Where’s Your Head At?

My head is filled with too many things right now. Least of them all should be my blog, but I just can’t allow myself to disappoint my hundreds of loyal followers waiting with bated breath for my next post (ha!). I mean, it is Sunday after all, right? Which means New Post Day! Yay! No. Not yay. Because after Sunday comes Monday. And Mondays are slowly–but very surely–making its way riiiiight down to the bottom of my list of Reasons to Wake Up on a Monday Morning. I’m not liking you very much right now, Monday. Not very much at all. And, high school exams are nigh, which means set exam papers with memorandums need to be submitted to the office. Tomorrow. Who has time for a lengthy (but seriously entertaining) blog post with all that going on? Certainly not me. So this is what I’ll give you (my throng of loyal and devoted readers); a peek into where my head is at right now. So picture this:

Yep, that’s what it looks like up in here. More or less. Now, because there’s currently very little room in my brain for much real words to grow, I will give you some pictures, to further elaborate on the many ‘stuffs’ wheedling through my brain, in between the yucky exam stuff.

Are you noticing the pattern here? Both last week’s post and the week before that was about being a stranger in this world, or referring to the Strangers Tour that happened here in Cape Town two weeks ago. It is who I want to be–a stranger in this world–so that I may be a companion in the next world, the real world. A companion to who? To my Prophet (may the Peace and Blessings of Allah be upon him and his family), and all the righteous people who lived in this world, ameen.

I read a beautiful line in an article a bit earlier, and I think it complements this picture beautifully:

“The hijab is only a brush stroke on the canvas within a much bigger picture. Without it the work is incomplete, but it is not the sole element that makes the painting. And my own canvas is incomplete and riddled with mistakes.” – Azlin Ahmed, It’s a Hijab, Not a Halo

And lastly, one of my new favourites…

So, kids, it would seem that the theme running in my brain for this month is ‘change’. And, in the words of the great American president, Barack Obama (that’s sarcasm right there), “Yes, we can!” And we will, in-shaa-Allah. And may we (or I, or whoever cares to join me in this change–whatever it might be that you are changing to, for the sake of Allah) be more successful than the lousy president–oh, oops, did I say ‘lousy’? I meant loser. Nooo! I meant… well, who cares what I meant? May we be more successful in our quest for change, and may we never lose sight of the goal. Ameen.

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Share your thoughts with me in the comments below.

Cleri-who?

Clerihew. [Pronounced kle-ri-yoo].

Definition: A witty, satiric verse containing two rhymed couplets and mentioning a famous person. Yeah, first time I’ve ever heard of it, too.

This NaPoWriMo thing has been really awesome–who knew there were so many weird and wonderful styles of poetry in the world? Certainly not me. I mean, I love poetry and all, and I’ve been writing poems since my very early days, but I’ve always just done my own thing, never really stuck to much structure. And I’ve certainly never learnt about clerihews, double dactyls or ekphrastic poetry in the classroom! But in this past month, I’ve learnt much about poetry and have tried interesting new styles of writing. Even though I haven’t been consistently active in participating in the poem-a-day aspect of National Poetry Writing Month, I’ve still been checking in on the website from time to time to see what the latest challenge is–and if I could meet it. So I’ve tried my hand at today’s challenge, which is to write a clerihew, and I want to share it with you…

Louis Tomlinson from One Direction

Had my students screaming from an infection.

Their mindless music is pathogenic,

It causes people to become schizophrenic.

I quite like this one. And the poem is based on true happenings, I might add–my students’ beahviour earlier this week was positively insane about this curly little guy (or maybe one of his other cronies, I can’t really be sure which one… I just grabbed any one of their names after googling them). It was utterly and ridiculously laughable. And sad. Very, very sad.

Anyway, this post is not about that. It is about poetry. And April. And April is just about coming to an end. But poetry shall never end! (Said in a voice filled with conviction). This month has felt really, really long, but wonderfully so. It has been a splendid month, I think. And not just because it was my birthday earlier this month (in fact, that plays a very small part in the greater scheme of things), but because of poetry, for one, and everything else in between, for another. Months are usually just months to me. Nothing special about them. It is days and moments that I usually cherish and reflect back on, but this past month has been something special to me. It has been a month of family and a month of friends. It has been a month of personal growth and of simple reminders leading to beautiful things. It has been a month of sad, harsh truths, and learning to accept them. All in all, it has been a month of people. I think I should write another poem, and title it An Ode to April… That is how passionate I feel about this month that has passed.

Farewell, dearest April. Do come again soon, even if by another name, for April, by any other name, would be as memorable.

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What did you love most about this month? Or what did you hate about it? Share your thoughts with me in the comments below.

April’s Cool

April ain’t for no fools. April’s cool! I think it is no coincedence that the month of April, the month of my entry into this world, coincides so beautifully with this most aweosme celebration, affectionately dubbed ‘NaPoWriMo‘, which stands for National Poetry Writing Month (And April is also National Poetry Month–minus the ‘writing’. It seems silly to have two titles for it, doesn’t it? Why couldn’t they just settle on one and let it encompass both?). So, in case you’re from South Africa (or any country that is not America or Canada) and are a bit confused because you’ve never before heard about this special celebration that I’ve taken the liberty to invite myself to, well, that would be because it is technically only a national celebration in a particular nation. Not this nation. This nation doesn’t celebrate such awesome and inspiring things, sadly for me. Rather, it is nationally celebrated in America, and I think Canada, too. But hey, poetry knows no bounds, poetry has no nationality! I will hold my head high and celebrate with the best of them. I honestly can think of little else that would be a better way to celebrate my birthday than doing it with poetry. [Things that could possibly top it, or rank alongside it: spending the day with my family. They are awesome. Alhamdulillah.]

So, in celebration of this month, poetry-lovers and -writers are challenged to write a poem a day for the duration of the month of April. The NaPoWriMo website offers different prompts for each day of the month, which are basically new ideas for a poem for each day. And, even though I haven’t been following the prompts up until now (being a hippy and free-spirited poet and all, I cannot be tamed–no, I joke, I’m just undedicated like that; my poetry follows my emotions, not prompts from a website), I have decided to do today’s one. Today’s prompt suggests that we do a parody of another poem. Now, I have never written a poem of this sort before; I have never parodied another poet’s work and I have never before written an intentionally silly poem such as this (though, the unintentional ones I cannot help), so forgive me if it sucks terribly. I had fun writing it, though–who doesn’t enjoy being silly every now and then? I hope you enjoy reading it.

The poem I’ve decided to do a parody on is Trees by Joyce Kilmer. Here it is:

I think that I shall never see

A thing as awful as a child’s glee.

A child whose dancing eyes and scrunched up face can attest

To the pleasure she gets from causing her parents unrest.

A child who takes her parents as prey,

And their peaceful sleep and peace of mind does slay;

A child who has a special flare

For causing her mother to pull out her hair;

She could drive you to use cocaine;

She causes people to go insane.

This poem is all just nonsense, you see,

Children are what causes my heart to be filled with glee.

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A silly little poem, isn’t it? Share your thoughts and laughter with me below. Or, better yet, give your hand a go at it and share a parody of your own–so that I may laugh at you, too.

Driving Me Honkers

No, I didn’t mean ‘bonkers’. You read it right, honkers. As in honking the horn, or in South African terms, blowing the hooter.

I generally consider myself to be a rather tolerant person; I often make excuses for other people where they may fall short. Sometimes the excuses I make for others are exaggerated and annoy the people around me, and they may even be excuses that I don’t believe myself, but, for some reason, I always feel like I need to defend people–even when they don’t ask for it. Actually, they never ask for it. It’s a really silly habit I have and it gets me into trouble a lot, because it usually leads to a heated discussion–no, debate– and it means that I’m sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong, because, you see, people usually just want to go on rants about someone, or something or some organisation or some whatever, and not have anyone defend that person/thing/organisation; they just want me to silently listen and nod along. I find the nodding to be a bit hard though (I cannot nod to something I do not agree with), so I just silently and stoically sit and stare at the person doing the ranting. Perhaps not the best solution, but it’s the only one I can do without getting into much trouble.

So, baring in mind this annoying habit I have of being everyone’s defender, when I’m a passenger in the car while my dad is driving, and he gets upset with some driver on the road who is doing some or other very upsetting thing, I usually try to placate my father and make up some excuses for this other driver. For what reason? I honestly don’t know. However, when I am the driver behind the wheel… things change. I think the driver’s seat of all cars have some kind of secret power (or curse) to transform ordinary, mild-mannered individuals into raging mad lunatics on the road. When I get behind the wheel of my car, I go from Defender of All Who Does Not Even Ask To Be Defended to The Super Accuser of All Drivers. Every driver is at fault–even when they’re not. But most of the time they are. Though, granted, I could never claim to be of the best drivers around, but hey, come on, are you going to try to rationalise with The Super Accuser of All Drivers? There is no rationalising; that man in front of me was wrong to hit his brakes so suddenly and for no reason, and that woman shouldn’t be driving that slow on the highway.

Driving used to be one of my hobbies. I used to enjoy the solitude of hitting the road on my own, only my thoughts and imaginary passengers as my company. The hold of the accursed Driver’s Seat was not that strong over me. I would guess that this is because, previously, it was a more luxurious driver’s seat (my father’s car), while now, in my own car, it is not as luxurious. Sadly. Perhaps the more luxurious the driver’s seat is, the less evil it is? It’s just a theory. So lately, I’m finding driving to be much more frustrating–and my hooter is my best friend. My evil sidekick, you could say.

I can cite at least three causes for my move over to The Dark Side:

1. I have a less-than-luxurious new car.

Need I say more?

2. Driving the same same same same route everyday. [Yes, you read the SAME word over and over again, because that is how I feel, driving the SAME route everyday.]

I work 6 days a week, going the same way the morning and the same way back the afternoon. I’ve considered trying alternate routes, but in the mornings I am in way too much of a rush, and in the afternoons I am usually too tired and just want to get home. At least, though, I am blessed to not have to deal with traffic either way since I travel against it. I get a bit of a kick every morning when I’m driving up the M5, facing no traffic, and I see the absolutely, horrendously long line of traffic heading to Town on the other side. Ha! Poor people. They must be on The Dark Side, too.

”]3. I recently had a car accident.

This is what my car looked like after the lovely service of having another car knock into it.

This is the one I’ve been denying to myself since it happened. I didn’t want to be a typical ‘victim of a car accident’. How lame. But, fact is, I’m more of a defensive and aggro driver now, after it happened, than I was before it happened. I’m not traumatised or scarred, or anything of the sort. After it happened, I wasn’t too afraid to get behind the wheel again. On the contrary, immediately after it happened (okay, immediately after I gave the culprit a good shouting at, got his details and allowed my legs to stop shaking), I got right back in the car and drove the rest of the way to my destination. My eldest sister couldn’t understand why I didn’t call her or someone to come fetch me there. But the thought never occurred to me; I was fine. It wasn’t a fatal accident–I’m still alive to write about it (alhamdulillah), and my car was still driveable afterwards. But it made me angry. It was a stupid and inconsiderate thing the other driver did, and it caused damage to my car and gave me unnecessary shaky legs.

In case you’re curious about how the accident actually happened: The other driver turned into the lane I was driving in, without indicating that he wanted to change lanes, and without checking to see if it was safe for him to do so. He just moved to the next lane and I was too close to him that I didn’t have enough time to hit the brakes, and into me he collided.

The accident might have been avoided had the offending driver used this little thing called a rearview mirror. Great invention it is, indeed.

Every evil villain has a story to tell of how they came over to The Dark Side. This is mine. I am the The Super Accuser of All Drivers. I honk at everyone who cuts in front of me rudely and unnecessarily, and I honk at people who brake in the middle of the road for no reason. Okay, truthfully, I don’t blow the hooter nearly as much as I sit in my car, broodingly, glaring with severe anger at the offender, and complaining about his/her bad driving… to my imaginary passengers. I try not to blow my hooter much, I think it’s annoying and sounds too angry (I save it for the really bad drivers). But the accusations that go on in my head cannot be tamed.

I got this from Google Images. Typed in 'Angry Driver'. Please google it--you'll see some HILARIOUS pictures, all of which I wish I could post here. Good laugh! 😀

In all fairness, however, I do also get my fair share of hooting directed at me. I feel compelled to admit that. I don’t think there is a single driver on the road that can claim otherwise. None of us are perfect drivers all the time. Don’t deny it, you’re not the World’s Best Driver. You’re not.

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Share your thoughts with me below. I like reading them. I really do.

Forever Young? Not Quite.

The month of April brings with it the day of my birth. Another year further away from youthful vigour and reckless abandonment. Okay, okay… I exaggerate. I was never that vigorous or reckless in my younger days, I was a rather timid young soul, and… I’m not that old… right? I mean, twenty-four years old–pssht, what’s that? Early twenties are when you’re still living it up, living the good life. Sleep? What twenty-something-year-old needs sleep? That’s for babies and old people. But then why is sleep all my body craves–night and day?!! Am I–I can’t even say it–am I an… am I an old person?!! I haven’t even yet reached the quarter century mark of my life, but I already feel so old! At twenty-four years YOUNG, I find myself worrying about my ageing, and what I’m doing with my life, and where I’m going. I used to look forward to each new birthday, as every child does, and I used to dream about being in my twenties. I never did understand people who lamented their age, seeing it as the loss of something; the loss of youth, the loss of life, the passing of their spring. I will never be like that, I would say to myself, I will accept my years graciously. But now? It is not that I am lamenting–I am not. No, really, I’m not. I am happy to be where I am. It’s just that, I don’t know how I got here so fast. It’s like, just a few months ago, I was getting ready to graduate at university, and I was still working part-time jobs. And now, ka-boom! Just like that, I’m here at twenty-four. There’s still so much I wish I had done when I was younger. So, being in this mood of reflection, I drew up a list of some of the things I wish I had done before turning twenty-four.

24 Things I Wish I Had Done Before Turning 24:

1. Gone on a real, outdoor camp. Tent and all.

2. Learned to swim.

3. Learned to ride a bike

4. Learned to roller-blade. (Yes, yes, I know. My friends tease me about having been deprived when I was younger. Poor me.)

5. Learned to speak another language. French or German would have been cool. Arabic would have been even cooler (I know some of it, but I am, sadly, not well-versed enough in it to actually speak it with confidence).

6. Travelled to more countries.

7. Learned to cook. I can cook, okay? Just not big pots of the kind of food your mom probably cooks.

8. Written a complete and proper short story, beginning to end. I keep getting stuck somewhere between the plot and character descriptions…

9. Roadtripped across South Africa. I fade away into a daydream every time I think about this one. I still really, really want to do it!

10. Opened a savings account. Is it bad that I haven’t done this yet?

11. Memorised the Qur’an.

12. Taken an actual writing course–with real, successful writers as teachers.

13. Done a photography course. I’ve always had a crazy passion for photography.

14. Bought me a professional, awesome-quality camera.

15. Learned how to sew. On a sewing machine, not by hand. Then I could sew my own clothing! And I could save so much money! To put into my savings account! Which I am yet to open…

16. Done third year at Darun-Na’im (an institute of Islamic learning). I’m always saying that I plan to go back and do it someday, in-shaa-Allah (God-willing), but I have a feeling that life will just keep happening, and I might never be able to return to complete it. Or to re-do first year… and second year. Why would I want to re-do them, you wonder? Because they were the best years of my life, spent in the best way, at the best of places. I learned so much, and grew so much. And even through re-doing it, I know with certainty that I will still learn so much more the second time around.

17. Completed a TESL/TEFL course.

18. Taught English as a foreign language in a foreign country (specifically South Korea) with my sister. We had planned to do this a long time ago, my sister and I, but then, life–as it always does–happened. And plans changed. She, however, went on to teach English in a foreign country, albeit not in South Korea, but I am yet to meet her there–which I do plan to do, some day, in-shaa-Allah (God-willing).

19. Rode a horse.

20. Rode a camel.

21. Read all the Harry Potter books. No, I haven’t read any of them yet. Don’t look at me like that.

22. Watched The Lion King. Apparently it’s one of those movies that you just had to have watched as a child, and I’m a real weirdo because I haven’t watched it yet. But do not fear, for I will remedy this soon, so lift your jaw back off the ground. And stop looking at me like that!

23. Slept more when I was ‘younger’ so that I wouldn’t be SO TIRED all the time now that I’m ‘old’! It makes one wonder, doesn’t it, what I was doing in my younger years that kept me from sleep, and yet, still, there is so much that I haven’t done? Well, I was doing stuff, okay? Just because there are twenty-four cool things that I haven’t done yet doesn’t mean that there aren’t another twenty-four, or even thirty-four, other totally fun and awesome things that I have done! Maybe that should be my next list… hmm…

24. Gotten married.

Playing it Cool

I’m not cool.

There, I said it.

Most of the time, I’m a bundle of thoughts and emotions. I have all these things running through my head; thoughts I want to say out loud, but there’s a voice inside my head that keeps saying, Be cool. And then there are my emotions. Don’t care too much. Okay, you can’t help it if you care that much, but, for goodness sake, don’t let them know how much you care. Okay, cool it with hugs already! Don’t show that you’re upset. Don’t let them know you’re hurting. Don’t hug that hard. Don’t laugh that hard. Don’t love that hard… Just – play – it – cool.

It’s exhausting.

But, like I said, I’m not cool. So, I go ahead and I care a lot about things and people who matter to me, and I try to let them know it, because what’s the point in caring about someone if they never know they’re cared about? And I get upset, I get hurt; I hug hard and I laugh hard (though, still trying to maintain my lady-like, hijabi composure while doing it… uhem…). And… I love hard. Sometimes it ends up leading all the way back to getting hurt, but how do you stop yourself from loving without losing out on all the fun and most amazing parts of loving? And we can’t control how much we love someone–believe me, I have tried (when I was still naïve enough to believe that I could ‘play it cool’).

Sometimes, I still have that little voice in my head telling me to ‘play it cool’ in certain situations, but I shove it away, because, why would I want to play? This is not a game. Life does not have a scorecard keeping track of how hard I hug you in contrast to how hard you hug me back. If I love you, and if I missed you, I’m gonna hug you–and I mean really hug you! And you just better deal with it. And, in addition to giving suffocating hugs, I often say (really) silly things, and ask (really) silly questions. No, I mean, like, really silly. And, back when I was in high school, I used to keep them all in my head, wonder all these weird things only to myself, never letting my thoughts see the light of day. But, now, I’m a little more grown up and I understand a bit more about how the world works, and, with that, I’ve been blessed enough to have friends along the way who laugh at the silly things I say and the silly questions I ask, but love me anyway. And they’re kind of silly, too, so I laugh right back at them.

So, ultimately, I’ve come to learn that life is not about playing it cool. Life (or maybe just one small part of life) is about opening yourself up to being hurt and being laughed at, because that’s the only way you learn to feel, and the only way you learn to laugh at yourself. And I sure do enjoy a good, hard laugh at myself.

And, in conclusion, after all this talk about not playing it cool, I’m not going to play it cool and pretend that I don’t care how many people read this blog, and how many people comment on it. I WANT COMMENTS!! If I didn’t want people’s feedback on what I write, I’d open up a document in MS Word, type all this stuff in there, and save it in a folder on my laptop where I save all my other writings and poetry that I don’t particularly want to share with the world, because I don’t want people’s commentary and feedback on those pieces of myself. This blog, however, is designed for the purpose of people reading what I’ve written, and commenting on it.

So, I look forward to reading your comments 🙂

Where Do You Go to be Brave?

You’re not a teenager anymore.

That is what I keep telling myself.

You’re not a student anymore. This is not your university campus. This is NOT the student life.

Tired nights, followed by lazy days… they can no longer be passed by moving from lecture hall to lecture hall in a student haze, strategically picking a seat far enough away from the lecturer, but close enough so that it does not look as though I’ve intentionally selected my seat so that I may go unnoticed by the lecturer, still recovering from the all-nighter of the previous night — by catching up on some sleep to the soothing melody of my lecturer’s voice.

I am a teacher now. I must set the example. I must teach. And my students will not sleep in my class — and neither will I.

So student life is behind me now. And adult life looms before me. I have responsibilities — not only to myself, but to others. To my students. To their parents. To my employer. To the generations that are still to come, the children that my students will nurture and raise!

I have responsibilities.

As a student, I only really had a responsibility to myself: to ensure that I handed my assignments in on time (and that it was well-researched and well-written), that I study for exams, and that I show up for exams — on time. If I had failed to do these things, the only one who would have suffered the consequences would have been me. The only one who would be failing would be me. The only one who would be repeating a module would be me. And I would probably have had to find my own way to pay for it, since it would also be me who would have been suffering the punishment and wrath of my parents for failing, thus resulting in them not paying for the module I would have had to repeat.

But now, as an adult, I don’t just report to myself at the end of the day. It’s not just good results on an exam that I am working towards. It is so much more than that. I have to think of budgeting and saving, of short-term and long-term. Being an adult is scary. Leaving behind my Chucks because they’re no longer appropriate footwear to wear to work was daunting. Going to bed at a sensible time because I have to wake up sensibly early the next morning and be at work a sensible ten minutes before the time was challenging — no, is challenging. Making sure my car is filled up with petrol because I’m no longer leeching off my father by driving his car — horrifying (to my purse).

But if being an adult is scary, being a teacher is absolutely terrifying. As a teacher, I have so many young minds before me, waiting for me to actually teach them. What could I possibly teach them?? The thought sometimes paralyses me. At times, I feel small and inadequate. I feel as though it’s all going wrong. I feel scared. But then I remind myself to be brave. But that doesn’t always work. I sometimes have a difficult time actually listening to what I tell myself. And then it’s time again for me to just suck it up and do my job: go into the classroom and teach those girls. Give them something to learn. And that’s when it happens. That’s when I get my courage. That’s when I’m reminded of why I’ve always wanted to be a teacher. That’s when my passion grows. And I fall in love with all of them all over again. When I need to be brave, I just step inside the classroom. I am greeted by my students with zest: “As-Salamu ‘alaykum wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatuh!” May the Peace, Mercy and Blessings of Allah be upon you! What more do I need? What more do I need  to be brave than the Peace, Mercy and Blessings of Allah, and the students whom He has guided me to teach?

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Do you get scared sometimes? What scares you? Where do you go, or what do you do, to be brave? Share your thoughts with me in the comments below.

What a Croc: What Can You Learn from a Shoe?

Croc-a-doodle-doo! Rise and shine! It’s the weekend and the Croc Outlet is having a sale! It’s going to be wild. It’s going to be crazy. Prepare for madness and mayhem, for pushing and shoving, for long queues of surly, brooding, Croc-loving people and for tempers getting lost — along with one half of that pair of Crocs that you really want — somewhere between the perfect shoe in the wrong size and the wrong shoe in the perfect colour.

Crocs is popularly known to be the shoe of comfort, but also the shoe of bright, funny colours and weird, bulky designs…

 

I used to look in wonderment at people who donned these grotesque-looking, laughable excuses for shoes, and I couldn’t fathom that they would wear them in public, regardless of the supposed comfort. But lately, I’ve noticed that there are more ‘stylish’ designs in these oh-so-comfortable-but-oh-so-hideous-looking shoes. Friends and family have sung its praises to me, convincing me of its comfort and benefits, and they’ve shown me the beauties among the beasts, and this was life-altering to me: I now found myself wanting a pair of Crocs. But not the big, colourful ones that could stop traffic — I’m not that Croc-crazy.

So, anyway, as we all know, anything of true comfort and quality comes at a pretty high price, and just because you’re a funny-looking shoe it doesn’t mean you get priced any differently. So, naturally, being a student who only works part-time, and therefore, only gets part of what one would call an actual salary, I couldn’t afford to buy myself a pair of these longed-for Crocs. Or so I thought…

For a few days now, word about town has been that there is a little Croc Outlet shop in Access Park, Kenilworth, and they’re having a sale. Their shoes have been priced ridiculously low, so that even I could afford it. So bright and early on Saturday morning, mother, sister and I went on our merry little way to get ourselves some Crocs. At 08: 50, we were early, since the store only opened at 09:00. Our plan was to be there early, get in, get what we want, and get out. We didn’t quite expect that that was the plan of twenty or thirty other Croc-loving people too. By the time we got there, there was already a line of people waiting at the door, already with their ‘sale’ faces on. As I stood waiting in the line, I thought: This isn’t going to be pleasant. But lo and behold! This particular sale experience was not what I had expected; in fact, it was quite the opposite. The most noteworthy occurrence for me was finding the perfect shoe, in just the right colour… but I only had one half of a pair. I held on to that one half though, refusing to give up on finding its partner. I kept looking all around the shop, squeezing in between the flood of people, darting my eyes to every corner of the shop, but alas, it was not to be found. Eventually, I resigned myself to give up on looking and went to stand in the queue that snaked along the entire length and breadth of the shop — but I still kept that one shoe with me. If you know nothing else about me, know this: I am an eternal optimist.

Standing behind me in the queue came a woman who looked none too happy to be there, and she didn’t look too keen on making small talk either. But hey, you know what they say about the covers of books, right? And the same goes for a surly-looking woman standing behind you in a long queue — don’t judge her. She might just be the one who finds that other half of a pair of shoes that you’ve been holding on to for about an hour now. And yes, she was indeed the one who found it — hiding inside a massive display Croc that was resting atop a shoe rack. When standing in a queue with someone for as long as we had been, you get to know some things about them, like that she was looking for the other half of her one half of a pair of shoes as well (I overheard her asking the sales assistant if he could find it for her), at which point I took the liberty to share with her that I, too, was in the same situation — and this is where our beautiful relationship started, and I discovered that I had judged her wrongly.

In the end, I had been schooled in people’s goodness and in the right way to do sale shopping. It’s not to fight and push people aside so that you may reach that pair of shoes before they do; it’s to be civil, polite and calm in the face of what could get chaotic.

At the end of all this, I realised that I had not only been schooled in shopping, but rather, in life. The woman standing behind me didn’t choose to be nasty by refraining from giving the missing shoe to me. No, she helped me, even though she had no reason to. And more than that, a gentleman standing in front of me also eventually heard that the woman behind me was missing a shoe, and without previously having engaged in any conversation with her at all, he proceeded to look around him at the random shoes scattered on the floor, in the hope that one of them might be the missing shoe. And such should be how we conduct ourselves and how we interact with others in life; if we know someone needs some help, and if we are able to, we should do what we can to help. It takes nothing away from us or our own successes in life to help others succeed. In fact, it may even contribute to our success, maybe not the material kind of success defined by our worldly achievements, but the kind of success that defines us. It defines who we are, and it defines our path in life. And all this, just from shopping for a pair of Crocs!

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