sidewalk scribbling

April 29 I watched a documentary, Marley, about Bob Marley and from the start, shots of tin shacks, barefoot children running on dirt tracks, men with crooked teeth standing on rickety porches while it rained – it reminded me of home. Studying about America’s problems, sometimes I forget where I come from and what I will have to work with when I go back. The poverty in Pakistan is stark, more in-your-face, more prevalent, more life threatening and acute. And I’m not saying racism, sexism, ageism, etc. isn’t as dire as Pakistan’s violence, illiteracy, unemployment, inflation, and so on, but it is oh so different, and it is where my heart lies, it is why I’m here . Anyways, so Bob Marley. He was born in a tiny, hilly green village in Jamaica, where the light in the night came from stars and fireflies. He always loved music, inspired revolutionaries across the world and inspired his people in Jamaica to peace, helping to foster a truce between the rival political parties. H

April 27 It is a fight, between white clouds that color the sky bright blue, and the heavy gray clouds, that want to pour. It is a fight between the cold wind, and the branches of the tree that want to hang on to their leaves. It is the kind of day that makes you pause by your door, to take my umbrella or not to take my umbrella?   It is the kind of weather to switch on the pretty fairy lights over my fake fireplace with a family of strange scurrying animals inside, to listen to Bruce Springsteen’s throaty mellow voice, to sit down with a warm striped cup of tea and wonder why the roses outside my window are so bright red. It is the kind of weather to lay back on a comfy chair and think of you. To take deep breaths, and wish for pakoras. To remember mangoes, and monsoons, and wish for the summer to hurry up so I can be back home. It is the kind of weather to be nostalgic and wistful, but happy, happy about the little black kid at the school dance who just had these groo

April 22 I dreamt of green fields, and a hill and my friend and I wanted to see what was there on the other side because we could hear music, but the hill was steep, and I was wearing flip-flops, and I felt the grassy earth squishy underneath my shoes, climbing on and sticking to my soles, and as I fell back my friend managed to climb higher up. I dreamt we were driving away from a forest and when I looked back there were these gold sculptures, and the further we went the more I saw, it spread out like one of those coloring books that you run a watery paintbrush on and the colors magically appear. I’m swimming against the tide of homework, assignments, dinners to cook and laundry to dump in the washer, resumes, and tickets for a summer to remember; I’m steady and strong but it’s hard to look back at the completed work, because soon it’s time to cook again and the laundry basket is overflowing, and there are still FOUR MAJOR things left. But. I’m not going to whine li

April 9 I don’t have the most refined palette, I can’t really taste the difference between lemon and lime, or sniff out e Whole Foods cinnamon from the regular grocery store cinnamon but my god, the bagel I just ate was awful. It tasted like eating softly-baked cardboard but since I spent two bucks on it and I’m not sure the ten peanuts Southwest gave me were a sufficient meal I had to stuff it all down my throat. I just hope it doesn’t take a hundred years to break down. Thanks a lot Starbucks. Never again will I look at a bagel in your shop. Even though I felt after my extended spring break that I was going to be buried beneath an avalanche of assignments, I realized I wasn’t. And with my eye on the calendar, I also found a weekend to run away to North Carolina. What a good trip that has been. Pushing back all the stress and worries, melting away like Magic Pop (or cotton candy) in your mouth, or ink in water, coloring it a beautiful, calm, happy aqua. Just stepping into Aa-zhur’

April 3 Spring seems to be in a hurry to leave; it has only been a few weeks since it arrived in St. Louis and threw down its bags, scattering bright red, yellow and purple tulips along the streets, and flinging pale pink and white blossoms up on trees. The warm, humid days that give way to sudden showers, coats and boots replaced with shorts and shorter shorts. Restaurants and cafes expand out onto the curb and you have to thread your way through people sipping iced tea and spooning salsa on their tortilla chips but since it is so beautiful outside you don’t mind and everything is great… … till suddenly it is too hot. Every hour it climbs up a degree and suddenly you’re sweating in your apartment even though the fan is on and you’re in a tank top and shorts. Ninety degrees in the first week of April? It’s global warming, fret your teachers who have spent many summers and springs in St. Louis. You just got here, Mr. Spring, you really don’t need to wrap up so quickly. But already