Heartbreak Warfare.

Dear World Wide Web,
It was an unusually warm Tuesday morning as I was sitting in the car, on the way to my elementary school. I was in the second grade, and thought I had everything figured out. I knew what high school, college, and even law school I wanted to go to, all by the time I was six and a half. There was something different about this day, from all the other times I had been dropped of at school.

As we were zooming down I-75, Ammu ( what Zahara and I are supposed to call our mom) decided to put this brand new cd that looked relatively good into the stereo. "Bye,bye,bye," was all it took and I was addicted. The song was so upbeat and catch, definitely calling for spastic dancing on my part. Ammu glanced at me from the side mirror on the car and asked if I was having some kind of "episode". I told her that I had found my favorite band of all time: *NSYNC. She laughed and rolled her eyes... of course. Then after relentless kicking and screaming, I had Ammu pass back the cd cover so I could glance at the cover of the geniuses behind the creation of the cd. As soon as it reached the very grips of my fingertips, the moment happened. The moment I had fallen in love, my very first. Not the kind of love that you have for a small chihuahua or a snuggie, this was the kind of love you have for people who really mean something to you, that could last forever.

There he dangled on the front of the “No Strings Attached” cd album with slight spiky hair, highlights, well styled jeans, and adorable black sweater was the fifth member on the right: Lance Bass. I had fallen in love at first glance. My whole world had been turned upside down in a matter of milliseconds; until that moment I believed that boys had cooties and were gross and icky, but Lance was different. He was a man. From that one picture on the cover of the album, I could tell several things. He seemed sensitive, looked gorgeous, and sounded talented. He was definitely the hunk for me.

Finally, I got to school. Although, when I got there the day zoomed by and all of my thoughts were consumed by his incredible face structure, green eyes, and fabulous hair. The second grade could not have gotten any more complicated. Later that day when Ammu picked Zahara and I from school, I picked up the “No Strings Attached” cover and ripped out the picture cover. I slid that picture into my jeans pocket and made sure no one saw. Then I realized that I did not care, I was in love. I even talked to the picture I tore out of Lance at night, making some of my biggest second grade decisions with him by my side. At that point, I felt like we were an actual married couple, we did everything together!

Eventually my friends knew something was different with my behavior and asked me what was wrong. I dreamily looked at them and told them I was in love. They asked, “ Are you sure you do not just like them a lot?” I told them proudly no, “ I mean It's that can't-eat, can't- sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over-the-fence, world-series kind of stuff.” My friends gasped slightly gasped and backed away a little. They knew it was serious if I was quoting my favorite movie “It takes two.” They pressed and pressed about who my "soulmate" was but I avoided answering it. An older man? They would not handle that well. Eventually I gave up and told them I had the hots for Grant Maris, (He was attractive back then) and they did the traditional “ Awwww, he is so perfect routine,” and never brought up my crush up again.

The Lanyesa Basshury relationship progressed until August of 2006. Then he came out to the world admitting that he was gay. I was CRUSHED. The first man I had given my whole heart to, and he was gay? I was nearly in tears when I found out. My first secret-imaginary-slightly creepy relationship, and it turned out he didn't want to have anything to do with me. You can imagine the rage I felt.

The worst thing about it is how I found out. My mom was taking me to publix for some school supplies and that was when I saw this sitting at the checkout lane. -------->



This was too much for me to even handle. My heart was ripped from my chest all at once and I could not even breathe. In the amount of time it took for the grocery bagger to ask paper or plastic, my world had done a complete 180. I was absolutely crushed, and my mom looked at me the same way she did when I first discovered my love of *NSYNC. I told her in a very condensed manner what happened and she said (this seriously happened) " It's not like you were going to marry him. You'll get over it." That's the day my heart had been broken twice. Once from Lance leaping out of the closet with full force and twice when my mother of didn't offer as much as a shoulder to cry on.

Sincerely
DECAFdork

Homecoming: Superheros

Dear World Wide Web,

With homecoming week underway, I was envisioning all the upcoming themed days in my mind. The first theme my mind wandered to was naturally Monday, Superhero day. Before the images of Batman, The Flash, and Spider-Man crossed my mind, I thought of my biggest super hero: my father.

There are times where I want to hide from my parents because they're incredibly embarrassing, but my father's journey to the United States is the most inspirational story I have ever heard. Every time I tell the story of how my father had literally grown from the ground up, jaws steadily drop until they lay on the floor. Though, it is not because of my exquisite story telling skills, it is because of the suffering he had endured to pursue the “American Dream.”

My father, Lokman, had been born in Chittagong, with ten brothers and sisters getting by with what they had. Because my great grandfather owned a primary school in Chittagong, my aunts and uncles were able to receive a perfectly fine education, and were able to barely hold their lives together. Everyone was continuing in their own way until 1971, the year of the Bangladesh War of Liberation. This was when Bangladesh, which was then East Pakistan was asserting its independence from West Pakistan, which is now Pakistan. My father enlisted in the army to pay tribute to the land he loved most. During his time in the army he worked his way up to become a “freedom fighter," fighting with blood, sweat and tears. Although, this was not enough, he was captured a few months into the war, only to become a prisoner of war. Three months later, he negotiated his way out of prison and promised his fellow inmates that he would escape the life he led now. That was when he took everything he had to America, without the help of his parents. He was desperate for a new chapter in his life, a beacon of light, and that beacon was America. He was going to move there regardless of what his parents had thought.

With one hundred taka in his pocket, or 10 US dollars, he flew overseas to Hartford, Connecticut where he stayed in an old friend’s basement. The first thing he did upon his arrival in Connecticut was go to the salvation army and buy a suit for his job interviews with the three dollars he set aside for his business attire. He eventually purchased an itchy green suit with missing buttons and rips everywhere, but nevertheless it was intact. He applied for countless odd jobs, at banks, carvel factories and kfc stores because it was now his responsibility to pay for his education. For five years, he had lived in the cramped basement working sedulously on ways to make more money, making sure his future family would never suffer like he had to. He struggled every day, living the life of an overspent 28 year old.

After the long endured five years, he had gotten his first raise to a managerial position at kfc, which was enough to let go of his other two jobs at the bank and the carvel factory. Through his new managerial position he met his best friend, Dave. When Dave's grandfather, the owner of most of the corporation at the time had passed, he had left Dave a large amount of franchises. With that, my father sharpened his English, people skills, and financial abilities, and was recommended for a partnership in a 50 store franchise with his best friend.

My father was dumbfounded; he had absolutely nothing to say, nothing in his life had ever presented itself before him without any pretenses. Just like that, his life had turned right side up, allowing him to find his rightful place in the world.

Sometimes I wonder how he did it all, and is still incredibly humbled by this experience 35 years later. A few years ago, I asked him because I was completely puzzled by his life story. He told me to check the back of his closet, and I did. There in a raggedy black garment bag laid the green suit, tears and all. He had pursued the American Dream all on his own, from the ground up.

Not as decaffeinated,
DECAF dork

Where's the sheep herder? I found the black sheep.

Dear World Wide Web,
They say that some of our traits are genetic, but I refuse to believe that. It just doesn't add up to me. The facts simply are not there. Every member of my family is at least fifteen shades darker than I am, has silkier hair, shades of light brown in their hair, and much smarter. While I stand pale, coarse haired, and sometimes oblivious to the world. Obviously whoever decided this arrangement wanted to play a cruel joke and make a black sheep in the family: me.
The only thing is that, not only do I look the part of the black sheep, I definitely feel like it. Although, it's not the significant events in my life that have made this incredibly clear cut for me to understand, it's the little things. It's the fact that in my baby pictures I look like a pasty, white, awful ugly infant with two slits for eyes rather than my beautiful baby sister with milky skin and big round eyes. Or that I was asked if I was adopted at my cousins wedding ( yes, that happened). It's the fact that I really don't belong, not even genetically.
I do honestly love my family, but they make it hard to admit it when I'm too busy turning shades of crimson while hiding behind something. If only I could describe how embarrassing my family was. You would not even be able to fathom it.
A few months ago my dad was dropping me off at school and said in his most serious voice, “You work too hard, you really are a dork. I’ve never really seen a kid work seven-twenty four,” I stared in disbelief for a moment and said, “excuse me?” He then retorted, “Don’t look at me like that; you know it is seven-twenty four.” I thought to myself, “Gee, hopefully my intelligence comes from mom's side of the family.”
Later my mom was in the store with my sister and I. I was incredibly ecstatic that I was invited to take a special drama class in the beginning of the year, and I tell my mom, “Mom, I’m going to be a thespian!” Without thinking, she screams at the tops of her lungs, “NO DAUGHTER of mine will chase after girls romantically.” Then she started crying, at what I regret to inform you as full volume. I couldn't even decide what was more embarrassing, the fact that I was so red I was purple, or that my mom was pointing at me, rambling on about how disgraceful I was to the family.
They really are embarrassing, but they have developed my character in such a way that I would not be who I am today without their antics. They have taught me to love my roots and stand up for what I believe in, making me stand out. I may be a black sheep in several ways, but I never said it was a bad thing. It makes me self conscious at times, knowing everyone's staring at me because I'm the "casper" of the family. Although it all depends on how well you can take people criticizing or making fun of you. As you can see, I find the most therapeutic way to deal is to laugh my insecurities off, because even if I'm the black sheep, it's what I am. I can't change it, and wouldn't change it for anything.
Regardless, I have to put my past behind me and work on being proud of my inherited genetic traits, even if it takes seven- twenty four.
not as caffeinated,
DECAF dork