The Self
If you plan on reading anything past this paragraph, please read the following in its entirety. If you don't, well, let's just say you won't get the "big picture."
As I sit down to write this, I can't help but think of the motive: is it because I'm fed up with people asking questions? Not quite, not yet. Is it because I'm "deprived" of instant message conversations? Perhaps, but perhaps not. Or is it because I want to be a braggart? Honestly, I can't say. It might be the first reason, but it might also be the last one, as well. Even as I write, the years of training, if you will, I received in high school English is wrestling for control. Ah, yes - a thesis. Over the next few minutes, I'll try to detail as well as I can the things many people seem to enjoy asking me. Things I find amusing, interesting. By the end, if you paid any attention, you'll know me about as well as I know myself.
Like everyone else who tries to say things nowadays, I'll start with the clich� "I don't know where to begin�" Hmm� no, that's not true. I know exactly where to begin. My name. I may have introduced myself under various names, but as I got to know you, you eventually came to know - either by my revelation or an intelligent venture on your part - — my real name. I am called Shatil. My middle name is one I share with several hundred million others: Mohammad. My surname, if you could call it that, is Rafiullah. For pronunciation's sake, I'll transliterate my first name: it's pronounced "shah-TEEL." I won't bother wasting time transcribing the latter two.
My name, like that of very few people I know nowadays, carries meaning. It was originally Arabic, but because I was named in my home country, the name is not really what it was. It's only half: the full name is "shatt al arab." If you've the smarts, you know what that is. If you lack that knowledge, it's a waterway of about 200 kilometers length, the confluence of the Tigris and Euphrates before they empty their waters into the Persian Gulf. My middle name comes from a man who lived over 1400 years ago on the Arabian Peninsula: Muhammad, the son of Abdullah, in Islam, the final messenger of God to humankind. For those of you who are aware enough, you may have noticed my spelling the same word differently: they're pronounced the same way, but because of the troubles people go through to have their names transliterated to English, it doesn't always come out the same. Muhammad means "praiseworthy" or "one worthy of praise." I don't claim to be either. I did not name myself, after all, my parents did.
My last name has been the cause of much confusion: my father is not "Mr. Rafiullah" — I'm the only person in the family who is "Mr. Rafiullah." In my culture, we don't use the family name of our fathers as the surname of our children. I was born in my home country — yes I am FoB — and thus have my own name. I don't know what my parents had in mind when assigning this as my "proper" name. Bangladeshi culture demands a first name, sort of a "nickname," I guess, and a last name, which is the "real" name. "Raafi" in Arabic means "exalter." Allah is, of course, God. Therefore, the translation of my name would be "[the] exalter of God." Now you may wonder, does that mean I exalt God? Or does that mean I am the one through whom God exalts others? I wouldn't know.
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After my name, the thing most remarkable about me is my physical appearance. Those of you who've seen me know me as one of the tallest people in your acquaintance. Those of who haven't seen me — or haven't seen me in years: chances are I'm probably one of the tallest people you know. As I write this, I stand erect at approximately 1.93 meters. This is probably the closest anyone other than myself or my physician will know of my true height. I know most, if not all of you, have asked at one point or another — or many — after my height. Depending on whom you are, your blood type, size of your left pinky, and zip code, I may have given you different answers. No, I'm joking, it's not that. If it's any apology, consider the fact that that is the question more people ask me than any other. And I mean any other. It gets to you after a while. I am a "short" rectangle in the sense that my wingspan is greater than my height. I believe it was two meters from fingertip to fingertip the last I was measured. My mass is something even I'm not sure of because it fluctuates. It's rarely the same. It could be because I can ingest over two kilograms of food in one go and have a metabolism that can handle that. Heck, it could be the sunlight; I don't know. The last I measured, unfed, unwatered, unclothed, I was 68 kilograms. And yes, that means I'm underweight, as well. My BMI is about 18.2.
If it interests anyone else, I was told at my last physical checkup that my pulse was overly fast. This might lead to an early death, but I think we'll all find out if that's true sooner or later. Oh, yes. My ears are pointed, they always have been. I think they struck others as rather funny while I was younger, but nowadays, they seem to be proportionally correct for my body size. For those wondering what that long, white scar is doing on my throat, I'm standing beside you, wondering, too. I don't ever remember having my throat slashed, and neither does anyone else I know, so maybe it's just an odd skin thing.
I keep my "beard" if you will for a multitude of reasons, ranging from religious to cosmetic. Islam advocates trimming of the mustache rather than the beard, in contrast to the practice of non-Muslims of the time. Personal preference and need sometimes meld together: all of my life I've been "hanging out" with people far older than me, and as I've only recently found out, it's not easy to treat people who look much younger than you as peers. I look years younger without the beard, and I intend to keep; it makes me more presentable. And it does hide the scar. Speaking of looks — those of you who haven't seen me in a while have every reason to believe I look completely different. I don't look oriental anymore — that was when I first came to California, back in second grade — but I don't know if I look like I did several years back.
My shoe size is currently 48.5, though I might be going on 49 sometime soon.
In almost every sense I'm a genetic freak of nature. If you've questions on anything else feel free to amuse me.
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For those of you who've some basic knowledge of Arabic or those of you who cheated and used Google, you already know. Others don't. Raafi," as I explained earlier, means exalter. In Islam "ar-Raafi" is one of the 99 attributes of God. God is the Exalter. "Abd" is the Arabic word for servant or slave. Every human is a slave or servant of God, but whether an obedient or deviant servant depends on the person. If you've bridged the two words, you came up with "abd-ar-raafi" as "servant of the Exalter." Why did I choose that particular one over the 98 others? It might've been on a whim, or it might've been because it already relates to one of my names. And no, you can't chain the names to mean that I'm a servant of myself.
Kelmain� it's best if you kept this one to yourself.
Everyone notices the lock that appears next to my screen name, but only a fraction of people ask what it is. Whether it's common courtesy to leave curiosity unquenched or whether you assume it's just one of the other eccentric things that make my mantle, I'll address it. The lock indicates my ability to engage in encrypted conversations. How? Through the use of a security certificate — it's necessary for both people to be able to engage in secure conversations for it to even happen. You've seen show-offs using middle_man fake the security sign; mine is real. If you don't know why secure conversations are of any use, I don't know why I should try to make you think differently. Monitoring instant message conversations is a fairly easy thing to do if you've the know-how. Naturally, there are things you don't want others to listen in on, and even simple encryption assures that what you type is for the intended eyes only. Perverted minds out there are at this moment wondering what could I possibly say that I wouldn't want the general population to know of — and there are those of you wondering how to get encryption capabilities. It's fairly simple, but if you don't need it� then there's really no point in getting it.
Another aspect of my instant messaging life is my mercurial buddy info. A changing info� oh, my God, why would you even care? I don't understand why anyone would care, but here goes. I like to stay on what's current: if someone makes a point I find interesting, amusing — even annoying — it'll go into my info. That depends, though, on who you are. Some don't like being there, while some seem to have no other purpose in life but to try to make it into others' infos. I look at current events in politics and in technology. I rarely pay attention to sports updates; highlights are the only thing in those of interest to me. If I see something interesting, I like to share it with others.
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Naturally, my religion would be another thing of interest to you. In the United States, there are anywhere between six and twelve million Muslims. If you ask me personally, I'd pick a number toward the conservative side. 8 million of us in the US, yet the average person knows next to nothing, the uncommon person thinks he knows and doesn't really know, and the rare person may have the slightest of true ideas as to what Islam, my way of life, is and what makes the Muslim, one who follows Islam. If you're one of the people who've been in speech with me, you'll remember I did a brief informative on it. To be a Muslim, one must believe in the testimony of faith, "There is no God save God and that Muhammad is the messenger of God." After that, there are four other pillars, if you will, of Islam, and there are six pillars of faith, things a Muslim must believe in. I'll leave that at that and go over the misconceptions, which I think are far more important to address than the religion itself.
Muslims are not allowed to take their own lives. That means no suicide attacks. Many Muslims are at odds with this — it's not allowed in any way, shape, or form. Yet on this issue, I am at odds one of my own teachers. Just know that Islam does not condone suicide. Islam does not condone attacks on the innocent. Islam does not condone much of what goes on in the modern world. If you want a definitive opinion on the recent incident at the Russian school, you'll have to wait. Remember, though, that you hear of Russian children being murdered by Chechens. You don't hear the cries of the Chechens children as they are slaughtered with impunity by the Russian military. That has been going on for years. However, tu quoque does not make it right — the children did nothing to the Chechens.
I'm sorry to have had to take you into discussing things like that. Most people in this country lead very sheltered lives. They're entirely oblivious to what happens around them. I know that some of you are aware of what happens, indeed, far more than I am. Yet there are others who care nothing for the death of a nameless child farther away that he or she can drive in an hour, in some unpronounceable country, in an unknown district, in the arms of a forgotten mother whose tears over the untimely death of a piece of her heart cannot move the chunk of cobblestone that beats within the chest of the average American adolescent. Ignorance may be bliss for you, but your ignorance may be death to someone else.
Islam places stringent rules on male-female social interactions. I've already discussed this with some of you, but others have never heard of it, yet. I'm not quite sure how I want to tackle this part, though; I don't want to offend anyone. The fact of the matter is, a Muslim male isn't supposed to touch a non-family female — of any religion — in any way whatsoever. Muslims do not engage in premarital relationships. In other words, we don't "date." No handshakes, no hugs, and of course, no kisses. It puts me in a sticky situation in this country. Females freely shake hands, here, for those who aren't familiar. And worse yet, sometimes they hug you. Awkward in the latter case is an understatement. I'm there with someone else's arms wrapped around me, stiff as a log� yes, awkward is very much an understatement. In retrospect I see that even in this country, as little as 40 years ago, it was considered taboo for a man to extend his hand to shake that of a female's, unless, of course, the she extended her hand first. I tried explaining why I wouldn't shake hands, but few people understood. It's not that I'm a misogynist or sexist. I'm just not supposed to touch you. It makes for very awkward social situations when you give an impromptu on religious etiquette for so "small" a thing.
The explanation is simple: if I touch one part of a woman and find it� appealing� I may begin to desire more. Somehow, it takes effort to get even that bit out. If the initial contact never happens, then nothing is left to chance.
Religion is the one thing that can cause tears to flow more often than — . Religion is the one thing that can bubble happiness through me more often than — . The beauty of the Qur'an is something I have never seen in anything else. By this I'm not comparing apples to oranges. I'm comparing apples relative to apples and oranges relative to oranges. The Qur'an as a book is beautiful. Religion makes me happy to be alive. It's literally the only thing that keeps me here. Worldly possessions, eccentric amusement, beautiful women mean nothing to me. Had I believed that life ended with death, I would've jumped off a building or slit my wrists to see how it would go. However, Islam doesn't allow that, so I'll have to live my life and live it on-the-fly.
And religion is the one thing that can make me angry enough to break free of my own restraints. I'm willing to take almost any insult from anyone regarding anything about me. Should religion be the thing about me that's insulted, though� that's when I'll react. The teaching of Islam is sacred. It's because some religions were taught wrong that they were lost, or worse yet, corrupted. This has been the case of many faiths in the world. I despise with every fiber in me anyone who teaches Islam incorrectly. If you don't know, don't teach. It's better for the learner — talib, shall we say? — to be ignorant and have that as an excuse than learn a little and go about everything the wrong way. I can't describe to you how I seethe when I see some self-proclaimed big shot make his rounds and receive respect from everyone when in truth, he knows nothing. I can't tell you how utterly painful it is to hear the — 'an recited wrong by people who think they're too high and mighty to need correction. And I'm not saying this because I've seen it maybe once or twice. Oh, no, not that. I've not only seen it, I've experienced it.
Years back, as a child, I was set to learn from a "teacher" who knew less than I — and slapped me across the face every time I didn't mispronounce everything his way. May Allah have mercy on him: the slap to the face is blatantly un-Islamic, and his teachings?
I find it very funny when I'm at a little community gathering of "Muslims" and am asked to recite. The person preceding me was encouraged to "bust out that Saudi" accent of his. Few Arabs nowadays, let alone Saudis, know how the — 'an is supposed to be recited, but they don't know that. What, do they actually give a damn about the meaning? No, no, of course not. They're in it for the melodies. They're in it because etiquette doesn't allow them to pull out their iPods and crank up the music. So, God forgive me, I've recited for the sensory pleasure of others. If prizes are handed out, a prize — sometimes first place — goes to the person who sounded best in the opinion of the mob, not the one who had the best tajweed, adherence to the rules of pronunciation. Your voice can sound like a train wreck, but if you've got the tajweed down, to a Muslim you're a hero. You'd think they'd at least make the right choice when it comes to leading prayer, but no, not even there. The only comfort is that though this may be the majority, there are a great many out there who are knowledgeable about what their way of life is.
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I hope you enjoyed your trip into this little treatise on me. You now know about as much as I care to tell most people about myself.
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I asked earlier that should you consider reading, you should read as far as I ask you to. You needn't read any further. In fact, if you're unsteady in your own personal beliefs, you should stop reading now. If you like me as you think I am, then you should stop, too. The following is me in reality, and reality isn't always the prettiest spectacle. I've answered most questions already. The following is how I think. It does not in any way reflect my other affiliations — religious or otherwise — unless I say so explicitly. If you're still reading, I hope you have a purpose in doing so. And once again, should you begin, please finish.
The Purposeful Me
The Obstacles of Life
Welcome to my world.
I'm a staunch believer in purpose: everything in life must have a purpose of some kind. If it's one of the — sadly — purposeless things life offers, I usually try to count myself out. If you've known me long enough, you might've noticed whatever I do tends to have a purpose. Sometimes, it's only a rationalization on my part. Now, you may not see the purpose of it, but I certainly do. If there's no point in doing something, why go through with it? I laugh knowing that you might think you'll try to be more cautious around me now, but you needn't worry. Even if you see no purpose in some courses of action, I do.
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Welcome to my world.
I consider people obstacles. Everyone in life is an obstacle to one extent or another — the mother who tucked you into bed while you were a child, the father who bought you your car. The girl or guy you consider "attractive." Your siblings, your acquaintances, your family, your friends. Every living person is an obstacle. You're fettered by them, restrained so you can't break free, so you can't be the real you. Yet at the same time, they are the benchmarks by which you define yourself. In truth, it is they who define who you are. Even if you have identical goals, there will always be differences. Because of these differences, that person is an obstacle.
Now, you may be thinking that I objectify people, but does that matter? People have objectified each other since the dawn of time. Men have objectified women as mere trinkets to be worn till they rot with age; then the same organs that man once marveled at become objects of disgust. What is it to you if I add men to the list? If you tell me you've never considered someone else an object, I'll brand you a liar. You're not pure. You're human. You've been an object to someone sometime in the past. Someone has been, and still might be, an object to you. In fact, that person may be an object to you right now — it could be me.
As with anything there are different levels to obstacles. Some are dangerous while others are mere nuisances. Some you can never be sure of if you've subconsciously trained yourself to ignore them. The most dangerous of obstacles are the ones that can arouse your emotions. Emotions keep you from doing what you must. They make life not just painful, but sensationally so. Unless you were brought up in the ideal environment — in which case you wouldn't be reading this — you can try and will fail to remove emotions from your system. The emotions will remain, either way, and those who can arouse your emotions will remain the most dangerous of obstacles.
First among obstacles is family. The normal person cannot break free of family ties. If a family member dies, you will undoubtedly cry. However, is it worth being tossed around by people who do nothing but hold you back? Perhaps it is, and perhaps not. That's not for me to judge. Try as you might, you'll find it difficult at best to raise your hand against a family member. Family always comes first.
After immediate family, there are those special persons out there you care about. Over the years, you get to know people. Undoubtedly, in some of these cases, you form very strong connections. They're akin to kin, if you will. Your closest friends� there's nothing to keep them from turning on you, yet your feelings for them keep you from being able to do the same should the need ever arise. They are obstacles in your path. They keep you from doing what is necessary. They waste your time. Yet without them, you would be all alone.
Of all the people I've met over the years, I don't yet know a single one who can bear to be alone. I don't know who appreciates the blessing loneliness can really be. If you want to, try it. You'll fail. You'll conjure imaginary friends to keep you company. You'll go insane.
After family and close friends, the most dangerous of obstacles are your acquaintances. These are the people who are most often objectified for one reason or another. Am I an object to others? Of course. To you? Perhaps. I possess knowledge others don't, abilities others never trained themselves in. For that, I'm an object to them. People who are objects to you are also obstacles — you can't do without them at all times. Or at the least you can't do quite as well without them. Then among your acquaintances are those special people who you have� feelings for, the plane between the levels, if you will. Either you've been through some problem together and come out friends, or you're simply attracted to the person. If it's the latter case, then it's very, very serious. Infatuation is possibly the worst disease a mind can be afflicted with. The person forces you — at times entirely unintentionally on their part — to go out of your way to do things. It's not worth it. Most of the time, the other person doesn't care who or what you are. Other times, they may play along just to get what they want from you: you're an object to them, and they're obstacles to you. In essence, the most dangerous of obstacles is anyone who can alter your pulse.
There is a final, ambiguous category: it happens to contain the persons you're unsure of. One of Sun Tzu's best pieces of advice is to know your enemy and yourself because "� If you know neither the enemy nor yourself," you will fail. Though the word "enemy" may be a bit harsh, the same basic principle applies. If you know who or what you're up against, you have a much higher chance of coming away intact.
How can you deal with obstacles? That's up to you to decide. If I don't know you well and run into you from time to time, or if I see something that reminds me of you on a consistent basis, you're one of the people I'm unsure of. Congratulations, you've knocked me off balance. I'm "getting to know" you so I can be sure of myself once again.
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