Dear Anxiety

Below is a piece that moved me. At their request I have posted it and they remain anonymous.

….

“Dear Anxiety,

 The time has come.

 A time I have been putting off for a while, a time I can no longer prolong.

You and I have been acquaintances for years now. You entered my life uninvited. You embedded yourself in my mind and raped me of my logical and emotional thinking process.

Not once did you consider me in all your selfishness. From the stresses of primary school homework to the pressures of life, you manifested yourself in me as if there was no barrier, as if I was born with you… as if you owned me.

For years I let you proliferate my life, my sense of worth and my heart. You made it your personal mission to battle with me in every aspect of my life from education, work, friendships and even relationships.

You weaved your toxic reactions all over my body, from the speedy heart rate, sweaty palms and illogical and intrusive thoughts.

You crippled me mentally despite my physical capability.

As the years went on, your psychological abuse towards me heightened. You began to disrupt not only my thoughts, but my time.

With each thought you introduced behavioral rituals. You forced me to switch on the light three times before bed every night. You made me organize my whole room in immaculate order.

You created a paranoid yet collected monster who on the outside appeared normal, but deep below was spiraling out of control in a frenzy of absolute order.

You became my addictive enemy.

Without you I was nervous, impatient, and scared like a child without its security blanket.

You became my very own Stockholm Syndrome. You were my captor and I was your prisoner that couldn’t bare a day without you.

As my life advanced so did you. Although at times I managed to loosen your tight grip, you were quick to notice and forcefully reinstated your power and control over me.

You made sure I knew who was boss- it was you.

… or so I thought.

You see Anxiety despite you been in my life for such a long time you have overlooked one thing, one very important thing.

Me.

One night while I was praying you emerged. You made me repeat my prayer six times because you told me that if I didn’t God would be displeased with me.

You did this for months and I believed you. After every prayer I broke down begging for God to save and help me from you.

While I was on my hands and knees in the early hours of the morning I realized God had already sent me a savior.

It was me.

Unbeknown to you, you stupidly underestimated God and me.

You see Anxiety, I was beginning to silently fight back in your chaotic and deafening war.

After years of grappling with the thought, I finally did it.

I saw a psychologist. 

The moment I walked through those doors into the white, gleaming room I felt as if I had just taken a knife to your back and stabbed you deep inside.

It was a sensation that consumed me, overwhelmed me and bought me to tears. Happy tears because finally after years of silently suffering under your rule I was screaming from the top of my lungs.

You finally looked up.

With every session, you dealt a blow. You noticed.

In all your anger and rage you intensified your behavior rituals and your intrusive thoughts- a defense mechanism you tried destabilizing me with.

It didn’t work. Not this time.

Anxiety, although you remain to linger in my life- you are no longer the superpower you once had me believing.

You are no longer my captor and I am no longer your needy prisoner. Finally I have broken free from the tyranny of your mental incarceration.

Finally, my mind, thoughts and emotions are returning to its rightful owner.

 Me.

So Anxiety, although you attempt to revive yourself on a day-to-day basis- I fight back stronger and more capable then I have ever been.

But I want to thank you.

Yes, thank you.

Thank you for breaking me down to my core and mentally beating me up while crippled and defenseless.  

Thank you for the days of stress, fear and mental instability.

Why am I thanking you? Because without your cruel treatment of my mind- it would not be what it is today…

… a free mind.

Too often people think of you as an irrational and illogical weakness. But you my friend have unknowingly produced strengths within me.

You are not a sign that I am weak nor are you an indicator that I have lost control.

You are evidence to the struggles I have overcome, the battles I lost and won and the war I will win.

I am no longer in your confinement, no longer suffocating under your regime.

I am me- a forceful power you can no longer penetrate even with your impressive artillery of irrational thoughts and behavioral urges.

Anxiety, you are not the killer of my dreams, you are the motivator.

Sincerely , a liberated Mind, Body and Spirit. “

Shrapnel from Iraq War still cutting deep

She was sitting alone in the dimly lit living room. Light was beaming from the television as the sound of the news reporter echoed across the sombre house.

I walked closer to her and switched on the remaining lights. Her face was illuminated but her bloodshot eyes remained fixed on the screen.

Her lashes were wet as she ran a tissue across her cheek while another tear streamed down the other and fell softy on her lap, staining her jeans.

I looked over at the television displaying footage of Baghdad’s skies ignited from rocket launches as gun shots fired in the distance of the capital city. It was March 20 2003, 5.33 local time.

I looked back at her, she looked at me with pleading eyes and shook her head, “I miss them,” my mum cried. I sat beside her and held her.

We watched on as the Al Jazeera story marked the 10^th Anniversary of the 2003 Iraq Invasion.

It has been 10 years since the U.S and its allied forces, including Australia, decided to invade Iraq on what would soon become known as a false premise that Iraq had possession of weapons of mass destruction.

A 10 year invasion that according to IraqiBodycount.org has cost 111,390 to 121,736 Iraqis; three of which included my maternal grandfather, grandmother and uncle.

What was alleged to liberate and bring about ‘democracy’ to Iraqis or what has been neatly packaged as ‘Operation Iraqi Freedom’, has proven to be nothing but a political error for the U.S  But for Iraq, it has manifested itself as a crippling social, economic and religious catastrophe.

Today’s Iraq is not the optimistic ideal of freedom that former U.S President George Bush had so foolishly envisioned for the nation.  The ‘new Iraq’ is founded on government corruption, sectarian conflict, terrorism, detrimental health crises, unemployment and a diminishing education system.

With checkpoints littered across the country, Iraq is currently struggling to rebuild after the destruction. Sectarian conflict across Sunni and Shia majority cities including Baghdad and Najaf has erupted, hindering any chance at unified progression.

In December, Sunnis in the Western city of Ramadi held demonstrations against the government of Nouri Maliki. Since then, the demonstrations have continued to escalate with the country’s minority Sunni group, demanding reforms and called for Nouri Al Maliki to step down.

But sectarian conflict is just one of the many challenges that confront the ‘new Iraq’. Earlier this month I attended an intimate conference hosted by the Asia Pacific Journalism Centre (APJC).

The APJC invited early to mid career young journalists to mark the anniversary in the hopes that Australian mainstream media will help commemorate as well.

The conference featured an extensive list of Iraq War experts including:  President of Iraq’s Journalists’ Sayndicate, Moaid Allami, Women’s and Human Rights activist Basam Alkhateeb, Research fellow at the Centre for Citizenship and Globalisation at Deakin University, Benjamin Isakhan and International Development professional  Sudipto Mukerjee.

The group in attendance had opportunities to delve deeper into some of the underlying issues that are preventing progression in the region.  During the conversation one issue stood out the most which shook me not only as a journalist but as an Iraqi. It was the educational crisis that Iraq is suffering from.

One speaker revealed the lagging educational system currently in place, he said, “One professor lecturing engineering at Baghdad University told me the curriculum he was teaching his students was the same curriculum he was taught by his teacher.”  But the lack of development is not only exclusive to the education system, it extends itself to medicine, technology and infrastructure.

Iraq has traditionally struggled with electricity and communication, however, since the 2003 invasion, the situation has only deteriorated producing what I term ‘web of chaos’. Thousands of wires hang dangerously low above suburban streets across the country- all scrambling to ‘connect’ Iraqi residents to electricity poles that are only able to withstand producing six hours of electricity per day… if that.  Leaving residents relying on generators.

It dawned on me that what was once the ‘cradle of civilisation’ had been reduced to a third world country. How is it that Iraq can ‘rebuild’ when the most basic foundations of civilisation like medicine, education and technology are limping 20 years behind in comparison to the rest of the world? How can the U.S, U.K and Australia confidently say that they have equipped Iraq with the tools necessary to create a ‘new Iraq’ that serves its people?

The final part of the APJC conference featured live crosses to Baghdad including special guest with Australian Donna Mulhearn, former ‘human shield’ and journalist. Donna who is currently in Iraq is investigating the detrimental effects of the alleged use  of depleted Uranium by invading forces in Basra and Fallujah.

In 2004, Fallujah, located west of Baghdad, was the epicentre of US conflict. Since then, chronic birth deformities have increased by a staggering 1500 per cent, and babies are contracting different types of cancers.

Neurologists and obstetricians treating babies in Fallujah’s general Hospital say on average they see two children born with deformities a day, particularly in the spinal cord, nervous system and head; causes they could not explain. Others, however, are more confident in identifying the cause.

Former Iraqi Minister of Women’s Affairs, Dr Nawal Majeed a-Sammarai, has lobbied the UN general assembly to conduct a full investigation into the defects and the cause.

Donna Mulhearn revealed that while American and Australian soldiers are protected against uranium dust and other toxic pollution, contaminated wreckage remains exposed on streets, water ways and areas where children play.

While the U.S admitted to using only white phosphorus, the Iraqi Ministry of Environment revealed that more than 12 locations in Fallujah had been contaminated with radiation. Since then, Iraqi officials have issued statements recommending that women living in Fallujah not conceive children.

In October 2012 a report, published in the Bulletin of Environmental Contamination and Toxicology, found “compelling evidence” linking the number of birth defects and miscarriages to US and allied bombings.

It found of all the babies surveyed by the researchers in Fallujah, more than 50 per cent of those born between 2007 and 2010 had birth defects. Before the US assaults on Fallujah in 2004, that figure had been around 10 percent.

The study further revealed that more than 45 percent of pregnant women in Fallujah experienced miscarriages in the two-year period following the US assaults on the city. By contrast, around 10 percent of the city’s pregnant women miscarried prior to the US attack.

The condition that Iraq has been left in is not merely a result of the U.S led invasion, although a large contributor, the plight of Iraq and its people is also attributed to two Gulf wars and a third war that is often neglected… ‘The silent war’ also known as the sanctions imposed by the United Nations Security Council.

Beginning in August 1990 and ending in 2003, the UN enforced a trade and financial embargo on the region in an attempt to persuade the government to withdraw from Kuwait and indirectly destabilise Hussein’s dictatorship. However, these sanctions inevitably crippled the Iraqi people.

In the time span of the sanctions, increased rates of malnutrition, lack of medical supplies, and diseases from lack of clean water were reported. The economy had been heavily dependent on the exportation of oil but the sanctions imposed restricted trade, forcing a huge decline in revenue for the nation and consequently a drastic decline in access to medicine and basic food supplies.

The devastating sanctions saw food security diminish, resulting in 100,000 to over 500,000 children dead as estimated by Gulf Child Health Survey.

At the APJC conference, the president of the Iraq War Inquiry Group and former secretary of the Department of Foreign affairs and Trade, Paul Barratt gave his perspective on Iraq. In hi address, Paul spoke of the obligations that Australia must fulfil to assist Iraq in its rebuilding efforts, including launching an official investigation into the Iraq War.

Paul said it was vital that an Iraq War inquiry be undertaken as the move to join the U.S as an allied force raised serious questions about the Australian governments honesty and accountability. The Iraq invasion he continued, left questions hanging including what process was undertaken pre invasion and how did the government reconcile conflicting intelligence assessments?

As the 10 year anniversary fast approaches, there have been so signs of a serious discussion to launch such an investigation. Long after I left the conference one quote Paul said remained with me, “We always find the resources to fund war but can never find the resources to fund peace.” These words sent sharp stabs not because I am an Iraqi but because I am also an Australian whose home country was responsible in destroying the home of my family.

What struck me the most about hearing first-hand accounts of the situation in Iraq was the level of sheer desperation Iraqis have reached.  A resounding feeling of defeat and exhaustion lay beneath the weary eyes of each person we crossed live to in Baghdad.

I realised that the legacy of the illegal intervention crumbled not only infrastructure, education, health and the economy but it has destabilised what used to be a long standing tradition of Iraqi national pride. Regardless of whether you were Sunni, Shia, Christian, Kurdish or Turkmen… You were proud of Iraq and what it stood for. The war’s legacy has destroyed this.

After hearing all the stories one unified theme emerged… The ‘new Iraq’ is worse off now than it was 10 years ago especially in security. I left the APJC holding back tears at my people’s heartache and struggle. I walked away feeling proud of Iraqi people’s ability to overcome adversity time and time again. I walked away having a glimmer of hope for Iraq’s future. But above all, I walked away with a heavy heart knowing that despite time progressing Iraq’s wounds have not healed.

Image: Britannica.com

As published in Youthink magazine

Shoes Now Save Later

What I am about to admit has been a life-long struggle for me. The internal arguments with myself over this issue has occupied my mind and although those who are close to me may be aware of it, it’s only now that I have decided to take a leap of faith and let it go…

I am a self-confessed shopaholic.

There I said it!

I like many other women around the world find pure bliss in purchasing products including but not limited to: dresses, shoes, make-up, shoes, scarves, nail polish, oh and did I mention shoes?

The thought of inserting that credit card into the machine as I delicately type the pin in and the sound of the ‘approved’ beep going off, is enough to send me into a frenzy of giggles and excitement.

The sound of bags rustling as I sneak them into the house while trying to avoid my father’s shopping walk of shame gaze sends adrenaline rippling through me.

The thrill of trying on my new dress and showcasing it to my sisters as they stare in adoration while they squeal… (probably at the thought of me allowing them to eventually borrow it- foolish girls)elevates me to a shopping high.

But as my wardrobe grows, my bank balance rapidly diminishes. Recently I was proudly talking to a close friend of mine about my immaculate wardrobe arrangement, the colour coordination, the perfectly folded cardigans, and the neatly stacked shoes… while doing this we were also ironically enjoying your average teenage whinge about how difficult it is to save.

The discussion led to what our weekly spending was. Mine was estimated to be around $150-$200. After discussing the amount of money we waste on things like food, he proposed a challenge that I live on $50 a week for six weeks.

After a couple of minutes of talking myself up and my impeccable money-saving skills to my friend- who clearly at this stage underestimated my ability to save, I willingly accepted.

Week one started off with purchasing my weekly train ticket at the heart-wrenching price of $20.  That was almost half of my budget already gone, I thought to myself. Nevertheless I carried on.

As I walked along the pavement heading to work the aroma of coffee lingered pass my nose. It’s alluring smell immediately diverted my body to the nearby Gloria Jean’s cafe, ignoring my brain’s desperate warning signs that I am left with only $30 for the rest of the week.  I walked out clutching at my cup of morning glory with a receipt that read $3.50 and a smile on my face.

The following couple of days I continued my coffee trend.  ‘I am packing food from home so I can spoil myself with this little bit of necessity to help me get by’ I reassured myself. By the time Thursday came around and after three coffees and an iced coffee date with a friend, I was left on $3.50.

After informing my friend of the remaining budget he chuckled, “HA! Goodluck for the rest of the week!” he snickered.

Despite his inability to conceal his excitement at the thought that he was on the verge of been proven right- that I am unable to live on $50 a week, I simply said, ‘You’ll see,” as I pictured his face in shock when Sunday would come around and I would have successfully finished the first week of the challenge.

Much to my friend’s surprise and perhaps annoyance- although he won’t admit it, I made it to Sunday without spending the remaining $3.50. After a few minutes of performing my dorky celebratory dance I prepared for the coming week.  I felt as if I was at war with limited means, rationing my $50 amongst the bare essentials.

Week two started off great… or so I thought it was until I went for a stroll on my work break. As a safety precaution I left my purse in the office and walked out the building. As I made my way to Pitt St Mall the shopaholic within me awakened from its deep slumber.

All of a sudden, the white, lace long-sleeved top with a high neck cut that was draped on the mannequin’s petite upper body became a ‘bare essential’. The gleaming $150, nude Tony Biancos with spikes on the heels were a match made in heaven for my feet.

‘Don’t do it Widyan’ the voice in my head warned itself.  ‘You cannot lose this challenge’ and it was right. I painstakingly dragged myself and walked away as my hand prints on the windows faded right before the pair of heels.

Week 2 ended on a high… well a high personal achievement wise, but my budget finished off on 50 cents. Yes I know pathetic right? But hey I remained within the given budget and no one was going to take my sense of satisfaction away from me.

“A congratulations is in order,” I proudly demanded from my friend. “I’ll congratulate you when you win the challenge. If you finish on $10 next week then and only then will I consider you to be a threat.” I thought about it for a few seconds, ‘that would mean cutting down the coffee, think of the coffee’ the voice in my head screamed. “Deal!” I said ignoring it.

Monday came around and I was confident that I could finish on $10, perhaps I was a little foolish in believing so because come Monday night at a community event  things were about to get very interesting.

After having an early lunch, then heading to the event which I was a volunteer for, I was well and truly in starvation mode. By the end of the event I tried to ignore the stomach rumbles until I got home, but the feeling of my stomach eating itself and the peer pressure of a group dinner became too much to bare.

‘There are plenty of inexpensive options on the menu Widyan. You have $30, you got this’ I encouraged as I read through the menu. I settled for the mushroom chicken, chips and salad with a glass of peach ice tea, bringing my total order to the amount of $25. I smiled to myself knowing I didn’t go over my budget… only to realise I failed my friend’s $10 challenge… the smile quickly disappeared.

‘Just enjoy the chicken’ I told myself as I took a mouth full picturing my friend’s face after I would reveal to him my expenditure.

Later that night as I was straddling the line of consciousness and deep sleep my phone buzzed. I reached for it and opened the most heart wrenching text message… it was from my service provider. ‘You have less than $5 remaining of your credit’ I stared at the text message re-reading the sentence hoping it would disappear…it didn’t.

“You have got to be joking?” I asked in sheer desperation as I looked at the inanimate object in my hand, as if it was going to answer my question. I deleted the message and called my friend since I had 200 free minutes.

“So um I think I may have to buy credit tomorrow since I have less than $5 left and my budget has only $5 remaining on it,” I said in a soft voice in the hope that he wouldn’t hear me or perhaps unconsciously I hoped he would feel sorry for me make an exception this one time… he didn’t.

Laughter erupted from the phone’s speaker, “I knew it!” he screamed as he laughed even harder at what had now become a failed challenge. “You win so bask in the glory while you can,” I said half heartedly. “Yes I do win. Good try though,” he said in an attempt at pretending to comfort me from the disappointment.

“I would have won the challenge had it not been for me having to recharge you know,” I said as he was finally recovering from his laughing fit… and I truly believe I would have.

People asked me why I was doing the challenge, questions like ‘Are you going through financial difficulties?  And ‘Do you need money?’ were asked and re asked over the course of the two weeks. Truth is no, I was not going through any financial difficulties, as a matter of fact I am earning now more than at any other time in my life and that was the problem.

I am privileged enough to have a good paying job and money is at my disposal… too much of it. I would purchase things even when I did not need to. I would spoil myself to the point when it was no longer ‘spoiling’ but became more of a routine… an expensive routine. After all it was my money and I did work hard for it, I told myself every time I was at the check-out.

But somewhere down the line, somewhere amongst the new dresses, the stacked shoes and the draws full of make up, I had lost the meaning of the value of a dollar.

That is why I took on this challenge, not only to improve my money saving skills but to appreciate all that I had already possessed. It was about relearning and reclaiming how to be content and what it means to be content with what I have.

Having money is dangerous because it blurs the line between needs and wants. A new dress becomes a need rather than a want or a new shade of lipstick all of a sudden is boxed in the ‘bare essentials’ category.

While I will never be able to break free entirely from the consumer chains courtesy of my passion and love affair with fashion, the challenge taught me how to be resourceful and wise with my money.

I now still pack lunch from home, although I buy a chocolate bar here and there. I’m saving at least $100 a week on food alone, I set aside more than half of my fortnightly payment on savings and finally my bank account is growing at a rate that’s catching up with the growth rate of my wardrobe… well almost.

Widyan Al Ubudy

“A Universal God”

 

When I was asked to write an article about religion, I initially underwent a serious case of anxious feelings like breaking out into a sweat, rapid heartbeat and stress. I thought ‘Me write an article about religion… Oh Gosh!’ But here is why I was so fearful. Firstly, I am not the most religious person on the face of the earth, and secondly I feared coming across as authoritative in one way or another … something which I certainly do not claim to be. 

 

After my panic attack I thought about it a little more rationally. ‘The approach is where the key is’ I calmly reassured myself. So I thought about my beloved religion … Islam. I thought about how my religion forms the foundation of my life, how dear to my heart I hold it and try my best to follow it on a daily basis.  But what struck me the most was just how much of an influence my religion played in my decision making process and my relationship with my non-Muslim friends.  

 

This realisation came recently after an online flyer for World Hijab Day was brought to my attention. The initiative was for February 1st, 2013, where veiled Muslim women invite both Muslim (non-veiled) and non-Muslim women to participate in a worldwide event by embracing the hijab (veil) for a day.  The aim was to raise awareness, create a better understanding and produce a more peaceful world. I gave the concept some thought and after a couple of days decided to put a call out on my Facebook to my friends encouraging them to support the initiative. To my surprise three of my non-Muslim friends emailed me almost instantaneously informing me of their interest and eagerness to take the challenge on. One of these friends was a young woman by the name of Jess who I had met in the UK while I was on student exchange. She emailed me saying “Not only do I want to do World Hijab Day; I want to do it for a month and blog about it”.

 

I was overcome with sheer excitement and a feeling of whole-hearted appreciation towards my friends but more importantly towards God, that He blessed me with loved ones who had such open hearts and minds. I offered my support to three of the women and told them what was required of them – that they wear the hijab and dress modestly on the day and document their experience in some form, they all agreed.  The following day I awoke to a first blog entry by Jess who had just finished the first day of wearing the hijab. I excitedly clicked the link and began reading through her experience.  I read about the all too familiar suspicious gazes she encountered and the awkward quietness in public spaces – something I warned Jess about prior to her adorning the hijab. When I reached the end of her blog it read, “…a woman said she thought that people like me who wore the hijab were “brave” because of the statement we were making and even made the point that “it’s not something like a cross that you can hide in your shirt, it’s something you wear on your head”, which was a really pertinent point. Muslim women cannot hide the fact that they are Muslim – it’s out there for the world to see, especially if they wear the hijab – and nor should they!”  A shiver ran through my body and a smiled appeared on my face because of what Jess had done and what the woman had said to her. Here was a non-Muslim woman who not only was voluntarily changing her life for a month to experience a taste of what women like myself undergo on a daily basis, but who had just enabled an honest discussion regarding the hijab between two non-Muslims.

 

But not everybody shared mine and Jess’s excitement, nor could everybody see the benefit of this initiative. Jess received mixed feedback from readers who were now following her journey. Some congratulated and encouraged her to persist with it, while others condemned her and her efforts along with the purpose of World Hijab Day. Some claimed it was reinforcing stereotypes about what it means to be a Muslim woman or that it takes more than a day to know what it’s like, while others argued that the day is not representative of all Muslim women as many do not adorn the hijab.

 

All of these points were valid in their own right, because let’s face it one day of wearing the hijab in reality is nowhere near long enough to gain a sound idea of what it might be like for a Muslim woman. However, I felt that many of the critics had completely missed the point of the initiative and its objective. It’s simple – the idea is to raise awareness and provide mutual understanding or at the bare minimum tolerance of our differences. A sense of disappointment and frustration consumed me when I realized that some of my Muslim veiled friends held similar views towards World Hijab Day. Needless to say, the critics couldn’t stop Jess nor discourage me from encouraging her.

 

The second day I checked up on Jess’s progress, and to my shock and awe she told me that she had borrowed a Quran from the library because she wanted to know more about not only why women adorned the hijab but about the religion that it was based on.  After telling her the cleansing practices of how to handle the Quran when reading it, I couldn’t help but shed a tear. My friend who had previously had limited knowledge about Islam was now reading the Quran voluntarily. I basked in the overwhelming feeling of closeness to God and a strengthened love for my dear friend Jess.  I didn’t feel as if my friend was reverting to Islam, nor was that the aim of why I encouraged my friends to participate and it was certainly not the purpose of World Hijab Day. It was my friend’s mere curiosity and willingness to learn that instigated her to further seek knowledge about Islam – a curiosity that God had bestowed upon her.

 

Five days into her hijab journey Jess released her fifth blog about her experiences. She revealed that although she will not be converting to Islam (nor did I expect her to) she has taken away valuable Islamic fundamentals- dressing modestly, believing in the oneness of God, that Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him), Jesus, Moses etc were all Prophets of Islam, and the consumption of halal meat and no alcohol.  Jess wrote, “Islam has taught me that I am not the person I thought I was. I am a creation of God and I am a good person.” Her words echoed in my ears and found that my eyes had glazed over, yet again. Jess’s words remain with me as a reminder of the beauty my Lord has shown Jess. Jess’s conviction, persistence and honesty taught me that my religion is so pure and universal that even a non-Muslim can find benefit in its abundance of knowledge, wisdom and way of life.

 

I later realized that Jess’s journey with the hijab not only taught her valuable lessons about religion but also taught me more about mine. Islam is not just about following a set of obligatory rules; Islam is a spiritual journey. It is about the cleansing of the soul, heart and mind. Islam is about understanding, compassion and love. It’s about sharing the relationship between yourself and God with others to help, inspire and motivate them to achieve what they doubted in themselves.  God granted me the privilege of being his servant and the ability to share and encourage people like Jess. This experience illustrated that regardless of where one comes from, where one lives or even how one lives, the message of God, the message of Allah (Subhan Wa Talla) is universal and applicable to each and every individual that occupies this temporary world.

 

So the critics can continue to harp on and write their arguments, they can condemn and contest the initiative behind their computer screen, but if World Hijab Day means people rediscovering themselves and God and if it means reinstating the powerful teachings of my Lord then that is enough for me because as Jess rightfully put it, “God does not care about what other people think of us. He is only interested in how we behave. Whilst other people’s opinions are important, they do not define us and have no real impact on how we live our lives.” Jess’s journey and actions reminded me of a saying a friend once told me, that Islam and the spirituality of Islam is something that should animate our acts in our everyday lives with both Muslims and non-Muslims.

 

Widyan Al Ubudy 

As published on VIBEWIRE 

BBC story on Jess: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-21283301 

The Rich, The Famous and Me

 

 

 I walked in, the low dim lighting filled my eyes, the serene music passed my ears and the smell of new carpet and peppermint crept into my nose.

 

“Now anyone under the age of 35 may hit on you. These people… well these people are not like us. You may come across some very right winged people, but I trust you will take it in stride,” my teacher warned as he prepared me for the private book launch event of the richest woman in the country and perhaps even in the world. I nodded as I clutched at my hijab making sure it was in place.

 

“Surname?” asked the immaculately dressed blonde, “Al Ubudy,” I replied. It was easy for her to find amongst the Smith’s Bartholumeouth’s and Edelstein’s. “Oh, you’re a V.I.P member,” she surprisingly said. I looked over at my teacher and giggled at her inability to hide her shock and awe at how someone like me managed to land a V.I.P seat.

 

As we walked in the waiter approached us, “light refreshments Miss?”, I looked at the tray and the offerings it had, of course there was your expensive wine, Champaign and sparkly. I opted for the orange juice, as did my teacher.  We found a quiet corner and stood there watching as the other half mingled and threw their heads back in laughter.

 

While talking with my teacher an elderly man walked towards us. His suite was no doubt a custom made Montagio, I can tell a fine cut suit from a mile away. His shoes polished to a t and his receding hairline was just as shiny as his grey slicked back hair. But it was the accessory on his arm that captured my attention.

 

A beautiful woman with her long brunette locks falling by her shoulders, her low cut black sheer dress flowed behind her as she politely smiled at me, her teeth beamed. “How are you young lady?” the old man greeted me, “fine, thank you Sir. How are you?”  I asked, “Oh you know same old, same old,” he said as he scanned me from head to toe. I nodded and fake smiled knowing he was probably wondering what I did for a living. He most likely thought I was either new money, married to a rich Saudi investor or inherited my father’s millions… I was none of which.

 

He continued talking and making jokes I didn’t understand, nonetheless I giggled and sipped my drink like a natural as if I knew exactly what he was talking about. The woman with him turned to me and complained about the pain she was feeling from her heels but she too glared at my long dress and Hijab, “they are worth it though. Aren’t they pretty?” she asked. I looked down and as a shoe lover I couldn’t deny the beauties that her perfectly pedicured toes squeezed into. “they are beautiful,” I said wondering how much they would have cost.  I reached for my Hijab adjusting it again, she flicked her hair away from her face and chest revealing her cleavage and oversized breasts, which probably cost more than my car I thought.

 

When we finally made it to our seats, the speeches commenced. I looked down at my table; three forks and a spoon were on my left and two knives and some other cutlery object that I hadn’t seen before which looked like a letter opener, was on my right. I suddenly felt like Jack Dawson in Titanic when he was dining with Rose Dewitt Bukater’s family not knowing where to start, “Start on the outside and work your way in,” I remembered. 

 

After the congratulatory speeches were done they served dinner, mine was barramundi with potatoes and veggies. I began to eat as I delicately made tiny incisions into my fish and ate silently with my mouth closed. I so desperately just wanted to use my fingers to get rid of the bones; ‘I’m Arab for God’s and who eats fish with no Lebanese bread?’ I thought to myself. At the end the waiter came around offering the choice of red or white wine, he reached my end. But he wasn’t one of them, all it took was one glance at me before he smirked and said, ‘would you like me to top up your juice?’  I agreed. After dinner, the richest woman in Australia was introduced… as the richest woman in Australia, as if we could forget it.

 

Gina Rinehart took to the stage and began her speech. She spoke about her father’s legacy and what she thinks the government should do to un-tap the untapped potential that was available in Northern Australia. She spoke about the mining industry and how it saved Australia from feeling the wrath of the Global Financial Crisis and how hard people in the mining industry work. After her speech and standing ovation the floor was opened to questions. As an Arab woman who never misses an opportunity to speak her mind, I raised my hand. A woman handed me the microphone and I stood.

 

At that moment I remembered Jack again when he was trying to be like them dressed up in his suit and practicing his greetings. I knew they all thought I was one of them, someone how I had made my millions, somehow I was privileged enough to be amongst their prescience. “Hello my name is Widyan Al Ubudy. I have two questions. First, what advice would you give to a young migrant who wants to add value to Australian society and secondly, do you think there is room for migrant women in the mining industry?” I gave myself away.

 

I sat down as the room remained silent I could feel them starring at me. I listened to Gina’s response, but in the back of my head I knew that they knew and realised I wasn’t one of them nor did I want to be.

 

At the networking session after dinner, while I lined up to get my book signed by Gina a man approached me and began talking about his work in the mining industry. “So you want to consider a future in the mining ha?”, “No Sir, I don’t have any desire what so ever to consider a future in mining,” I responded. “Well it pays well. Hard work but it’s worth it. I make 30 million dollars a month! What do you do?” I almost choked on my drink, “Well Sir I certainly don’t make 30 million a month. I make just over $3000 a month. I’m a public servant and a writer,” his smile somewhat deteriorated after that revelation and so did too the conversation.

 

After the event I kept thinking “do these people realise that their money won’t be taken with them in their grave?”, I think they knew but didn’t care. As Coco Chanel once said, “There are the rich, then there are the wealthy.” I was definitely the wealthy. Wealthy in Iman.

 

Widyan Al ubudy. 

 

As published on MuslimVillage 

Avel’s spoken words

He was in stark contrast to the tranquil backdrop of the flowing river, bright sun and waddling ducks. With his arms folded, defenses up and a stern look, he appears to be your average macho 21-year-old but after talking to Avel Isra his intimidating persona begins to slowly shed. Revealing  a man of raw emotion, inspiration and drive.

Just when you thought the music industry was saturated with artists who appeal only to the screaming teeny boppers of the world, Avel Isras’s music, humor and humility appeals to all ages and senses.

Anoujoum has this exclusive interview with up-coming local new artist and musician, Avel Isra.

Tell me a little about yourself

Basically I’m into music. I love anything creative… most people might consider me weird. I have a natural and unique taste in music and everything else… for example I love nature. I’ve also got a really strong sense of culture and exploring those cultures and reflecting that through my music.

You’re still at university, what are you studying?

I’m currently doing geo-physics which is basically geology with applied physics. I don’t know how I got into that… like I said I love nature so I thought it would be a good thing to do.

You consider yourself and artist. Can you tell me what your fondest memory of music is?

The best thing I can remember was when I was five, I just heard Michael Jackson and…he was one of my biggest inspirations. I was always dancing to him even from a young age, my mum use to tell me I would have the headphones on and just bumping to it. I… I also like Usher. The first time I ever sang was in grade five and it was a cover of ‘Let It Burn’ (laughs) …one of my teachers started crying… I don’t know why. I think they must have been proud.

At what point did you decide to get into music?

I was always into music… like my dad play Turkish instruments, my mum sings, one of my uncles sings and the other plays guitar. So we are all a pretty musical family. I first got into producing around the age of 13… it’s pretty much a family tradition. My family had a huge impact on me especially growing up with a musical family… I think it was meant to be.

Musically who is your inspiration, you mention Michael Jackson and Usher…who else?

At the moment I’m listening to a lot of Florence and the machine, Lana Del Ray, Frank Ocean, the Weeknd… he is probably one of my favourite artists at the moment. I also went through a huge Carlos Santana phase. I actually started guitar because of Carlos Santana… so I have a huge range of inspirational artists not just your typical ones.

You mention the guitar, what’s your favourite instrument to play?

My favourite instrument is the guitar. I play the piano and a couple of other instruments but my favourite is the guitar because when I first started that was the first instrument I started on … I was playing the flamenco … it shaped my music over the years and then I drifted from genre to genre.

What’s your family’s reaction to your music?

My family was just happy with me doing music in my room. My dad even made a few guitars, he is a custom guitar maker. I then started focussing on my voice and then… um… it was all like a hobby until it took over school. My marks started dropping and my dad said, “you know you are going to have to boost your marks, so put them away.” I went through a period of my life with no music and it was very stressful. I remember while I was studying for the HSC I use to write lyrics in secret. Any ideas I had I use to sing them into my phone and record it or wrote the lyrics somewhere.

After the HSC I locked myself in the room for two weeks and finished recording all the material I had saved up . My dad always use to say, “Do it for fun but I’m not going to have a son who is a producer …what are people going to say?” (he impersonates his dad’s voice and laughs) But after that he saw me keep at it, but I knew deep down he was always supportive, he was just scared because it’s such a competitive industry and is risky. I don’t count on it (music) to make a living but it’s what I love to do. He understood that and said, “Alright he is going to uni for a career but is still doing music,” he got that. After that when I got signed to a production team he was happy for me to persue it. He gave me a talk one day and said, “so many people told you not to do it, but the good thing is you kept doing it and you actually got somewhere.” I even get my dad to record with his instruments sometimes.

You just released your first album, ‘The Words Not Spoken’. What has the process involved and what’s the journey been like?

This album was two years coming. I went through different stages of my life. The first year of producing was adapting and learning new sounds and this last year has been trying to come up with my unique sound and make my music reflect who I am. I went through 30-50 songs and actually re-arranged the album. At first it was suppose to be RnB and Hip Hop… I thought, “No I want to mix it.” So I scrapped the whole album and started from scratch. I was mostly happy with this one. We produced the songs with my friend Mark who has a dance track on there. I have another collaboration with Christian King who is doing a lot of acoustic pop. I did the lyrics in the spur of the moment. I always do the instrumentals first. I usually come up with the song concept first then go away with it and think of lyrics and the vibe.

What song from the album is your favourite and why?

My favourite song would have to be ‘Unplug’… that song is pretty much my raw emotion. I put in everything I had into that song. I was in the studio with my eyes closed and signing the lyrics and…yea it was very emotional.

When will you be releasing the video for ‘Unplug’?

Well I am in talks with directors at the moment. One of the people who is collaborate with me for the video clips and photography is William Tune, he is a really good mate and is very talented. We are probably going to do 2-3 clips, and definitely unplug will be one. There is also a secret one too, but all will be revealed.

What has been the worse advice you have received?

(Laughs)The worse was from my dad… (laughs) I spent about two weeks on a track. I put everything into it and everyone loved it. It had great reviews and was a very emotional song. When my dad heard it for the first time he just said, “It’s too repetitive, scrap it, just throw it out.” I thought, “Wow, no I’m not throwing it out.” My dad has very good musical taste and likes complex sounds so he knows what he is talking about. He doesn’t give criticism to be annoying he is trying to teach me that not everyone’s music is the same. I don’t want to appeal to the teeny-boppers I want it to appeal to everyone of all ages and backgrounds. It made me readjust my direction.

So we have spoken about music, family and studies… I can’t let you go without asking…what about women? Are you single?

(Laughs) Yes I am single…. In a woman I look for the eye shape… I don’t know I like everything else. If a woman is beautiful she is beautiful but for me I have something for the eye shape. It’s also about the connection if we talk and we connect then that’s important. Saying that, most of the girls I meet we end up being friends anyway. If I am friends with a girl, that’s it. I wouldn’t try anything else.

Can you give me five quick facts about yourself?

I’m a perfectionist.

I don’t sleep much.

I’m a strong believer in equality. Nobody is more superior to anyone else. No one should be looked down on.

I’m honest- straight up.

I’ve always wanted to go somewhere random where I haven’t been. Like Canada or Spain.

What do you want people to take away from you as an artist?

For other artists I would advise that because everyone is different and unique you need to reflect that in your music. That for me is the most important thing. I want to make my kind of songs and music that speaks to different people not something that is already out there.

…and by the looks of things Avel Isra’s unique sound seems to have found its rightful listeners.

If you want to hear more about Avel Isra and listen to his music, including covers you can find him on facebook Avel Isra or follow him on twitter @Avelisra.

Widyan Al Ubudy.

As published in Anoujoum magazine

The Irony of Social-Media

Their silence was deafening. The only sound that could be heard was the train swaying side to side as it sped along the tracks. There I was sitting in the carriage with a handful of people, all of whom were frantically texting, facebooking and tweeting. The awkwardness consumed me, the sense of belonging vanished, my hands empty while I nervously looked at all the glowing phones…for the first time in a long time I felt out of place, uncomfortable and somewhat alien in a familiar environment. Yes, I was experiencing a severe case of ‘Oh My God my phone is dead and now someone on the train, heaven forbid may want to actually spark up a conversation with me.’

It’s true technology and the proliferation of smart phones, apps, and anything else that requires a wave of your index finger has indeed made life somewhat easier, but it is also undoubtedly producing anti-social behaviour. Take a look around you, everyone is on their phone and it has become so prevalent today that it’s almost uncommon for someone to not be on some form of technology drumming away at the screen.  You may even be reading this on your phone.

But this anti-social behaviour is not limited to trains. We now have the ability to ‘check-in’ wherever we are thanks to facebook applications adding to our anti social behaviour.  Because let’s face it everyone should know that you are at a local coffee shop with a friend, drinking a latte oh and don’t forget to take a photo of your coffee and slice of cheese cake for Instagram because everyone needs to know what a latte and slice of cheese cake looks like. And yes, I like millions around the world are guilty of this pointless phenomena that has consumed young and old.

Although the digital age has intimately connected us online, we have never been so physically disconnected than at any other time period in history. The irony is laughable; social-media has in fact turned us into anti-social beings. The use of smart phones and the desperation to capture every moment seems pivotal to various environments like:  When dining with friends, taking a drive around town, at the beach, in the movies and even study… because everyone needs to know exactly how your study space looks like.  

Now I’m not anti- technology but smart phones and other forms of technology are increasingly making us introverted, and it’s only a matter of time where our face-to-face social skills further deteriorate.  What’s worrying about this revolution is that it is not necessarily only the technology that is making us anti-social but also people’s choice to be anti-social. I and undoubtedly millions of others prefer to wear our headset on the train because we know no one will interrupt us by wanting to talk. The freedom of this choice has allowed smart phones and other technologies alike, to be used as a tool for avoiding awkward situations and nervousness by offering a simple solution… just pull out your phone,  log onto facebook and post a status about the awkwardness and it should be cured.

We are living our lives online and are neglecting our physical surroundings but don’t worry its okay because everyone is doing it. Now if you’ll excuse me I need to post a status about the completion of this article.

 

Widyan Al Ubudy

 

 

As published in Anoujoum magazine.