home and least likely to visit during the renovation meant that it is full to the brim. I actually ended up staying in Rah’s room, which was perfectly fine as her bed is a double, where as mine is merely a twin.  


This made me think about the ways the places we sleep can become a reflection of who we are. We decorate them according to our tastes and convenience yet they themselves can shape our thoughts, moods and emotions. For example the room where I grew up has plenty of decorations, images, and leftover crumbs from the time spent there, while the hotel room I stayed at for two nights last summer had maybe a dirty towel and some trash to witness my presence after I left.  these rooms themselves can shape our thoughts, moods and emotions.  I sleep most of my nights these days at a room in a house in richmond, posters, hats, and Christmas lights adorn the walls, displaying parts of me, but even still, it is not “mine.” 

Free Write Every Day: Day #4

Friday February 24 11:00pm

So I traveled home today.  Like most times that I drive home in the middle of the day, it just seemed to highlight how I can be two totally different people at once.  It feels like the last 24 hours were really two completely separate days and when you think about it, it is actually sort of mind boggling how in todays world in less than 2 hours I can be 100 miles away.  This never ceases to amaze me when travelling by plane.  


For instance, this past fall I took a trip to Las Vegas to play in the national championship tournament for an adult kickball league (a story in itself how my sister roped me into this sport in the first place).  I was in Las Vegas for less than 48 hours and by the time I got back it, the journey and the time spent almost seemed as if they belonged to someone else.  As if they were not mine to own, that I couldn’t have travelled that far and returned in such a short time.

An even better example occured last summer when my grandfather turned 85.  My grandmother had planned a surprise party for his birthday.  Bizers and Robinsons made the trek to Huntsville Alabame from Texas, Florida, Kentucky, and Virginia.  Unfortunately the main party (and my grandfather’s birthday) fell on Saturday May 6, the day after finals. Even more unfortunate was the actual surprise was set to take place May 5, a day I needed to devote to my last final exam.

I found a ticket where I could leave Saturday mid-morning from Richmond for Huntsville, and then leave to go back to Richmond the following day in the early afternoon.  In order to afford the ticket I had to incur a layover in Charlotte, N.C. a city towards which I have a semi-reasonable wrath due to interactions and games with their Varsity women’s soccer team (grrr).

Unfortunately, due to some ridiculous layovers and delays, I got to the party and it was great to see the whole family.  I was definitely bummed to miss a bart of the whole cleebration but I was even more bummed when the airline cancelled my initial flight, which then meant I had a longer layover.  I once did the math and I think I ended up travleing for $18+/hours for a 16 hour trip.  however, I am so glad I got to see my grandpa’s happiness to be surrounded by so many people that love him.

Free Write Every Day: Day #3 (really #7, Out of Order)

So on Thursday, February 23 I used my "free day of writing."  It was unplanned but I had a lot of work due by Friday morning and the next thing I knew, midnight had passed and seeing how I do not possess a time machine, I did not have a free-write that day.

I will use this space as a brief reflection on the time spent writing (which is weird because there are three more entries for you to read... even though I'm finished):

I guess for me, writing holds that place in my life that physical fitness or exercise holds for other people.  I think about it, I think about how I will be better for it, I think that I will not regret doing it, but inevitably most of the time I only ever think about what I want to write.  Since I am in the gym a lot (teaching yoga, teaching a core-training class, refereeing IMs or doing a personal workout) I hear a lot of "exercise talk."  You know, the little phrases people are always telling themselves to motivate them to get to the gym or to actually push themselves.  Stuff like: "you never regret a workout, you only regret not working out", or "everyday you're either getting better or worse" (I guess I actually see more of these on pinterest and have even pinned a few myself "There's no easy way to get in shape"

Can I please apply this motivation to writing/schoolwork in general?!?

I know there are times I enjoy writing, I know I have been proud of my schoolwork in the past, I know I have busted my butt to finish assignments and enjoyed it, I just don't know where that is now.  Sometimes I feel like there's so much on my plate, I let things slide because I just cannot imagine how to get everything done so I give up on one thing, but that's not how I should be approaching learning.  I have no idea how I will make it through Bar Prep this summer (that's a different post entirely unto itself)...

20+ years of formal education and I know what I should be doing, I just don't know how to get myself to do it...

Free Write Every Day: Day #2

Wednesday February 22 11:00pm

So today ended up being much busier than I initially planned but I am using my “free day” this weekend when I visit my sister for her birthday, so I gotta write something today.  It was just a rough start, I was a couple minutes late to teach yoga this morning, the first time it happened this semester, but I had to make sure I had my yoga gear (outfit and mat), classwork, shorts to wear for pilates, my work uniform and a business casual outfit for the GRIPLA (Greater Richmond Intellectual Property Law Association) event (where I tried my best to inform attorneys about the Global symposium, and found out my co-editor was sick and therefore not going about 2 hours before the event) and of course after a nonstop day (the only respite was lunch with an old friend after ash Wednesday service, and another brief meet-up at night with another friend) I realized I forgot something rather important.  

After teaching two exercise classes I went to shower and change in the locker room.  Emerging clean but slightly rushed from the shower I went to put on my nice clothing.  Unfortunately, I realized at that moment that I had not packed a regular bra.  I spent the rest of the day in my still-slightly-sweaty exercise top with the built-in sports bra under my dress.  I did my best to forget about it while surrounded by some of the best-connected trademark lawyers in the Richmond area.  Luckily my accessory was a large and sparkly purple scarf I used to strategically cover the spot where the v-neck dress showed the neckline of the exercise top.  

On a completely different note, the Symposium for Global has me pretty stressed out, I will be very glad to wake up March 16, when all of it is behind me.  I have started to seriously space out while riding this, I think that I will take it as a cue to go to bed and make up for lost sleep from last night.  Tomorrow will be busy as well and I have plenty of work left to so before making the drive up to northern Virginia.

Free Write Everyday: Day #1

For one of my more alternative classes in law school, I had to write 300-500 words a day, I figured since I shared them with my professor, I might as well share them with you all.  Also, this allowsme to post something since I have not written anything here for awhile.

First entry:

"Tuesday February 21 11:00pm
Where does my resistance to put pen to paper (or in this case, letter to keyboard) come from? I have always seemed to have trouble filling a word limit.  I had a tendency in high school to check the word count with each passing sentence to constantly update myself on exectly how many words I had left to write.  I do not know why this is because I have no trouble filling up any available silence with spoken communication, and I actually like the intention behind the words I chose to put down to paper.  I guess I like that I can sound more put together or intelligent on a  written document without the “likes” “ahs” and “ums” that occur, often against my best effort while speaking.
I struggle to write thank-you notes, I rarely wrote the observation portions of the labs in science class, and in my eighth grade “weekly journal” for English class I spent the lunch break before the last class of each quarter frantically putting pencil to notebook to write all nine entries I had not yet written.  In all of these cases, I thought about what I wanted to write a lot... a lot! I wanted each “thank-you” to be sincere and heartfelt, I wanted to pick the right adjective to describe the experiment and I think I wanted my journal entries to be a good quality.  What is so surprising is with amount of time I spent reflecting on the possibilities of what I could write, I never left myself enough time to actually write what I wanted.
I put extra pressure on myself when writing because I am a harsh critic of my work.  If I say something it can fade away into memory (where we so easily edit things to see them the way we want to) but when I write I know I will be looking at it later and judging what I wrote.
I also think my aversion to writing comes from a compelling desire to be active and to truly write, I have to disengage from whatever activity I am doing and stop, sit and write.  My monkey-mind and my restless body have a hard time staying still to focus and write, especially when it comes to the preparation it can take to write something well.  In this way, I allow my other activities or work take over my attention and I become so easily distracted from actually writing."