Epiphanies From Behind Two Lenses – or Spec-tacular Brainthoughts

- Repeated trying on and taking off of glasses at the bewildering optics shop can and will result in friction burns behind the ears and repetitive stress disorder on the nose.

- Relying on woman in safety-goggle-esque glasses to be your style advisor is in spec selection is an error that deserves its result.

- The world is more attractive when Owl is not wearing glasses. Be-spectacled, you’re all spotty, hairy, brightly colored and too detailed.

- Attempting to take off a small-necked shirt while wearing glasses is a mistake you should only make once. If twice, then you deserve the broken nose you’ll have given yourself.

- Drinking of boiling hot drinks is no longer possible while be-spectacled unless you can do so with the temporary blindness resulting from steamed-up lenses.

- Owl’s complexion is not as good as visual impairment had lead her to believe.

- It is important to take off one’s glasses BEFORE attempting to do wudu. Not only will the world appear bleary when you splash water on your face, but you’re also liable to bruise your ears and cheekbones when your hands make contact with the forgotten spectacles now sticking out two inches from your face.

- When driving along, thinking idly to yourself that your glasses really don’t make much of a difference, it is probably because you don’t have them on.

- It is unwise to iron clothing without your specs on. But if you do, don’t bother to put your glasses on all day, unless you want a rude awakening when you take a good look at yourself in the mirror.

- Disembarking from air conditioned car into steaming hot desert, or exiting from chilly office into same said sauna-like locality will result in temporary blindness from resulting fog-up.

- Clothing once thought to be clean and unblemished, which was proudly worn to work the day before, will mysteriously appear to be quite grungy when glasses are on face.

- Don’t expect a pessimistic younger brother, long harbouring suspicious of your supreme nerdiness, to find glasses any sort of improvement. Rather, expect him to laugh aloud at your new face for upwards of five minutes.

Be careful what you wish for.

I’ve been having weird headaches for the past couple months. They vary between stabbing pain in the top of my head and pressure behind my right eye. I’d been dutifully ignoring it, except for the constant whining, in the hopes that it would simply disappear.

It hasn’t, and instead has managed to get worse, waking me up in the middle of the night, making me nauseous, causing me to wince unattractively most of the day, and lending me the classic pose of a tragic hero.

So my mom and my friends launched a nag campaign to get me to the doctor. Anytime I grabbed my head or covered one eye, they gave me ‘the look’ and ‘the speech.’ Yes, I know doctors are good for you. But I don’t like them all the same. They make me feel substandard.

Anyways, I went. To an opthamologist, which is a word I can type but cannot pronounce.

First the guy peered into my eyes. That was kinda scary. I don’t think I’ve ever had a person’s head so close to mine. Then he made me look in this machine at this picture of an idyllic farm house. I’m not sure if he was trying to figure out if I was a country girl or a city girl. I didn’t comment on it. It seemed suspicious.

Lastly, he asked me to read his chart. I thought he was joking. There wasn’t anything on it. It must have been a trick question. I gathered that the blurry jumbled blobs up there were letters of sorts, so I made it up. “There’s a B, a spiral and a fish.”

My frog-faced opthamologist was not amused. To punish me he stuck glasses on my face that made me look like an extra from Cyborg. Then he dropped down a lense. Suddenly, the first line was clear. Again, I suspected a trick. “Is this a color contrast thing? Are these special tinted lenses that react to the special colored letters?”

He said nothing and dropped down another one. Everything looked sharper and I realized there was a second line of letters I hadn’t noticed. And none were fish. Shucks. After a few more lenses were tried, and I was made to look like a woman-shaped telescope, he was done. “You’re near-sighted. I’m writing you a prescription for glasses.”

*silence*
*deliberance*
*denial*

Not me! I’m the girl with the 20-20 vision! I’m the one who can read the roadsigns before everyone! I’m the nutter who doesn’t turn on the light to read and at night reads by the light shining through the crack of the door! I’m the one with the personality of a bookworm but none of the appearance!

Well, when I was a little girl I wanted glasses. I thought they’d make me special. Maybe they’d even make me smart. Now I have them. Not so special after all. And definitely not smart.

This is a rare lull in my work day. I’ve filed my news report, helped a friend with theirs, and even managed a business story, eaten lunch, had too much coffee and I’ve still got two hours to go. I sit to write and it occurs to me I’ve got nothing.

I haven’t really had any worthwhile thoughts to share with you. There isn’t much time for thinking, which is the sad secret behind the stagnation that is adulthood. Once you’re finally educated and mature enough to be deemed worthy to make your own life decisions, you get swamped with responsibilities, worries and work.

From then on out, it’s life as a zombie automaton. You will have no more than five minutes from now until forever to stop and figure things out. The next thing you know, at 40 your preteen rudely awakens you to the fact that you really don’t know much, have no beliefs, no convictions, no surety and no substance. Why did you bother to self-perpetuate your own pointlessness at all?

Did I ever mention that’s exactly the sort of life I don’t want? I’ve never wanted a 9 to 5. I have a 9 to 6. I never saw myself in a cubical. I have an office with one-foot walls. I’ve always pitied those with a long commute. Mine eats three hours a day. I always thought life was about who you were at home, to your family. I rarely get to see mine. Work was meant to be a means to an end. Now it just seems to be the end.

Sigh.

I do know what I want though.

I want to live someplace green with old trees. I want to be able to hear water and feel rain. I need to smell the coming of winter and hear the crunching of leaves underfoot.

I want to walk for miles and see no one. I want to leave behind the din of cars and commotion. I want a silence broken only by the sounds of wind, birds and bugs.

I want there to be a full 24 hours in the day for me to enjoy, not race against. I want to wake early and look forward to each moment. I want no clocks, schedules or deadlines.

I want to have little, but least of all worries. I want a life of labor – dignified, productive and pure. I want my most valuable possessions to be faith and love.

I want an open door and a warm hearth. I want to give friends and strangers the best of what I have never worry about finding more. I want everyone to be good people.

I want a world without fear, duplicity and hopelessness. I want no need to read the newspapers, watch TV or check over my shoulder. I want safety for everyone.

I told this to my sister the other day. She thought about it, quietly said, “Owl, it’s not a place you’re wanting, it’s heaven.”

So it is. I guess that’s why we aim for it.

Things what I thought I'd do or have when I became a grownup but don't got.

* My own vending machines. Somehow, my seven-year-old brain thought the entire purpose of having money was to turn it into quarters and push it into slots. I figured I'd have one for all the major food groups - gumball, chips, candy bar and soda pop. Genius I was.

* Inflatable furniture and fauna. When I say furniture, I really mean my own Bouncy Castle. I loved those things and was heart broken when I was too big to be let in (Man to 17 year old Aniraz "Um, excuse me ma'am, but I think you surpass the weight limit".) And fauna would be inflatable dinasaurs and frogs.

* Disney World. I've never been there. As much as I never thought I'd live to be so old as to go to the sixth grade, I most definitely didn't plan on being an ancient grownup and never having been to the most magical place on earth. Alas.

* Powpowpower Wheels! Again, I wasn't in possession of the brightest foresight at seven. I never planned for a car, I planned for a Tyco RC or maybe my own mini jeep, and at the least, I'd have one of those PlaySchool red cars.

* Edible objects. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and The Wizard of Oz left an indelible mark on me brains. I figured household items should be eatable and preferably sugary and sour. They still should be, but I can't imagine sitting on them.

* A unicycle. When I was little I looked up to this awesome kid named Dean. He was big and tall and best of all, he rode a unicycle. If I couldn't grow up to be him, I'd take the next best thing - his unicycle. He never let me ride it, and now imagining my mother's response if he brought me home with a crumpled faced and a toothless mouth I don't blame him.

* Catapaults. Though I did buy myself a serious slingshot for my 21st birthday, I never managed the full-blown trebuchet I thought I'd have to launch slime and Nicklodeon-esque slop on my near and dear ones.

* A treehouse. This has got to be ever apartment-trapped, city-dwelling kid's dream. Whenever we'd go and visit a relative or friend with a TREE I'd go and make myself a temporary house in it. I'm sure it got the other parents wondering what was up with the weird visiting kid steadily setting up shop in their foliage but hey, you gotta make the most of what you have.

* My own zoo. I used to love animals. Seriously, any kind, cats, dogs, reptiles, amphibians, even some kinds of bugs. I thought the best job in the whole world had to be zoo keeper. After cleaning up behind my lil bro and his friends, I think I've had a taste enough of zoo keeping. I still like animals though, but the slimy ones don't appeal to me quite like they used to.

* All the pickles, Kool Aid powder, instant noodles and salami I could never have. Now it sounds like the recipe for biological warfare.

Life never turns out the way you plan it, no? So what did you guys want when you were little?

Just cuz stuff is hairy up in hyah of late don't mean I can't still laugh. Humor and a desperate faith in Allah are what keep you going, more the latter than the former.

My driving instructor is a nice Iraqi lady. She's sharp and bristly like all people who school and humble grown men and women on a daily basis, but she's also real and funny.

The rules for driving here are unlike anything I was taught in the US. Some of them are down right idiotic, like having to check over your shoulder before turning or merging ANYWHERE. Or how because I'm driving a manual car, she wants me to put the parking break on any time we stop, but won't let me put the gear in neutral. There are also some wonderfully myopic protocols on signaling and the etiquette of being a 'student driver' (stop driving like a driver, you a student!).

The good thing is, my instructor is well aware of how unrealistic these rules are. Sometimes, I think she's a little TOO aware.

While stopped at a red light she said: "Put on your signal here, I want you to get into right lane."
Completely stripped of driving will, I instantly comply.
"Now we wait for someone to give us a space."
After five minutes, no one budges to give us an opening. She clucks in shame, "See, you turn on signal, no one lets you in. I never turn on my signal! When I want space, I turn my wheels at the newest, most expensive car, and you watch, they move like lightening!"
My sheltered student ears are amazed at what they hear. "Really?" I ask.
"Yes, of course. But never do this to the van or truck guys, they don't care if you hit their car or come too close. Aim for the Lexus!"

While driving down one of Dubai's busier streets, my lovely instructor also takes it upon herself to point out the hidden speed radars. "You see, it's there, inside that car. Three times I don't see this radar and I get big fine! They give me black spots on my license! Now I know where to slow down."
I'm all ears, amazed that the woman who's never let me reach third gear is talking about speeding.
She sagely advises me further, "See, when you see this model car parked on busy rode with big black things in the back, it is a radar car. Then slow down!"


"I tell you something," she said one day where I had been driving well. "You are good driver, but you never take your foot off the clutch all the way."
Confused and bewildered at what seems to be an error no one has ever pointed out to me, I instantly take my foot of the clutch. The car dies. We had been stopped, in first gear.
She laughs. "No, not like this! When you go from first to second, or second to third, like that. You need to take your foot off all the way when you're done gearing up."
I try complying, and find the car bouncing every time. "But it's so rough like that!" I complain.
"Yes, I know. For me same thing. You know, I never pass manual test. I only teach it," she tells me, looking like the cat that ate the canary. "Maybe you will be lucky when you take the final test. Maybe the police instructor won't notice. I hardly notice. You wear such big skirts I cannot see your feet."
Then she slaps her hands together and excitedly tells me, "On test day, you wear your BIGGEST skirt. And you fluff it up so she can see nothing! Also, turn on the AC highest, so she cannot hear the clutch and gears!"

0_0

You can't say I'm not learning. It's not driving, but it's something all the same.

Sorry again for my lack of updateness. Just when I thought I had the time, energy and resources to go back to regular blogging, stuff happens. Stuff, by the way, is my G-rated version of the famous bumper sticker. Insert appropriate profanity at your leisure.

Sigh.

Life is so funny sometimes. Really. The craziest stuff keeps happening, one on top of the other, and the only thing a body can do is laugh sadly and pray to God to help them out. You’ve probably heard me say this before, but my life is the wackest drama that no body would ever watch. It’s too unbelievable.

That reminds me of my favorite Dawud Wharnsby Ali line – Allah only tests those that He loves. God, in His infinite Wisdom, uses trials and discomfort to purify us and strengthen our character. If He didn’t think we could handle it, He wouldn’t have sent the madness our way. I gotta remember that.

So yeah, I’m praying. That’s really all a body can do. If you need something, seek it from The One Who Provides. And I’m going to ask you guys to pray for me too. Please ask Allah to help my family out in our time of crisis and to protect us from any undeserved ill. Fata barak Allah.

No one makes a dua (prayer) without Allah giving him what he asks for, or keeping away from him a similar amount of evil, provided he does not ask for something sinful, or for breaking family ties (Jabir related this as the Prophet saying: Tirmidhi).

"When My servants ask about Me, I am indeed close to them. I listen to the prayer of every supplicant, when he calls on Me. Let them also, with a will, listen to My call, and believe in Me, so that they may walk in the right way" (Qur'an 2:186).