Lightness of Being…

He stood at JFK airport feeling lost. The harsh lights, imposing structure, multitude of shops, endless beeps and announcements, urgent people milling about, made him feel dazed.

Hamza stood at the gate wearing a long tunic, with baggy trousers, a turban and his special embroidered Eid vest. He looked and felt like a stranger, and knew at that moment that this place could never be home for him.

Sonya saw him from a distance and slowed down her step, letting her boys rush over to hug the father they never really knew.

He has changed so much.  

Her tall, muscular, brash Hamza, had developed a soft pouch around his waist, droopiness in his shoulders, deep circles around his eyes, and a straggly beard that was never meant to fill out.

He hugged his kids and kissed them, all the time staring at his darling Sonya.

What happened to my paradise?

Instead of the young supple body he had dreamed of for so long, she offered one that had dried up into the rough firmness of a woman who worked too long and never really had the necessary appetite to fill. Deep lines etched her face accentuating every ridge and contour, she wore a modest sweater over a long skirt. Her hair was covered beneath a thin veil. She looked much older than he had ever imagined.

They walked slowly up to each other, their eyes unraveling all that words could never begin to describe. In his eyes she saw the wildness of a man who had seen too much and suffered too long; in hers he saw the anxiety of a woman who had shouldered too much responsibility and had forgotten what it felt like to be loved.

They hugged clinging to each other in desperation, weeping, years of untold frustration, agonies, anxieties, melting in their grasp. They embraced for an eternity, knowing that they could never bridge that interminable chasm that had formed between them. They squeezed for a lifetime more, forgetting their kids, the airport, and the strangers who stared at them wondering what kind of anguish could be binding those two sad souls in such a tight knot.

{-}

Sufi opened up a whole new world for Sophia. He guided her through the underground scene, introduced her to all the hip Indy artists who were struggling to make their way, fighting against the “system” that was producing nothing but crap disguised as music. Each one of those same artists though, still held a secret hope of being ‘discovered’ so they could rock their art to a world of adoring fans.

He took her to his recording sessions, shows at seedy bars, and outdoor performances in community festivals.

She admired the assuredness in which the alternative musicians, poets, artists, carried themselves. She wished she had a similar purpose, an undying conviction consuming all her senses; she wanted to touch that passion that drove people to work day and night for a cause that they would die defending. Her lack of obvious talent was too embarrassing to keep admitting as she was continually introduced as “Sufi’s friend” and the only one who never really contributed to the impromptu sessions under the stars (aside from her enthusiastic clapping that is).

Perhaps it was because of her lingering insecurities, that she surrendered herself with a willful abandon to Sufi.

The tension at home got only worse, as she devised more ingenious and outrageous ways to stay away and spend time with her object of affection. She cut school, went to phantom slumber parties, invented study groups, and even began sneaking from home when everyone was asleep.

“I know what you have been doing” Maria hissed at her as she was getting ready to leave yet again.

“So?” Sophia was unfazed.

 “So? Don’t you care? You think that wanna be loser musician of yours has a future with you? Don’t you care about breaking ummi’s heart after all that she has sacrificed for us? And Abbu, oh my God he will kill you! How selfish can you be? ”  

“Are you done? Cuz I am running late” Sophia was adding the final touches to her subtle but flattering makeup.

 “I swear take one step out that door and I will yell the house down” 

“If you want to have my blood on your hands, go ahead. Let me see you live with yourself after I have been killed” Maria didn’t doubt for an instant that would be the consequence of her sister’s exposure.

  “Sophia” she tried a different approach “think about God. Sophia you are beautiful, young and you have your whole future ahead of you. You can either squander it all in useless rebellion or live up to your true potential. Make a difference in the world; learn the sweetness of worship, and closeness to Allah” 

“Yeah, which closeness are you specifically talking about, to Allah or to that hot Imam that you have been sweating secretly?”  

Sophia left with a quiet victory smile playing on her lips. 

{-}

“Come on give me some please” Sophia begged an irresistible pout on her face.  

“Nah, I can’t. You are too pure man, this stuff will mess you up” Sufi spoke softly, curls of smoke issuing from his nose and mouth.

 “I want to; I can handle it, please! Just try it please”  

 “Yo, I can’t. Sophia, I love you for your innocence, I don’t want to spoil that”   

“Fine be that way” She sulked with characteristic pettiness, but inside she was glowing, he said he loves me! 

“Aight, just one puff okay? ONE and don’t blame me later on” 

That night marked Sophia’s induction into the mind blowing world of weed smoking.

{-}

 “I am ready”

“What? Are you insane?”

“I want to do it. This is my gift to you.” 

Sufi understood the cultural politics of virginity too well. She wants to trap me, he thought with a rising panic.

“Sophia, you don’t know what you are talking about. You are too young for this. Come on let’s get out of here” Sufi had to get out of his friends’ crib fast, their absolute privacy was deadly. 

Sophia, filled with the reckless daring of a novice’s high, pulled him towards her. With her inexperienced mouth she started kissing him long and hard, fumbling with his zipper, and embracing him with all her 17 years of trembling passion.

Sufi pulled back from her, “Sophia please no, this is crazy” his voice was husky throbbing with desire.

Sophia silenced him with more kisses knowing his defenses were crumbling fast into a heavy whirlpool of enflamed senses and exposed longing.

Sufi had been strictly platonic with her for the last six months they were together. He enjoyed her company, was amused by her aimless rebellion, and had come to count on her unfailing devotion to his art. He even spotlighted her in one of his songs, “My Sophia” which was a love ballad about a simple village beauty capturing his heart reminding him of his ancient roots and soulful beginnings.

He felt a protective kind of love for her, and while he had inclinations that she was a lot more smitten by him, he just pushed the warning signs to the back of his mind. He didn’t do anything to encourage her obvious infatuation but neither did he set her straight. He wasn’t one to worry about an indefinable future. He lived solely for the moment and Sophia was just conveniently there to help him pass time before his launch to stardom took him to greater heights.

Had Sufi known he might have done things differently, but it was that precise ambivalence he held for her that fed the fires of Sophia’s youthful fancies.  

{-} 

“It’s just I never know where he stands with me. I mean he acts like he cares, but then he is all cold. He hasn’t even kissed me!” Sophia had lamented before that fateful night.

“Maybe he’s gay?” Angie offered.

 “NO WAY ! HE IS NOT A FAG!”   “

All men are assholes; I don’t know why you think he is any different” 

 “Oh whatever Angie, once you meet your ONE you will not believe that anymore” 

 “Oh please child, you are 17, he isn’t your ‘one’. Besides there isn’t anybody on this earth that is worth sweating over that much” 

“Oh but you don’t know Sufi. He is so amazing, talented, cool and HOT, and he knows all these cool awesome people. Awwww….” 

“Yeah I know” Sophia had been talking about Sufi nonstop since she met him. Every flicker of the eye was super analyzed every passing smile, every absent stare. There wasn’t a gesture that Sufi made, that hadn’t been explored from multiple angles and magnified for possible meanings. Sophia studied him with a depth of critique worthy of scientific inquiry at a post graduate level. 

 “You know Sophia…”Andy spoke for the first time. He hated to encourage those chic talks, but he felt compelled at that moment “Maybe he just likes you as a friend. I mean if a guy is really hot for you, you would know, trust me. There would be no questions about it.” 

“OH YEAH? THEN WHY DID HE SING ‘MY SOPHIA’ ESPECIALLY FOR ME? HUH?” Sophia was incensed.

  “Don’t yell at me man, ask him!”  

Sophia was lovesick. In her childish delirium she divined that the only way she could assure her place beside Sufi was to offer her body as the highest sacrifice on the altar of their love. In her picture perfect world, they would make passionate love, which would bring him to his knees professing his undying adoration of her. They would then elope, and she would work day and night to support him in his dreams. If she didn’t have her own talent the least she could do was contribute to someone else’s. After he made it, she would become his manager, and they would live happily ever after.

Sophia Deen was another naive undying optimist.

{-}

When he coughed, his devotees cleared their throats. When he stretched out his legs, because one of them was sleeping, they all followed. When he cocked his head to one side, as he reflected on a question, all of them started imitating him. The one time his eyes started tearing in the middle of a talk, due to his allergies, all the students broke out into tears. The topic of that day was hygiene, nothing really to wail about.

He wasn’t just any ordinary teacher. He was THE scholar/Imam/Sheikh/Counselor/Visionary/Leader. He was the ‘messiah’ their community had been waiting for. After many years of disagreeing on which Imam to hire (since every ideological group kept pushing their own leader); they finally heaved a sigh of relief. Brother Tariq was the unifying force they sorely needed.

His every mundane action was elevated to sacred heights. . When he said something they didn’t comprehend, they dared not ask him a question. His level of knowledge was way higher than theirs; and they were just happy to be passive recipients of that divine wisdom.

Brother Tariq tried to deflect the attention away from his persona, and redirect it to the Deen (religion). He humbly explained to his students, that he was a student too and that learning should never be left at the hands of another. To which they cooed about how humble he truly is on top of everything else!

He drove home that point that every single one of them was accountable for their own intelligence, talents, energy.

  “You each have a unique purpose to fulfill. You want to die knowing you have exhausted all of what you have; your senses, your talents, your energy for the betterment of humanity and the service of God. That is the essence of worship: to leave this world a little better than you found it and to do so with the intention of pleasing no one but God.” 

His students sighed in unison at the depth of his words.

He was really hip too, due to his young-ish age, and his main following consisted of hopeful brides and young guys who showed up partly because all the cute girls were at the mosque now.

There were very few truly sincere students in his large crowd and Maria considered herself one of them.

She was the first to show up, sat in the very front of the class (on the women’s side of course), and painstakingly voice recorded, typed, and uploaded his lectures online for the greater masses. She dedicated all her years of responsibility, ethics, and organization skills to the mosque. She was involved in every committee, came up with brilliant ideas for outreach, and soon became one of the main pillars of that small community. Sister Maryam’s praises (as she unofficially renamed) was on everyone’s lips in that small community.

When the Imam started getting too many requests from young sisters needing “confidential counseling sessions” (ranging from the petty to the exaggerated) he decided it was time to get married, complete his Deen, and put an end to all the “Fitna” (temptations).

{-}

It was too short, painful, gross, and humiliating.

Under pressure, Sufi masked his inexperience with undue haste and roughness. He tore into Sophia, awkwardly thrusting, for a whole 21/2 minutes before he slumped on her, sweating and panting, he was spent.  

Sharp pangs of pain cut deep into Sophia, rending her heart apart, tearing her eyes open to the ridiculousness of her decision. She felt an overwhelming sensation of shame, gathering from centuries of condemnation, lifetimes of forewarning, and ages of disgrace. She felt dirty, mortified, and knew she would be forever ruined by that irrevocable act of foolishness.

When Sufi finally lifted himself off her, avoiding her eyes, and groping for his clothes; she noticed the small pool of blood that finally gave voice to the anguish trapped in her depths.

She let out a howl and her small frame was wracked with sobs; as she sat on the edge looking into the cavernous abyss that eclipsed her soul.

{-}

Blood, limbs flying, glassy eyes of death, stench, mass graves, bodies contorted in deathlike embraces…Images of horror…snapshots of devastation…death more death…blackness upon blackness…no light in that deep tunnel of nonexistence…A high pitched blood curdling scream from the depths of the earth, getting louder and louder and louder shaking the foundations of his soul…

“WAKE UP HAMZA!” Sonya was shaking her writhing, screaming, unconscious husband.

  He woke up with a start, heart hammering, and eyes unseeing: “Salah is dead! My best friend! Somebody HELP HIM” 

“It’s okay, its all over, it’s okay” Sonya crooned her thin arms around the expanse of his body.

He finally awoke, looking at her through the terrible anguish of unhealed wounds.

“I can’t do this…I can’t” tears which had adamantly refused to be shed, finally gave in, trickling down his face.

“I know it’s hard, but I have faith you, you are strong. You are my Pashtun Warrior, you survived the worst, it will only get better now.”

Hamza found no solace in her words.

When he first arrived, he told Sonya she would not have to work anymore. He was there now; it was his job to provide. Soon, he became aware of their financial straits, and realized that the whole family would have to toil for many years before they began chipping away at that mountainous debt.

With complicated compound interest, late fees, penalties, standard fees, and other legal jargons invented to keep them shackled, it seemed like every payment they made got swallowed into the fringe expense of just maintaining their debts.

Maria had researched everything; she tried to consolidate the many store credits, car payments, maxed out credit cards, and even approached a debt consolidation center to deal with the mess they were in. But there was no magic answer out, they had to slave for many years before buying their way into freedom. Her little brothers who were all teens now, took on odd jobs around the neighborhood, Maria had been working fulltime on top of her community college classes, and Sonya maintained her shifts. And even Sophia was forced to take on a part time job to help out. Every single extra cent they had was flushed into the loan abyss.

When Hamza came, with no English, reading or writing skills, he had a hard time finding a job. And when he finally landed on one, it was a soul numbing, mindless and repetitive post at a local assembly line manufacturing razors.

The endless hours in his job gave him plenty of time to indulge in his nostalgia for everything Afghani. He yearned for the awe striking majesty of his mountains, for the endless expanse of the heavens, for the starry nights and dream filled days, for the hope and most of the illusion of his love for Sonya.

Since his arrival, their relationship had taken on a completely different turn. With the many hours she worked and the anxieties she bored, her easy laughter had been long buried within her bosom. Exhaustion nullified their nocturnal embraces, and divergent opinions on everything from finances to child rearing had added layers of tension to their brief daylight encounters.

The fact that his children and wife all spoke better English, had more access to resources of this land, and more ease in their presence around others, magnified his own weaknesses.

He felt caged in America (the land of the free), his wings clipped, virility emasculated, and eloquent expressions decisively muzzled.

{-}