This is what a journal is for......?

Imran is in Bangalore. If it weren’t for the fact that I should prollie try to graduate and pass comps, and if tickets weren’t so expensive, I’d be with him. Blast it. This week it just really struck me how I won’t be seeing my best friend for a loooong time. I mean, he’ll be in India for the next 6 months, and then at Yale for the next 5-6 years. Dude, if you don’t know Imran, you are really missing out. People ask why we are such good friends, I mean, he’s my brother, right? Imran is about one of the most humblest guys I know—one of the wisest, and kindest. Really, though, to describe him, words just don’t do him justice. I wish our dad could see how wonderful he has become. He is one of the best sons one could ask for. Just ask my mom. We’ve been through soooo much together.

I want to be real in this entry. There’s so much that has happened. But I can’t find the words. I could bore you with the mundane surface things that have occurred; yeah, I’m back at Carleton, taking classes….learning lots. How ‘bout telling you how I took a battery out of a car, and got it working again? (with some help of course!!) I’m successfully avoiding my comps. I haven’t prioritized, as usual. I’m being a bum, deadlines approaching….hey, did I mention I’m applying to grad school?? Ha ha!

Well, I am. You know, I have seriously doubted my abilities, all my life. And I didn’t want to apply, because I was afraid that I would never even get a chance. But I’m doing it. I think it was the fear that I would never know. Honestly, although public health sounds sooooo appealing, and combines my loves for teaching, medicine, and international stuff—I could actually just settle for not getting in. I am not worried. I’m just gonna give it my all, and wait to see what happens. I memorized soooo many words for the GRE two days before I took it, just forcing myself through that experience was worth it. You know, I’d be fine just being a house wife. Really. I would. A mom. That’s what I want to do with my life.

My father’s wife called. It was the day after Christmas. Apparently, my aunt’s husband had died. I woke up with such a start at the sound of my mother’s voice on the phone, saying the Muslim greeting. I was paralyzed with fear. Fear that something dreadful had happened to my father. But I forced myself to get up, to go hear what could have been. I spoke with her….She asked me all sorts of questions about my life. It almost seemed as if my father was prompting her to ask, while he listened silently on another line. “Oh, yes, your father loves you,” she said, “he misses you, and thinks of often. He prays all the time for all of you. You will always be his children. He loves you.” I love him too. “Do you need anything?” no. “Now don’t be bashful, its winter….Some clothes?” no, no, I don’t need anything. (to myself, yeah, want to pay my tuition bill? How ‘bout all the other things I need!! what about taking care of my mother? Helping my brother, my sister?) “what are you planning on doing next year?” (I almost think she was going to ask me if I was engaged, or dating)….sigh. so many questions.

4.5 years of silence. Do you ever think of me, Dad? Do you love me? Are you proud of me? Are you well? Why, Dad, why? You would be so proud of Imran and Azra. Imran got accepted into Yale, Dartmouth, Harvard, Stanford, MIT, Columbia… He took a year off to take care of Mom. And now he’s doing service in India. Azra is a doctor. She’s gone to Africa, to help women who walk for miles to come see her. She’s comforted the sick, the helpless, the hopeless.

She hangs up. And calls back two minutes later. “what is your phone number at Carleton?” ###-###-####. “now, do you need anything?” no, really, I don’t need anything…(I’m crying.) “don’t be silly, you are still a child. What do you need?” I am fine, thank you. (I’m 21 years old. Where were you when I graduated? When I went to prom? When I got straight A’s? When I learned how to shoot a rifle for protection? I was 12 then. How bout when I shot the winning point? Or acted in Annie? Or PRed in track, running my best 800 meters? Or sang my first solo, played my first saxophone solo, accompanied choirs? Or cried when a boy threw sand in my face, or when Daniel asked me why I washed my face with dirt? I was six then. I was a child then. I don’t need $. Or things. God has provided where you have not. )

I don’t even remember you ever telling me you thought I was beautiful. Every father tells their daughter this.

I love you Abu, I still love you.

driving away

WOW.

The last two weeks have been a complete blur.

I don’t even know where to begin.

I feel like my life has gone 180 degrees to the left. No, I’m not a liberal yet.

So, I risked my life coming back to Carleton. It was a terrible snowy day. And I knew I could have waited one more day. I just couldn’t think at home, and I needed to leave. So there I was on the road, barely able to see, sleepy after helping out all day at my mom’s new year’s party, severely illogical, emotional, and determined. It was a miracle of God I made it to Carleton…In 4.5 hours of nearly having a nervous break down. Why didn’t I just stop, you ask? I have no idea. Could have been that I couldn’t see where in the world I was, and I didn’t want to just sit on the road. Could have been my stubborn, bordering on crazy, personality. Perhaps something else…..

In Cheryl’s bed over break, I had two dreams. The first one, I dreamed I was facing off with Satan. Yeah, you heard me. People were running away from him, and I was tempted to go with them. But I knew I had to fight him and get it over with. (sometimes in my dreams, I wake up subconsciously, and take over my dream…..if I have a dream where I get shot, I wake up, and bring myself back to life…only a fraction of people can do this, I’m told). So I fought with Satan. Freaked out, after I awake at 3 in the morning, I get out my bible and start reading…….

“He has no form or comeliness; And when we see Him, There is no beauty that we should desire Him. He is despised and rejected by men. A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. And we hid, as it were, our faces from Him; He was despised, and we did not esteem Him. Surely, He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows…. ‘Do not fear, for you will not be ashamed; nor be disgraced, for you will not be put to shame; For you will forget the shame of your youth……for a mere moment I have forsaken you, but with great mercies I will gather you. With a little wrath I hid My face from you for a moment; But with everlasting kindness I will have mercy on you,’ Says the LORD your redeemer, ‘For as I have sworn that the waters of Noah would no longer cover the earth, So have I sworn that I would not be angry with you, nor rebuke you. For the mountains shall depart and the hills be removed, but My kindness shall not depart from you, nor shall My covenant of peace be removed.” Isaiah 53, 54

December 13^th, 2005.

The next night I dreamed the same dream again. And I fought. I’m not sure if I won.

But I think I did.

You think I’m crazy. Well, you’re the one who’s reading this.

In the past three weeks, I cried, wept, sang, searched, moved forward and backward, refused to be soothed. I wish I could tell you more. And then this whole earthquake bizness. How could I have been so self-involved? So full of my own despair, and yet, thousands losing their lives at that very moment—and now.

Is God in control? Yes. I would be lying to you if I said He wasn’t. If He wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here, alive, writing this. Maybe you wouldn’t be here either. So why me?

Why is my life spared?

It will take a miracle of God for me to get into grad school. But that’s what I’m living for. God’s promises.