In today's blog post I compose a scene taken from a moment in my past that had a drastic impact on my life. To get a grasp on how this is properly done I listened to the podcast, What You Don't Know by Lulu Wang). “Shut the fck up, okay?” I hear the words being said to me, but as I listen to them leave the mouth of the little midget in front of me I give myself time to pause and let it register. Is this really being said? I thought we were just playing a game of basketball but ever since I took the lead things have gotten way out of hand. Being the same age as this kid I don’t really have the right to rip on his height, but with us being the same age he was still somehow smaller. I’m here holding the ball, an orange sphere lined with black and a team logo designed at the top. Spinning it every now and then as insult after insult comes to mind. It’s the year 2004 and today I, a friend and his visiting relative were supposed to be having a good time down in the public basketball court this afternoon. It was pretty sunny, and the breeze gave you the nicest blast of air when your body was overheating from all the movement. The court itself is divided into two parts all surrounded by a green cage and separated down the middle to create two sides. With the flooring colored a more darker green. Both sides of the cage being full sized for two separate groups to play at the same time, and usually both are taken up right away. The grown-ups always laid claim but today it was empty. It finally gave us kids a chance to see what an actual court was like instead of some kiddie little stand set-up in the driveway. All in all, today, like I said before, was supposed to be a good day. Instead I’m being sht talked by someone shorter than me because he wanted to call a foul due to a shot I made over his head. He says I elbowed him on the way up but I know for a fact that wasn’t true. But every time I try to argue he ups his disrespectful ante. Now I get that we don’t know each other and sometimes smack talk happens but something about his vibe is rubbing me the wrong way. I’m looking over to my friend of two years by now, Brian, waiting for him to intervene as his relative continues to berate me. If they weren’t related I would have already let my arrogance loose. But I’m not gonna do that to someone who my friend rarely got to see. “Whatever dude, I didn’t elbow you. Maybe you should watch yourself when playing someone taller? Every time you try to block me it feels like a fly is getting in my way.” Now what I had said obviously got under the boy’s skin. Because now he was exposing that damage by removing his shirt as some show of power. I always hated how people did that. The last thing I need to see is some shirtless elf trying to call himself bossing up on me. It’s embarrassing for everyone here. Instead of saying anything further I rolled my eyes as I used the ball as s source of ventilation for my anger. I clinched it tightly with my fingers while tapping against its surface with my thumbs. “Say something else and I PROMISE you I’ll slap you.” Now that really got me irritated. The moment the word ‘slap’ was aimed at me I immediately looked in Brian’s direction. Except now I notice he too is just standing there looking at the both of us with his shirt slung over his shoulder. “Are you serious dude? You gonna let him talk to me like that?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about man.” “What is going on, did I do something to you? You’re not acting like yourself at all.” “That’s a lie. I am myself all the time, this right here IS the real me.” After he said that to me I was just stuck standing there with my mouth gaped open in surprise. This always happened. I should have known better than to come out here and be apart of this. Whenever I was around someone I called a, “friend” and their relatives were present they always changed on me. Or as we call it, “flipped the script”. They would show off more, act all big and disregard anything that was said if it wasn’t coming from their own blood. It always confused me because I hung out with my own siblings around other people all the time. But I never felt the need to act any different. I been down this road before and at this point, I’m just tired of traveling it. So with a slanted eye I darted my irises between the both of them before admiring the ball one last time. Spinning it around to admire the design. Then I beamed the ball into Brian’s hands. He caught it but I could tell by the wince in his eye that it definitely hurt his wrist in doing so, and that brought me satisfaction. So, I decided to leave the court and as I was walking away I only said these few words. “Well if this is the real you I never knew you then, so have fun.” And I was gone. As I walked to my house that day I was tossing a decision back and forth in my head while each foot passed over the other. Should I still talk to him or would it just be a waste of time? How many times would I let this happen to myself before I realized how much it hurt? But we were friends for two years now and he’s the only person left in the neighborhood who’s cool with me. Now did that mean I would have to let myself get steamrolled by the same scenario over and over? Nah, not a chance. So today was gonna be the last day me and him ever spoke. Now a few days after that my mother would come pass my room and tell me that Brian had stopped by, but after that day I wasn’t to interested in hearing what he had say. Until one day he finally walked up on me whilst I was sitting on a brick construct that had a full view of the whole block I lived on, looking up at the clouds. The moment was kind of surreal because that was how we met. He was sitting where I am now and he was upset because he had lost his ball. I was the one who found and returned it to him. We started hanging out every day after. You see, he was the new kid on the block at the time and didn’t know anyone. I knew how that felt. Funny thing is, that was the very same ball we had been playing with the same day I decided not to speak to him anymore. “Hey man..” his voice was low, carrying his words with a sense of regret. He took a seat next to me and I was half tempted to leave, but I didn’t. “Back to being yourself yet..?” I asked bluntly. Not even looking in his direction as I addressed him. His answer would set the tone for how long this conversation would last and if it was gonna be friendly at all. “Look man I’m sorry about the way I was acting, I don’t know what came over me bro.” and the apology comes out. I had to admit, I was shocked. “Is that gonna happen every time, bro? I always told you how I hated that stuff and then you did it.” “There won’t be a next time..” And then I paused. He comes over to apologize, and I’m finally ready to mend the friendship. Then he says there won’t be a next time? What does he mean? “What..?” “I’m moving. I just wanted to say sorry before me and my family left.” Again, like before I was thrown off. By the time he finds me to apologize he’s also telling me he’s moving away? Why come and find me? Why leave me on this note? I was so confused and angry. More than anything I was hurt. It had been more than three weeks we had stopped talking at that point, and it was mostly my fault. All that time I had wasted trying to prove how I didn’t need anyone and now one of the only friends I had left is leaving me. I didn’t know how to feel then and sometimes I still think about it now. Not spending the time we had left because I was too angry will always be something I regret.
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This particular blog is about a scene that happened way back in my childhood. I chose this one because I felt like it was the moment that really put my aspirations in motion and is was what I always go back to. If there was ever a moment that defined me this would be it. I walk out onto my front porch holding two toy figurines of my favorite wrestlers. The clouds looming overhead are like a hazy gray covering up the sun. Even though the sphere of fire is gone I can still feel the heat burning my eyes when I look toward its clouded silhouette. For a second, I wonder about the chance of rain but I'm not gonna let a little water kill my time outside. As I sit down onto the concrete with black rails protecting me on my high castle, I look down the stairs leading into the open world. If I wasn't so sure it was about to rain I would rather be in the yard but where I was would have to do. So as I intended when coming outside I finally start off my playtime by reenacting a match I was watching the night before. I start off by making one of my figurines do multiple choke slams and lariats completely forgetting that I'm making the wrong one win. What do I care though, the energy from my imagination is firing me up in contrast to the cold concrete that is beneath me, currently playing as my seat. But as I'm playing I hear a noise. The first time I dismiss it as one my families' pets playing somewhere around me. But the second time I notice it, it sounds closer. By the third, I notice the noise sounding like it is coming from the desk I remember my Dad putting outside meaning to throw it away. Something is there. The sounds I hear as I walk nearer to the desk start to remind me of something and then I finally realize what it is. This sound is chirping. So I go to open the desk's drawer and see a nest that a bird had built making this old wooden furniture its home. But what I'm looking at in front of me is not what I imagined would be here. Whats laying in this nest before me is a baby bird, devoid of any feathers. But as I'm looking at it the lack of feathers isn't what immediately disturbs me. Its that the bird is breathing slowly. So in fear of the baby bird fighting for its life I run to find a worm and attempt to feed it. It isn't working. The bird can barely lift its head. So if it won't eat I decide to try and find its parent and that also turns up no result. With no other recourse I'm stuck watching as this bird degrades with no chance of saving its life and I can't believe it. The feeling I have coursing through me right now is something I can't recall ever experiencing before. My Mom comes out onto the porch and catches me, "Leave it alone, Qaadir. Without the Mom there's nothing we can do.." I listen to her tell me. As I sit hear coming to terms with what my mother just said to me I also notice something, another feeling welling inside me. I have no idea what this feeling is, but I do know its because I couldn't save this bird's life.
This post is the second assignment for my English Composition I class. It is a scenario in which I discuss and share writing processes with three professional authors. Who all have defined their own routines and mantras that allow them to fight through the phase when their hands struggle to put down what their mind tells them. My eyelids rose quickly as my irises exposed themselves to a currently hazy world. My mind struggling to piece together what was going on as I looked around in a daze not realizing I had fallen asleep. What had awoken me so abruptly was the noise of an obnoxiously loud horn followed by the intense vibrations of rattling metal as it zoomed pass my living room window. As I watched this colossal machinery pass by me in a matter of seconds I realized that I had been saved from my nightmare by the train that comes by during the afternoon hours. I watched and exhaled a sigh of relief as its passing then unveiled a setting sun painting the horizon a mix of soothing colors. The pink cascading into the orange as they merged the more the sun sank beyond the earth. It was with this in mind I was sure, I truly was awake. The more I sat there collecting myself I started to remember what it was I had been doing before passing out from exhaustion from today’s job. Like always I had been sitting in my living room, a pen in my hand and a crisp piece of paper laid out before me. Music playing on my cell phone which was placed to the side as I attempted to write out my thoughts and continue to work on a book I had been trying to publish but every form of writing I tried failed. Every time my pen touched the blank canvas it would only end how it started. Empty, and the only words being blurted out would be me constantly cursing and berating myself. This only built on the stress inside me strengthening the block that prevented me from putting anything down. With no other recourse I retreated from my home to a bar not too far from where I lived. Puddles laid about the city streets were enough to tell me that during my rest it had rained. I guess the sky was sharing a few woes with me as well. As I pushed the door open I was rushed with an overwhelming volume of smoke. I walked through the bar painted with figures all draped over their cups, all who were having loud discussions that could be heard from halfway across the room. The only place that seemed tame ironically was the center of the establishment, the counter where the drinks were served. So I decided to take a seat there. After sitting down and ordering a drink of my own I overheard some people talking next to me. They sounded like writers who were very deep into their craft. One male posed a question to another about the importance of a writing ritual. Without even thinking I ended up replying instead. “Lately, I’ve found myself thinking more and more about the way I go into my writing too..” before I had realized what I’d said, the man whom the question was intended turned toward me and said, “Join the club.”.[1] When he fully exposed his face to me I recognized the man as none other than Don Murray. After receiving an invitation from a professional writer how could I refuse? So I decided to share. “Usually I sit at my living room coffee table. It’s pretty low so I’m on my knees which makes me more relaxed. Before I start I put on some soothing music to loosen myself up.” I finished before taking a light sip of the cup before me. The one who was posing the question earlier, a man I came to find out was named, Elwyn Brooks White, replied to my scenario of writing. Before he started speaking however I could see the intrigue in his eyes. But I couldn’t tell if he was about to pick me apart or actually surprise me. "I never listen to music when I’m working. I haven’t that kind of attentiveness, and I wouldn’t like it at all."[2] he finished, his arms folded while leaning forward as he stared down at the counter before him. As he was speaking I could see his eyes gain a sense of imagining, as if he were trying to put himself in my place to get an idea of what my form was like. Then the woman, Susan Sontag, who was with them added her piece in, "I write in spurts. I write when I have to because the pressure builds up and I feel enough confidence that something has matured in my head and I can write it down."[3] she finished speaking before lifting a cigarette into her mouth. As she inhaled the intoxicants I watched the end protruding from her mouth light up brightly. Then it finally dawned on me, I was in the presence of three professional writers, a truly once in a lifetime chance. It felt like this meeting was fated. Before I knew it I had this compelled feeling to ask further questions to reap every reward I could from this encounter. Maybe whatever they did could help me get out the slump I was in. “How do you guys approach writer's block? Do you just wait it out, force something out or maybe change from pen to keyboard? I know that typing things out is a faster process so is it possible that it adds a level of ease more than the pen?” I asked the three of them. Don Murray huffed out a disappointing sigh as if the thought of using a keyboard was somehow less than the traditional way of using the pen. “Be patient, listen quietly, the writing will come. The voice of the writing will tell you what to do.”[4] he shared his opinion on the matter. Immediately after, Susan Sontag also spoke. "I like the slowness of writing by hand. Then I type it up and scrawl all over that. And keep on retyping it, each time making corrections both by hand and directly on the typewriter, until I don’t see how to make it any better."[5] she paused before tossing back a quick sip of her drink before continuing what it was she was saying. "After the second or third draft it goes into the computer, so I don’t retype the whole manuscript anymore, but continue to revise by hand on a succession of hard-copy drafts from the computer."[6] she concluded before resting back into her chair. Her sharing added some clarity to me, it didn’t matter which form I chose to take. The process of approach should be either shared or the same. Choosing one over the other wouldn’t make either easier or faster. Looking down at the counter my voice rose again, “Maybe it isn’t the way I write then. I guess I could always look for a better place to give new life to my writing.” I mentioned only in reference to myself about my problem earlier. E. B. White looked to me with a stern look on his face before saying, "A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word on paper."[7]. He then continued to describe the place in which he writes, "There’s a lot of traffic. But it’s a bright, cheerful room, and I often use it as a room to write in, despite the carnival that is going on all around me.”[8]. I understood his words but then I had one last question. “So if just that easy what do you do when you finally get something down, but then it didn’t turn out how you’d expect? What if you then get stuck in a repeated process of writing, erasing and writing again?” That was when Don Murray shared a few parting words to me, “Don’t look back. Yes, the draft needs fixing. But first it needs writing"[9]. So my night had ended there and I returned to my pen to release the things pent up inside me on the paper that waited for me. My biggest takeaways from my encounter with Don Murray, E. B. White and Susan Sontag was that the form of writing isn’t as much important as the mind used to approach it. Not everything requires a ritual or even a setting that perfects your mood. You simply need to let your mind free and let the finger that grips the pen come to life. Writing isn’t something that you can force or just create on a whim, and surely it’s never perfect on the first round. [1] - Quote by Don Murray excerpted from Lessons From America's Greatest Writing Teacher (Don Murray) [2] - Quote by Susan Sontag excerpted from The Daily Writing Routines of Great Writers (E. B. White) [3] - Quote by Susan Sontag excerpted from The Daily Writing Routines of Great Writers (Maria Popova) [4] - Quote by Don Murray excerpted from Lessons From America's Greatest Writing Teacher (Don Murray) [5] - Quote by Susan Sontag excerpted from The Daily Writing Routines of Great Writers (Maria Popova) [6] - Quote by Susan Sontag excerpted from The Daily Writing Routines of Great Writers (Maria Popova) [7] - Quote by Susan Sontag excerpted from The Daily Writing Routines of Great Writers (E. B. White) [8] - Quote by Susan Sontag excerpted from The Daily Writing Routines of Great Writers (E. B. White) [9] - Quote by Don Murray excerpted from Lessons From America's Greatest Writing Teacher (Don Murray) The following post is an assignment for my English Composition I class. We were tasked with answering, The Proust Questionnaire, as way to both discover and share things about ourselves as we dive into our blog. Through reading my answers I hope you get a better idea of the type of person I am! So, without further ado, read on!
Q-1.__What is your idea of perfect happiness? A- The perfect idea of happiness to me is waking up in the morning from a full night’s rest to a cup of iced green tea. To walk across a cleanly cut yard made up from the greenest of grass as I sit down in a gazebo to watch the sun’s rays cascade over the horizon. Knowing that the house that I own and the family that I have are taken care of because my efforts have paid off. Because for me, I never truly feel happy when just myself is concerned. It’s only when knowing that something I’ve done or am doing for others makes their lives easier or more joyful do I feel a sense of accomplishment. Because true happiness to me is something that I can bring to others and only in that way can I truly bring true happiness to myself. Q-2.__What is your greatest fear? A- I don’t know what really puts a sense of fear into me at such a level that I can’t even stomach the thought. Social anxieties, failing to maintain the expectations of others and even forcing myself to course through the unknown. But all in all I’d have to say my greatest fear would have to be confrontation with those who I consider close to me. I am always prepared to defend myself and others kin to me against people who I barely know. But when confronted by people I actually have a sense of closeness to, something inside me that usually builds up into a dragon-like rage becomes extinguished by my inability to cause them harm or hurt their feelings. What if that moment is something I need to overcome to show them that I truly care, and I can’t do it? If I had a overbearing fear that would be the closest to it. Q-3.__What is the trait you most deplore in yourself? A-The trait I dislike most about myself would have to be how quiet I am. Like a select few others that I know, I tend to shutdown when conversing in a group larger than three to four people at most. I begin to overthink the things that I want to say and end up not saying them at all due to fear of coming off as random or unnecessary. Sometimes I would like to be apart of a subject and share opinions like the others around me, but my mental just blocks me and becomes a wall I have no idea how to climb. Q-4.__What is the trait you most deplore in others? A-The type of people who have the most unlikable trait to me would have to be those who build themselves up by bringing others down. Nothing gets under my skin more than someone who will berate someone else to make themselves seem more intelligent, cool, etc. It never made sense to me how harmful tactics like that could make an individual seem so alluring to the people around them. Q-5.__Which living person do you most admire? A-Without a doubt the person whom I admire most would have to be my older brother. He’s done more for me than I even thought to ask for and has truly been something I didn’t know I would have even needed. Regardless of any struggle he faces, he walks firm and does the most he can to make the best decision for himself and others around him. He’s also embedded those same ethics into me and is helping me to become a man of my own right. Though sometimes he claims that I have traits that he wish he had. Even then, I feel like I'll always be looking at his back rather than walking beside him. Q-6.__What is your greatest extravagance? A-That would have to be my capability to care for others which also correlates into my loyalty. Growing up I’ve gone through countless people walking into my life titling themselves as my “friends” only to have it all end the same way. So those encounters only made me vow to myself that if anyone would ever have me as a friend I would be the one for them that I never got to have. Because even if I never got to experience that feeling for myself I’d feel accomplished knowing that I could at least make someone feel something I never could. Trust. Q-7.__What is your current state of mind? A-If it’s anything I would have to label it as “searching”. For what, I don’t know but I do know its about me. Something in me that I want to expose or confront in some shape or form. Q-8.__What do you consider the most overrated virtue? A-The most overused virtue to me is definitely the whole concept of, “me myself and I”. Its as if its become everyone’s goal to course through life caring for no one but themselves. No one does anything for the good of the act anymore, simply just to boost themselves on some social scale. Or they’re constantly dragging people down to put themselves on top. Its this thought process that also makes me think the world has become a much more solitary place. Not physically but mentally. Q-9.__On what occasion do you lie? A-It kinda depends. So long as a white lie will get me out of any unnecessary drama I’ll probably lie to get things over with to avoid it. Or when I feel like someone isn’t quite ready to hear what they should hear. Q-10.__What do you most dislike about your appearance? A-Ever since I was young I’ve always had this overly modest idea of showing my knees. I hardly ever wear shorts outside of my home because of it. Q-11.__Which living person do you most despise? A-I don’t think there is anyone whom I can say that has my undisputed hate. Q-12.__What is the quality you most like in a man? A-I think that would have to be someone who’s not afraid to show a sense of chivalry and humility. Because it shows me that I’m not on the outside on thinking that being respectable is old news. Seeing it encourages me to continue being the type of man that I am. Q-13.__What is the quality you most like in a woman? A-I don’t know what it is, but a woman with aspirations is always a good thing to me. Q-14.__Which words or phrases do you most overuse? A-If I say anything too much its definitely the phrase, "That's dead.". Q-17.__Which talent would you most like to have? A- A talent I would like to have would be the ability to play the acoustic guitar. Or any form of the guitar for that matter. Q-18.__If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? A- If I had to change one thing about myself, it’d probably be a more willingness to take chances. Q-19.__What do you consider your greatest achievement? A- I don’t think I’ve done it yet, but I will make my way there. Q-20.__If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be? A- If I could come back as something else, I’m coming back as a Red Panda. Q-21.__Where would you most like to live? A- I don’t know where but I’d like for it to be generous with fields of grass and pockets of trees. Away from the hustle and bustle of the cities but not so far someone can just come and kill me though. Q-23.__What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery? A- When you become so gone that you begin to forsake yourself and prevent those around you from helping. Q-24.__What is your favorite occupation? A- The best way I like to enjoy my time would have to be gaming. It comforts my mind and resets me out of any negative state that I would be in before picking up the controller. Q-26.__What do you most value in your friends? A- Loyalty and their willingness to tell me the truth even if they know I don’t want to hear it. Q-27.__Who are your favorite writers? A- I’ve only read one book that became my favorite before I even reached the last page, or even the final chapter at that. The only favorite writer I have would have to be the author of The Giver; Lois Lowry. Q-28.__Who is your hero of fiction? A- That would have to be the DC comics hero the Flash. Q-32.__What is it that you most dislike? A- Heat. Nothing annoys me more than being too warm. I always liked the idea of warming up from the cold than being overwhelmed with a surge of heat from head to toe. Q-34.__How would you like to die? A- Old. Having achieved everything that I could even if it’s not exactly what I wanted. Q-35.__What is your motto? A- Fight forward with a 110%. |
QaadirOn this site, I plan to express myself. So feel free to read the stampede of text, but never get the idea my blog's the best. Archives
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