and then our exile

...ayyatuhan-nafs...naseeti ajalaki wa ma'aalaki?

Recently—the six months blues. I wrote a midway checkup, the feeling of cutting disappointment, I had wasted so much of my time here, in six months I finished only two books and a small matn, two courses at JD and a month mostly travelling, while tales of compatriots back in Edmonton soaking themselves in stimulative drugs to stay ahead of the university pack. A list of texts to finish over the next five months, of things to do, while unopened books bought stack around me, even the Qur'an—"you can run but you can't hide". So much of time has been and is spent wrestling with history; attempted excuses--that I sit on a pile of words (p.314 of journal and 800 lines of poetry), that I have learned to live in a foreign city, blah blah…but a small price, a small price to pay indeed. So this failure, coupled with the entropy in the house, that I was unable to get rest out of sleep—the six month blues. And self-sarcasm, Catholicism externalizing of guilt and poof, absolved.
b: but it's been more than six months.
e: that’s because you're slow.
I wanted to go home just for a few days, to see family, to sleep, and then return.
But the blues passed, and here I am once more.

A fever and cough, and many many dreams which all disappear upon awakening. Slept for nine hours, awoke at noon, left my room for advil.
e: man, you need a haircut. i thought i was being attacked by wolf-men.

last night on skype, 1.30am:
ph-r-d: your englisch used to have a wuddistani accent, a canadian touch...and now...the way you said 'that's so messed up' just sounded so american--seriously dukhi, look at yourself.
b: don't say this to me! you will make me an outcast.

b: last night i talked to a friend, and he told me my lahjah was very american. that kind of depressed me.
e: eh, like i said, lowest common denominator. wha', di' ja spek ta go ba' talkin' lak this? (atrocious cockney.)
b: also, i had a little girl sing me the alphabet...when she got to the end she said ex, wy, zed.
e: astaghfirullah...astaghfirullah. the horror.

b: have you prayed zohr yet?
e: no. but dhohr doesn't have a zee.
b: that's right. it's got a zed.

e: so there's a whole group of people coming to the airport?
b: that's what it looks like.
e: it's a testament to my greatness.
b: it's a testament to the fact we all want to make sure you're out of the country.

b: [depressedly looking at the ceiling] this rain is constant.
e: it's good for you.
b: don't be mean.
e: it clears out your lungs...
b: [blank look]
e: ...and replaces them with grey mold.

LRogers: oh, and basit--how is basit doing? in a climate of unrest and so much turmoil
--he's doing fine, but he doesn't really talk about that much. was in beirut recently.
it’s so sad, lives being cut short early.

The two-year anniversary of Rachel Corrie's murder. Supposedly ECAWAR's putting on a rally/march tomorrow, the poor Eye-rackies. Like that ever made a difference either.

A moment of silence in respect for FarooqM, who leaves the path of the desi pseudoscientist to follow his dream. And we're taking mostly the same courses next year, which is beautiful.

For some reason, everyone's buzzing about these supposedly "progressive muslims", a woman’s going to deliver a khutbah, etc etc. [Faraz Rabbani] has links to solid, decent, traditional perspectives on this.

Pictures coming soon.

Apple chocolate pancakes are good.

Shaikh Nuh coming to Damascus for the first time in six months—a gathering tomorrow morning.

I ask questions of the various readers of this thing, but y'all are a rather unresponsive lot. Today's demands are 1) for some concrete examples of how the Canadian accent differs from the American (without bringing in Newfoundland) and 2) any non-bake recipes anyone has for comfort-food. Du'a, of course, is standard.

z: too bad you're not studying ghazali—you could be my cardiologist.