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Health Care Mind Mental Health Health

I’ve ditched all-nighters, and here’s why you should too

A woman in a gray hijab sits on a bed holding a cup and using her laptop at night.
[Image Description: A woman in a gray hijab sits on a bed holding a cup and using her laptop at night.] Via Pexels

I have to admit something. I’ve never pulled all-nighters for work. Even in university, and now as I start to pick up different jobs, I’ve never stayed up all night to finish assignments. Sure, I’ve pulled them for flights or nights out, but other than that, I always manage to squeeze in some shut-eye time. I have to, otherwise, I can’t operate. 

I know this from experience. Once, I had a class in Florence, Italy, and my roommates and I spent the whole day touring the city, reserving the nighttime to work on our essays. I couldn’t have spent more than three hours past midnight typing away for an assignment before I felt desperately ill.

I needed to lie down! I was a cranky mess for two days afterward, and my friends can attest to that. I knew missing out on sleep has a very clear effect on me. But still, I pushed myself for school. I wanted to complete my assignments and attempting an all-nighter seemed like an obvious way to stay on top of things.

While all-nighters do not sit well with me, perhaps you are reading this thinking they work for you. Maybe you have always resorted to this method and it has become fool-proof. Well, unfortunately, I have some bad news for you. Skipping out on sleep is not something that can be dismissed because it is not a sustainable lifestyle at all. While it may seem like an appealing way to get more time in your day, it can have devastating consequences. 

I hear you saying, “But can’t it be slept off?” I used to think the same way.

Can you make up for lost sleep by sleeping in? Nope!

Taking an introductory course in psychology opened my eyes to the dangers of bad sleep hygiene. If you were to hold out two scans of a brain—one from a person who lacked sleep and another who has recently suffered a concussion—they would look eerily similar. Skipping out on sleep can cause irreversible damage to your brain. The brain holds these scars, even if we “make up” for the lost sleep. Imagine that damage over time if we continually (try to) pull those all-nighters. 

This may come as a shock as the idea of all-nighters has been glamorized by movies and other media as an essential part of college. I always understood skipping out on sleep as a sign of putting in the effort, burning the midnight oil to wrap up a project.

I used to feel bad about not being able to stay up all night at the library, comparing myself to other students that were holding up just fine. I felt that it was expected of me to sacrifice my sleep for my studies and my career. Yet, does our productivity have to come at the cost of our wellbeing? 

Our toxic ideas of productivity are impairing our health. I came to a point where I really needed to rethink the way that I was approaching sleep and all-nighters.

While it can be easy and often tempting to get sucked into the grind of getting little or no sleep to clear up my task list, from now on I’ll be thinking twice about the physical and mental toll on my health. I hope you do, as well. 

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Music Pop Culture

How I discovered a therapeutic genre of music with Sleeping At Last

A photo of Ryan O'Neal, leader of the band Sleeping at Last, sitting by the ocean.
[Image Description: A photo of Ryan O'Neal, leader of the band Sleeping at Last, sitting by the ocean.] Via Sleeping At Last's website.

While talking about music genres, the names that often pop up are pock, pop, hip hop or RnB. The name ‘new age’ hardly pops up on your Spotify or YouTube playlist recommendations. But this genre might be just what you need to get through such stressful times.

In a 2017 report by Music Business Worldwide, it was reported that Spotify had been populating with mindful and relaxation music like Peaceful Piano (4.6m current followers), Deep Focus (2.8m). The pandemic has taken a great toll on our mental health.

Young people in particular are facing the brunt of it- living days in isolation and stress. This would be a great time to get into the new-age genre for the much-needed warmth and hopeful feeling that the genre brings. 

New-age is a genre of music that is often described to evoke psychedelic feelings for its listener and it has historically, been related to the ‘hippies’. Although the term might seem relatively new, the genre actually dates back as far back as 1964. In an article by The New York Times, new age music was described to be ‘oozing toward the big time’. Considered a lucrative genre, the author reported new-age music to be the fastest-growing genre of the  late 1980s.

New-age music has been described to be therapeutic. It has been defined as mindful positive music produced to calm down the nervous system by the gatekeepers and tastemakers of this genre. You might instantly recognize the famous “Only Time” by Enya after listening to it. Before this song became a part of the meme culture, it was loved by millions for being deeply melancholic and beautiful. What most people don’t know is that Enya’s “Only Time” is a part of this new-age genre. 

Sleeping At Last, led by multi-instrumentalist Ryan O’Neal, is one of the musical bands that encompass New-age with other genres like indie rock, alternative rock, and folk music. Moreover, it has been able to infuse the essence of new-age with contemporary music. 

Originally formed in 1999, the group comprising Ryan O’Neal, his brother Chad O’Neal and Dan Perdue gained a significant local following and often opened for the most popular band in the 2000s, the Plain White T’s. After seeing steady success over the years, the band went on to produce a song called ‘Turning Pages’ which appeared exclusively in the movie The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 1. 

The band has produced countless EPs, singles, and albums independently over the years. Atlas is an ongoing music series by them. Atlas: Year One comprising 30 songs was released in the year 2014. The album was released across 6 thematic EPs named Darkness, Light, Space I, Space II, Lands, and Oceans. Atlas: Year Two is inspired by ‘Involuntary Human Development’ exploring the themes of life, senses, emotions, intelligence, and the enneagram of personality. 

My personal favorite is Space II  from Atlas: Year One. The EP has 5 songs- one out of which is instrumental. The tracks Saturn and Neptune have powerfully evocative lyrics along with the lofty music which transports the listener to another dimension, unquestionably the space Ryan intended to with the composition. Meanwhile, other tracks ‘Jupiter’, ‘Pluto’ and ‘Neptune’ also give the fans an out-of-the-world experience with their somber and contemplative music.

The new-age genre has an evocative aesthetic which brings a sense of calm and groundedness- adding bits of nature and our surroundings to its composition. The reason fans love this genre of music is that of its aesthetic to please the senses and providing serenity. This genre’s popularity can be examined through Sleeping At Last’s loyal and eccentric fanbase, and the band slowly becoming a favorite to mainstream music lovers. 

Sleeping At Last lends that sense of support and provides subliminal messages intended for that artistic inspiration, optimism, and spiritual elevation- what the new-age genre is all about. 

New-age music is used for meditation purposes. With mental health issues rising at an alarming rate around the world, young people are inadvertently falling to this genre for a sense of tranquility. They are using it as a form of escapism from the chaotic world. The Sleeping At Last’s YouTube comment section is evident to the fact with fans leaving comments about their mental health, loss, and grief.


“My mother passed December 31st, 2020 when she went to rest I felt my heart being ripped out of my chest she was so very important to me. I flew to Europe to spend 10 weeks with her and care for her before she let go of her battle with cancer. I found this song a few weeks back she is the one person I think of when I hear it. She is this song,” reads a YouTube comment left on “Saturn”‘s music video.

Another person also shares this feeling. “I lost my mother to Covid in July. This song has helped me in ways I couldn’t imagine. It’s helped me believe that this universe has more in store for us even after we are gone,” they say.

One of my favorite tracks “Mercury” helped me cope with the grief of losing my grandfather. It’s not just me, a lot of people seek refuge in their music which is visible from the countless comments about grief, depression on their YouTube channel. Their Reddit community is another hidden gem where people openly discuss music theories and how it relates to their personal stories. 

 New-age is not the same music played in salons and spas to create an ambient environment anymore. It’s much more than that and slowly booming to the mainstream music scene. Now, it’s a genre popularised by the calming effect it renders, and something to listen to at 3 AM when that wave of existential dread hits.

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Categories
Health Care Mind Mental Health Health

How I became a more mindful pessimist

A girl sitting by a window and holding a mug in a dark room.
[Image Description: A girl sitting by a window and holding a mug in a dark room.] Via Pexels

I know, I dread to say it. Pessimists get a bad rep, sometimes rightfully so.

Going biking around the city, and I’ll remember the grating sound my bike made. Listening to feedback on my writing, I’ll be drawn to the things people said I could improve, agonizing over those. As a result, I need constant validation from others, although it barely ever sticks. My head has long been a magnet for negativity and it’s been draining me and even those around me.

But I don’t believe that ‘once a pessimist, always a pessimist.’  I’ve found ways to turn my mindset around.

What it takes is consciously detangling myself from pessimistic thought patterns. I was once enrolled in a Science of Happiness course (ironic, I know) where I learned about mindfulness tools. One of those was called the Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) exercise and it aimed to rewire your brain to think in a more positive way. 

 

Naturally, I was doubtful. But it makes sense. My thoughts, feelings, and behavior are so closely connected that if they were on a Venn diagram, they would be overlapping each other. Recently, my thoughts are more introspective than ever. So, on my journey to become a more mindful pessimist, I’ve been keeping tabs on my thinking—especially negative thoughts. 

Here are some pessimistic thought patterns that I have become more aware of throughout my journey: 

Fortune Telling

A major one that precedes all others. I predict negative outcomes, imagining the worst possible scenario to happen. This is often the case when I try something out of my depth, such as when I flew to another country for a project without knowing anyone that would be on my team. I assumed that I wouldn’t get along with anyone and was already counting down the days to come back home. I thought they’d see me as a fraud and not want to work with me, although we were all enrolled in the same class. At the last moment, this thinking almost made me drop out of it.

I’m so grateful I didn’t because I ultimately met some of my closest friends there and produced good work. 

All-or-nothing thinking

Sometimes I look at situations as if there are only two possible outcomes. Either my team likes my idea or they hate it. I often forget that everything can be placed on a scale, they may like it but think that a certain part isn’t working. They may dislike it but see potential, suggesting a way to elevate the tension in the story.

Mind Reading

Making sweeping negative conclusions about a situation can be the easiest way for me to make sense of what is happening. For example, if I have an awkward conversation with someone, where I unintentionally said something insensitive, I may walk away and say to myself: “They certainly don’t want to talk to me again.” It is far easier to just claim that and be “done” with it rather than acknowledge my fault and find a chance to apologize. In these moments, I need to remember that I can’t read anyone’s mind and the only way to know for sure is to have a conversation with them.

Using ‘should’ or ‘must’ statements 

I have fixed ideas of my future and the way I conduct myself, even to the extent that I expect how others should react to me. Thinking that I should be close to people working in my field and they must want the same things that I do sets up unrealistic standards for both parties.

When these expectations aren’t met, I feel a deep sense of failure. Whenever a ‘should’ or a ‘must’ make their way into my thoughts, I need to take a step back. I can’t predict everything, who am I to know what ‘should’ or ‘must’ happen?

Emotional reasoning

Admittedly, I am a very emotionally driven person. I tend to value the way that I feel about something—a job or person I’ve met—rather than rationalizing the reality of working in that environment or being involved with that person and their lifestyle. I often make the mistake of thinking that something must be true because I feel that it is. I feel annoyed with someone; therefore, they must have done something wrong. Or I feel lonely; therefore, there is no one around that cares enough to reach out to me. These are both dangerous thought patterns because once I’m in them, I begin to ignore any evidence to the contrary.

Consciously recognizing these thinking errors and reframing them in a positive light is changing my outlook on the future. I started off the year rejecting every opportunity that came my way out of fear that they would overwhelm me, such as grad school and internships. Now, I feel more hopeful and am willing to try out what comes my way. I am enrolled to start a graduate program this coming fall.

Even if it doesn’t work out as planned, I can stay on track and remain positive by steering clear of the major thinking errors. I can’t help being a pessimist, but I can be a mindful one. Some of us are more susceptible to negative thinking like I am, but there are ways to navigate it without spiraling into hopelessness. 

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Categories
History Historical Badasses

Gertrude Stein, the queer feminist at the centre of the art movement

[Image description: Gertrude Stein smiling at the camera on the left, and on the left, Pablo Picasso's portrait of her.] Via Flickr
[Image description: Gertrude Stein smiling at the camera on the left, and on the left, Pablo Picasso's portrait of her.] Via Flickr

I first encountered Gertrude Stein through her avant-garde poetry in Tender Buttons, an evocative series of short poems that forced writing to its breaking point with sentences like: “Dirty is yellow. A sign of more is not mentioned.” I met her blindly, only through her words, yet I already fell for her eccentricity. I knew there was something wonderful behind the mind that put down on paper the bold tongue-in-cheek yet unbelievably serious statement, “A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose”. I just had to explore her art further. So I began scouring old journals and artist profiles to learn more about her. 

Little did I know that the radical art Stein created could almost be rivaled by the art that she nurtured in the artists around her. I found multiple sources that called her the ‘mother’ of modernism, but after getting to know more about her, I am sure that she would scoff at such a title. After all, she left the United States in 1903 to flee the pressures of gender norms. She was also bored with medical school and seeking an outlet to express her eccentric point of view, she settled down in Paris, where she intended to pursue a life free from heteronormativity. She opened a salon in her home for the world’s creative mind, including some of the world-renowned names such as Picasso, Matisse, Hemingway, and Fitzgerald. She was the voice of this ‘Lost Generation, the group of American expatriates flocking to Paris– and even coined the term.


The way I see it, she brought together these esteemed artists and in many ways, elevated them through her no-nonsense critique of their work. I had always internalized that a woman inspiring other artists (typically male artists) was a muse. That term is loaded, as there were often sexualized or romanticized elements typically tied to a muse. Instead, what I admired about Stein was that she was a mentor to the ‘greats’. I see her as a woman that had an undeniable presence in her time, respected by those around her. 

Nothing about her was conventional and she embraced her own strangeness, something that drew me to her further. Stein deserves the title of a trailblazer of the modernist period and of queer identity at the time. Stein’s essay Miss Furr and Miss Skeene were among the first story to be published about homosexual revelation, containing the first noted use of the word “gay” in published works to refer to same-sex relationships. She also hosted one of the first avant-garde exhibitions in the United States, funding it with the money she collected from her art dealerships. I have no doubt that every piece of art in the period has her fingerprint.

And she didn’t hesitate to acknowledge her accomplishments either. Stein didn’t believe that women must be modest, proudly proclaiming “I have been the creative literary mind of the century.” She never sold herself short, a habit I found myself doing as I presented my own poetry or other writing. I was still working with my own feelings of inferiority, belittling my stories as ‘just’ relevant to female-identifying communities. While she wrote about women and her partner, she didn’t restrict herself to writing women’s stories. I found it so refreshing to see her unabashed pride, as it reminded me to take hold of my own achievements and to be confident. No matter how unconventionally and ‘weirdly’ I experimented with my creativity, I learned that I could (and should) still demand to be taken seriously. 

Regardless of all this, I don’t think she should be idolized. I often like to give powerful women in difficult situations the benefit of the doubt, as do most of the historians and writers that grapple with creating a retrospective of Stein’s life. I witnessed a trend in the way that they wrote about her, that she was ensuring her safety as a Jew in Nazi-occupied France by making these questionable alliances with Nazi figures. As much as I respect her as a feminist and as the backbone of the Lost Generation of artists, I cannot excuse her political affiliations and ironic, confusing pro-Nazi expressions. 



At the end of it all, Stein didn’t strive to be accepted or allow herself to be molded by the society around her. She carved her own place into history and I believe it is important to commemorate it, lest she is lost in the shadows of her male counterparts. As a woman in the art world, looking at Stein as an example liberates me and allows me to embrace subversive expressions of creativity. 

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Life

I don’t need to hear backhanded compliments about my weight loss

[Image description: Person analyzing themselves in the mirror.] Via free photos on Pexels
[Image description: Person analyzing themselves in the mirror.] Via free photos on Pexels

When the COVID-19 pandemic hit Dubai last March, many of us were left wondering what to do in lockdown. What’s more, our work moved into the living room, classrooms moved into our bedrooms, and we were even grocery shopping on our smartphones. Needless to say, our sense of normalcy was gone.

For me, my schedule was left relatively empty, as I was devoid of my kid’s birthday parties or school commitments. Since I was able to work from home, I also no longer had long commutes or in-person work meetings. So, I tried my hand at something I had been looking to accomplish for a few years: weight-loss.

Over time, I eventually achieved my weight-loss goal. However, even though the results looked how I wanted, the reaction I received from others sought to damage my confidence. Here are some of the comments I’ve received since losing weight.



Your face is so thin now, it’s sagging!

I won’t lie and say people’s words didn’t affect me because they did. I understand the pounds I shed were noticeable, but based on people’s reactions, I felt more self-conscious than ever. For example, after hearing a comment such as this one, I would contemplate saving up money for fillers or trying face exercises to rectify a “problem” surrounding my physical appearance that other people frequently brought up.

But mostly, these comments distracted me from the original purpose of my personal weight-loss journey. My perception of losing weight then became striving for a perfect appearance, instead of me simply trying to be healthier overall.

You look older.

The last time I was slim was five years ago and before I had two kids. So yes, I’ve definitely aged as well as changed in physical appearance over time. But weight loss has had little to contribute to my aging. Obviously. I especially detest the sympathetic head tilt that accompanies the reminder, “the plumper the face, the younger you look!” I guess I didn’t realize dropping some pounds would add a decade to my age. Thanks for the clarification!

But you were always so confident with your body.

Well, I still am. I’ve always been into fitness, and I didn’t lose weight because I was self-loathing. Part of the reason I decided to shed some weight was so I could more effectively run after my kids. Anyway, I don’t think changes, or lack of, in weight should alter a person’s confidence. Of course, everyone has days they feel more or less confident compared to other days, myself included.

Ultimately, however, weight, body, or beauty standards shouldn’t be a defining point of anyone’s confidence, happiness, or self-fulfillment.

I bet you’re starving. 

Trust me, I am not starving. Not that it’s anyone’s business, but I did what was best for my body. Maybe I had low days during my weight-loss journey. Maybe there were times I messed up. But, I set my own goals, and working towards those goals will be an ongoing process for me as bodies often fluctuate in size and appearance with time. It’s just frustrating to justify my actions to others.

Notably, I don’t need compliments or judgment. Just say “hi” the next time you see me, as the size of my body has nothing to do with how well I’m doing.

You’re so strict now. 

Honestly, I can be guilty of this. Though, being on a strict schedule does not mean I can’t “let loose” as much as I could before. I just have certain boundaries now. However, that doesn’t mean I’m not fun. You can still ask me out and I promise to be my usual pleasant self, whether I get fries or not.



I know many of these comments may come from a caring place, but it’s frustrating to tread through passive-aggressive comments that are also so personal. Our bodies are not open for debate or up for judgment. Instead, people should focus on discussing topics that are actually beneficial to improving the lives of themselves or others like effective and healthy self-care techniques or discovering better mental health outlets.

I know, being of South-Asian background, that our community has historically been so tight-knit; consequently, however, we sometimes forget boundaries with others we may not know that well. Ultimately, we don’t need people mentioning how our bodies look at any stage.

I would recommend that whenever you feel the need to give someone a compliment, mention a non-physical trait. For example, compliment an aspect of their personality, something they just achieved, or something they’ve shown interest in. Or, your safest option is to just keep your comments to yourself to avoid the possibility of making anyone else feel self-conscious.

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Life Stories Life

Being creative doesn’t need to be performative or productive

[Image description: person sitting at their computer surrounded by art supplies.] Via Pexels
[Image description: person sitting at their computer surrounded by art supplies.] Via Pexels

My hesitance with being creative started with a set of simple words on my screen: “Now is the perfect time to write your book!” I encountered variations of these words on Twitter, against the scenic backdrop of a forest in an inspiration post on Instagram. They seemed to follow me everywhere I clicked. These words became a trickling of an inner voice in my head that demanded one thing: write a book. Write the book. 

At the time, we were all in our first few weeks of the world-wide lockdown. There was a wave of posts that encouraged people to look at the bright side of staying home. After all, we had the many privileges that came with being able to have our own spaces during this time. We didn’t have to share a common eating space with colleagues and we could work in our pajamas. It wasn’t all bad, right?

Not to mention, while we self-isolated and stayed inside, our schedules had significantly cleared up. These reminders and gentle pushes served as an incentive for us to sit down and do the things we said we’d do if we had more time. My current circumstance, if I would have let it, could have been inspirational. This was the time I had been waiting for, so why wasn’t I typing away? 


I imagined myself as an artist who was finally in their own element with nothing but time and energy to create. Cocooned away in blankets, frantically typing away at her next screenplay, she uses the time she would have spent commuting to work to instead perfect her craft. Or perhaps I’d relate more to a woman whose hands dance in the warm light streaming through the window. There are paint streaks on her cheeks and the coffee in her mug has gone cold.

Then, there is also the image of a struggling artist who perseveres against all odds. Their hand is shaking, but resolute, as they photograph minute details of their surrounding, working with what they have. This artist scrapes the barrel for their inspiration, regardless of the clamor outside. Fair. But we need to remind ourselves these are heavily romanticized ways of approaching creativity. 

Reading the pandemic was the perfect time to ‘write my book‘ made me feel discouraged. I felt bogged down. I was in mourning for the perfect end to my senior year that now would never be. Trapped in my room, I felt the need to escape. Writing allows me to delve deep into myself – something I could not have been bothered with before the pandemic hit. However, as any writer can tell you, it is an incredible feeling to share your work, but writing can be a terribly lonely and internal process.  

I wasn’t partaking in much leisure creativity in those early days. Even writing my college senior project, a creative fictional piece, felt like a chore. All my energy went into listening to the voices that streamed out of my laptop during the last of my online courses.

All I wanted to do was scoop out my mind and leave it in a warm tub to rest. I watched movies, listened to music, and chatted with my roommates, using up the energy I had left on reserve. I didn’t feel inspired to produce some great masterpiece. But I had all the time in the world to do it. Since I wasn’t going anywhere, why wasn’t I writing my book?



Weren’t the arts meant to be those places where we could escape from capitalist expectations of labor and product?

Over time, I felt myself spiraling. I didn’t have an idea of what I would write. I just felt like I had to make something productive out of my time. I genuinely felt I was going to disappoint myself either way, whether I chose to pick up my pen or not.

This is all sounding gloomy, but actually, there were times when I wanted to be creative. When I felt that sudden urge to set off and start working on a new piece of writing or pick up painting as a hobby. I knew when I started working I would feel good about it, but the benchmark had been set so high that I felt discouraged.

When I was packing up to move back home, I stumbled upon a product of my literary past. I had written up a small outline of a short story sometime in January. Immediately, I wanted to drop everything, move aside the boxes from my desk, and bring the story to life.

I had an epiphany- this mindset of creating perfect art was (and is) toxic. Creativity doesn’t have to be productive. Weren’t the arts meant to be an escape from capitalist expectations of labor and product?

I am not wasting my time even if nothing comes of the writing– I am perfecting a craft.

Art didn’t need to be performative either. It didn’t have to wear the fancy label of a ‘novel’ or perform for an audience. I didn’t need to parade around and place a glossy cover over the pages. Instead, I needed to give myself permission to not even have to finish whatever project was in my drafts. Ultimately, I must accept no creative pursuit is ever wasted. I am not wasting my time if nothing comes of the writing. Rather, I am perfecting a craft. As for talent, there is no wasting that unless I don’t use it. 

The sooner I realized I could follow my creative instincts without oppressive expectations, the sooner I felt creatively liberated. Whether it be through sporadically writing a scene of a story or picking up (and putting down) a paintbrush when I feel inclined, I shouldn’t have felt pressured to fully pursue my creative urges if I didn’t want to. I should be allowed to surrender to that flurry of excitement and passion to simply express myself. Then, when the passion was over, to let it go. Truly, I didn’t even have to show my creative work to anyone or look at it ever again. 

I am teaching myself creativity isn’t meant to always be translated into something productive. The funny thing is I often did return to those pieces and paintings and continued to work on them. But that was only possible when I didn’t feel the heavy benchmark of producing a bestseller or a museum-worthy mural on my shoulders.

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Categories
Music Pop Culture

How Miraa May’s music helped me redefine femininity

[Image description: Artist Miraa May holds up a peace sign while smiling.] Via Complex
[Image description: Artist Miraa May holds up a peace sign while smiling.] Via Complex

Looking somewhat ethnically ambiguous has always been a bit of a trip. Especially for a woman or female-identifying person like myself, I’ve noticed that it always puts others on edge to not know how to make sense of me.

What I’ve found was that being Arab, or from the Gulf, can make people around you feel like you’re sensitive to everything. She lives in the co-ed dorms and wears crop tops, but she stays mostly to herself and is close friends with hijabi women. Can I crack a crude joke in front of her or will she be offended? Even though maybe they don’t mean to, they must wonder what ‘kind of woman’ I am. As if the binary is split evenly between a ‘sexual’ woman and a modest one; as if they are mutually exclusive. 

First impressions must be confusing. I don’t neatly fit into any of their preconceived notions, so it’s difficult to make assumptions about me. When I go out with friends and pass someone that’s seen me in class, they’ll stop me and say with bewilderment, “I never thought I’d see you here.” The same goes when I put on an abaya the next day and it seems like I’ve become someone else by the way people address me. Suddenly it felt strange for me to slouch or make certain jokes. 


At times, this becomes frustrating. Do I have to let go of a part of myself to be fully ‘understood’? Do I show more skin? Is that too much? Femininity, whatever that meant, seemed so abstract but, at the same time, I couldn’t find a place for me anywhere in it.

The way I approached love and sexuality depended on who I was as a woman, that’s the way I saw it. I could either be what I thought was traditional, swooning over someone I was interested in while remaining discreet and proper, or I could completely adopt a ‘men ain’t shit’ attitude and always look out for myself first, hence never letting anyone in. Needing someone terrified me as it felt like a threat to my independence, so I tended to go with the latter, which didn’t always work out well, as you can imagine. All of this combined took a devastating toll on my sense of self-worth.

That’s when Miraa May’s music came up as a recommended artist on Spotify. I decided why not, I’ll try out her top song  ‘I Don’t Want Ya (Didi)’. 

Just with the opening beats, I was hooked and I’ve had it on replay ever since. There was something about her music that put together puzzle pieces that were supposedly not meant to fit together. The song starts with traditionally Arab sounds, drumming and ululation, almost like it’s posing to be a ballad. Then it gives way to her voice crooning, “Ohh you lie. Tell me you care. But you don’t, don’t lie.” I felt my body thrumming, there was something about the music that made me feel alive.

As an artist, Miraa May is still relatively up-and-coming, but she has four albums under her belt and is still on the rise.

Born in Algeria but having spent most of her life in the UK, she infuses her music with Middle-Eastern type beats while weaving in her own edgy R&B style. But to put it that way would do it injustice, I think what draws me to her as an artist is that she doesn’t allow herself to be defined. In some tracks, Miraa May is defiant, not wanting to let anyone in, ‘I Don’t Want Ya (Didi)’ and ‘N15’ before turning over and showing a more vulnerable and warm side in ‘Travel Thoughts’ and ‘Benji’. 

Her lyrics are short but in no way simple. Her use of slang itself becomes a character, reminding her audience that singing about love doesn’t mean she has to give up her hard edges. I particularly love how she explores the duality of being a woman and approaching romance in her own way in the song ‘Woman Like Me’.

She sings about falling in love, describing it as: “It’s a rush, I’m in love but I’m not no victim. I’m a thug, you G’d up.” There is no distress in ‘falling’, she’s no victim shot with Cupid’s arrow. She isn’t burdened by the love she feels and she is unashamed of saying that she needs them, ending the song with ‘I need you.’ I admire how she can both be powerful as a ‘thug’ and still dependent in a way and  ‘in love’, something I’ve always approached as being mutually exclusive. 

I realized that what I saw as ambiguity in terms of my cultural background or my femininity, her music turned into complexity. Miraa May allowed me to think in a completely different way about myself. This is also reinforced by the way she dresses, in a street-style that is both androgynous and feminine. It feels like she writes her songs and lives based on the way she feels, rather than trying to make herself understood by others. I feel that approach is so crucial because the weight of trying to boil myself down to something understandable is stifling.  

All of this is to say that, in many ways, Mira May’s music redefines what it means to be an Arab woman. She brushes all of those labels off and does as she likes, as she should, like the lines in her song ‘Angles’, ‘Don’t fit in a box, I fit in a mansion’. There is nothing about Miraa May’s music that tries to cling to any convention. That makes me proud of myself for being unconventional. Her songs, particularly the album N15 has always stood out to me because of its cheek, that it is whimsical but also biting. 

Needless to say, Miraa May is an artist to look out for. Her unconventional attitude towards femininity and love has made me comfortable in my own skin as well as encouraged a healthier outlook on relationships. 

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Best Friends Forever Life Stories Life

I took a break from my best friend, and now we’re closer than ever

[Image description: Woman holding another woman's head in front of a forest backdrop.] via Pexels
[Image description: Woman holding another woman's head in front of a forest backdrop.] Via Pexels.

Holding the phone at my ear, I picked at a frayed thread on my couch throw.

On the other end, a close friend of many years was recounting a story about her day, how she had run across the whole city for an assignment then gotten lost with her group members.

“And then what?” I asked, but I was thinking of something else, I had called her to say something. But I quickly found myself doubting it mattered, plus she seemed to have a lot to share. The story eventually shifted to her family at home.

“Why do you think she said that?” I robotically asked her. 

After a while, I got up to blow out my candle, still cradling my phone. My phone lit up against my cheek, the battery was drained. It dawned on me, at that moment, that an hour had passed and I had scarcely said much more than, “But why?” or “Okay, then?”

Something was completely off. Or had it always been like this? The balance between giving and taking had, somewhere along the way, been skewed.

I was slowly turning into a sounding board, an echo that answered back.

It had been a tough time in my life. I felt adrift in college. My roommates were dispersed around the world studying in their chosen fields while I stayed behind, picking up the pieces after a last-minute change of plans with my major. I was mentally drained from my own struggles, so hearing my friend constantly speak about hers exhausted me.

“My ears are bent.”

This is the life-changing phrase that stumbled upon me in a Journalism class. Through it, I realized that I was always the ‘listener’ in relationships, and I couldn’t ignore this fact any longer. I was slowly turning into a sounding board, an echo that answered back.

I knew I wasn’t being a good friend. Good friends don’t get tired of listening, do they? I knew she also needed my support but I couldn’t find the energy to do much more than listening. 

After that night, our conversations felt– and it hurt me to admit this to myself– tedious. I felt irritated that she didn’t notice that there was no space for me to contribute anything. Not knowing how to bring it up, I kept it deep inside. Until I found my chance when one day, there was a lull in the conversation. My friend seemed to search for something to say while we sat across from each other on the couch.

“Do you know anything about me anymore?” I asked. I wasn’t exactly sure wanted I to say, but I needed to say it. She looked at me, perplexed.

Figuring it out as I went, I told her, “Listen, for the past month, I hadn’t been able to get a word in.” 

She seemed ready to interject, but I wasn’t ready to stop speaking again. “When I’m with you, I just listen. And it’s fine, I care about you. But at the same time, I am taking in all your problems when I have enough of mine.”

She suddenly seemed so far away.

“What do you mean?” she asked me.

“I don’t know when, but spending time with you has started to feel like a task, a job,” I replied. Seeing the look on her face, I immediately wanted to take it back and say it wasn’t true. But it was.

“Do you know anything about me anymore?” I asked.

 And that’s when I received the biggest reality check.

“Well, if I don’t say anything, we’ll sit here quietly.”

She was honest, maybe even brutally so. She admitted that she was filling in for my silence. From her perspective, I was still reluctant to open up and she was exhausted from trying to pry me open. Where could we go from here? 

Sometimes it takes a little discomfort and time apart can help things heal. 

Our friendship had met a standstill and, for a while, we took some time apart. I had to confront my hesitance with being vulnerable which was rooted in the fear of not being taken seriously or worse, sounding boring.

My deteriorating sense of self-worth was eating away at my relationships. I didn’t feel what I had to say had value, so I just let myself fade away. As a consequence, those around me had to be taking up all the space in the foreground. 


I reached out to her after a couple of weeks because I knew I couldn’t change without my closest friend. We both agreed to make a conscious effort to try to keep a balance between us, which at first was incredibly awkward.

She paused ever so often to ask me, “Well, what about you?”

Yet, eventually over time, it became organic. Once again, I confided in her about the big things like relationships and anxiety about the future, as well as the smaller things. 

As we grow closer and we can add more years to our friendship, I am so glad I was able to bring it up when I did. Had I let all those feelings fester away inside my head, I would have not only never confronted my own self-worth but also could have lost someone very important to me.

Sometimes it takes a little discomfort and time apart can help things heal. 

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Life

How absurdism taught me to embrace the chaos in my life

[Image Description: A woman wearing a hijab holds an abstract vase in a studio. Via Pexels]
[Image Description: A woman wearing a hijab holds an abstract vase in a studio. Via Pexels]

“A little boy in a cowboy suit, writing in a puddle with a stick, a dog approaching. Deaf or dumb, the boy is, like anyone, a little timid, partly stupid, ashamed, afraid, like us, like you. He is there. Picture the boy. See his eyes. Sympathize with his little closes. Now, break his arm. Picture violin section. The violins are on fire. (The following is said almost without anger as if it’s just another request) Now go fuck yourselves.”
–Thom Pain (Based on Nothing), Will Eno.

That’s a little absurdism for you there. The next few lines go into the character trying to sound like he’s fine, but he really isn’t. He is spiraling while trying to understand the colloquial term ‘whatever’ because he thinks it will describe how he wants to feel. Did you get that? I hope so. Because underneath the strangeness is a deep vulnerability– and joy in being alive. 

It doesn’t want to have a purpose, it embraces being purposeless.

At its core, absurdism is rooted in social activism and rebellion against the norm. At a time when everyone was taking art very seriously and enforcing standards on artist’s practices, absurdists challenged the system. They said, what if we make an art form that defies expectations by being intentionally bizarre? When everything around us is so devoid of reason, embracing irrationality and strangeness may be the next best thing. 

With the current pandemic, there is little that we can control. At first, I felt so powerless against it all. That’s when I turned to absurdism. It doesn’t want to have a purpose, it embraces being purposeless. The Dadaist slogan of “art for art’s sake” and absurdism’s love of nonsense is exactly the type of energy we need to be bringing into our lifestyles. 

Absurdism taught me to embrace chaos and life not making sense (most of the time). I spent most of my life, as I expect a majority of you did, trying to assign value to myself by the things that I achieved and the decisions I made. Wanting my life to mean something, I quickly grew desperate when things did not turn out as I imagined.

Absurdism taught me to embrace chaos and life not making sense (most of the time).

Take, for instance, applying to jobs or sharing creative work. There is a powerlessness that I feel every single time. I can’t help but think that I am putting myself out there to be judged– which I am, to a certain extent. Recently, after being ghosted by a couple of jobs I had applied to, I was starting to fear that the rest of the year would be the same. All my efforts seemed to be in vain. Keen to maintain a certain image I had of my life, I started reaching out to places that I had no interest in. But I soon became so thankful that things turned out the way they did when a professor reached out to me, excited to have me on board to work on her screenplay– something I deeply enjoyed doing.

Like that last line by Will Eno, I often forgot that life was full of surprises. I learned to be okay with it. More than that, to be happy.

By reading absurdist writers, I embraced the joy of being surprised. I found humor in unexpected things. There was a strength in accepting chaos that I did not find anywhere else. When it seems like the year is going entirely on its own path, I cling to these teachings more than ever. We can’t be stubborn and try to force the year to go in the direction we want it to. We are doing more damage by pulling on the leash and digging our feet into the ground then if we let loose a little and see where the year is headed. 

All in all, when things don’t work out, whether it is with your school, career, or relationship prospects, remind yourself that having ‘nothing’ going on shouldn’t be terrible. Just take Daniil Kharm’s The Red-Haired Man, where at the end he admits that he is writing nonsense and gives up entirely. This poem has gotten me out of all types of ruts, both creative and personal.

We can all take a note from absurdism. If we embrace chaos in this way, we can enhance our own sense of wellbeing.

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Food & Drinks Life

Cooking makes me feel guilty about food and here’s why

[Image Description: Woman with messy bun eating noodles out of a pan.] Via Pexels
[Image Description: Woman with messy bun eating noodles out of a pan.] Via Pexels.

One hot summer afternoon, a hollow void was growing where my stomach had been. I was starving but had been putting off rectifying it after consulting the kitchen cabinets and finding nothing that I could eat with zero cooking. Even the early-2000’s America’s Next Top Model could not distract me and I began to feel lightheaded.

I could easily fry some paratha and be more or less satisfied but thinking of all that oil on the sizzling pan made me feel sick. From the corner of my eye, I spied an unopened box of couscous. Somehow, I had the patience to let the water boil before I poured in the couscous, adding in the tiniest pinch of salt. I brought half a bowl’s worth of plain couscous with me and returned to my little nook on the couch. 

The thought and act of cooking are certainly daunting for me.

It wasn’t laziness that had caused me to be this way. Well, not entirely. Preparing food is always perceived as such a technical and calming thing. Some people even plan their days around exciting meals. Yet, there is actually a recognized phobia of cooking that comes in many forms, ranging from the fear of following recipes to the fear of harming one’s self in the process.

I am not entirely sure if what I experience is a medical phobia, but the thought and act of cooking are certainly daunting for me. One on hand, I may be internally defying forced gender roles by refusing to be good at an act traditionally taken on by women. However, I know the real reason is something far more complicated and twisted.

When I’m in the kitchen, I am hyper-aware of the ingredients that are being put into my food and feel almost sick to my stomach. I can’t bring myself to follow recipes correctly because who knew everything needed so much butter? I skim down on the ‘unhealthy’ ingredients when I cook, and predictably, the food doesn’t turn out right.

Now, don’t get me wrong, while I have tried tracking what I eat, I mostly allow myself to indulge in food that I enjoy. Yet, in order to do that, I have to adopt a sort of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ mindset. I don’t want to see how my food is being prepared so that I don’t feel as guilty when consuming it. Knowing how much sugar went into it is sure to make me feel too distressed to eat it. When I don’t see it, I can fool myself into thinking it’s not a big deal. It is a coping mechanism I need.

Preparing food for myself triggers something toxic within me. If I am being honest with myself, I am scared that it will blossom into a condition that is more serious. Right now, I am just wary of cooking for myself. Yet, it could escalate into being more strict with calories, or skipping meals completely. I know I can’t continue having this relationship with food. I am holding myself back from enjoying life by refusing to be self-sufficient in this simple way. 

My own self-esteem issues were manifesting in the way I cook– or rather, refused to cook, impairing my lifestyle.

Acknowledging this behavior of mine has been crucial to overcoming it. Having someone cook alongside me as helped to ground me in reality and hold me accountable. A friend had told me, “Well, like it nor not, we need to add butter otherwise the carrot cake will be a sad brick.” Their words are brutally honest and correct. Why bother cooking if I am going to consciously mess it up anyway?

But more than that, recognizing the source of my cooking-induced anxiety is important in defeating it. While I could dismiss ANTM as a silly, ironic pastime, it does wire my brain a certain way. The bodies that these shows promote or bash creep up on me. These things subliminally plaster onto my mind, without me even consciously recognizing them. In an era of self-love, it may be difficult to recognize the self-criticism that lurks beneath. My own self-esteem issues were manifesting in the way I cook– or rather, refused to cook, impairing my lifestyle.

I know it will take a while for me to unplug the wires and reset them. With time, I hope to confidently cook food that I will enjoy without breaking a sweat about the amount of butter in the recipe. Continuing to learn how to cook can break me out of this cycle of guilt. While I don’t think I will get to the culinary level of needing a personalized apron, I am hopeful to see where this journey takes me.  

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Work Now + Beyond

Five starting tips to conquer the world of freelance writing

[Image description: A blonde woman in a red shirt is sitting outside at a wooden table, typing on her laptop.] Via Anete Lūsiņa on Unsplash

If you would have told me, the little girl who used to create her own magazines with construction paper, crayons, and staples, that publications would one day be paying for her words, she would have never believed you. Let alone the fact that she’d be freelance writing.

I had always heard of the term freelancing while in college as a journalism major, but I had never been taught the specifics of what it really meant or how to do it. In case you’re in that same boat, freelance writing can be defined as any compensated writing assignments that isn’t a staff position.



I had been afraid of it too because I’m a person who craves stability. But once I actually learned how to properly do it, I started to fall in love with this craft and managed to get my name in publications that I admire, for rates that I had once only dreamed of.

From my limited freelance experience, here are my top five tips that helped me find my start:

1. Start at smaller publications, but remember that the sky’s the limit

Whether it’s a byline in The New York Times or a byline at a new local magazine in your hometown, it’s still something that you can add to your portfolio and use in the future. There are plenty of publications with modest rates that can give you the confidence to pitch to bigger publications as you become more familiar with the editorial process. Don’t sell yourself short though! If you think a story could fit at a bigger publication, ask around for some advice on your pitch and send away to the appropriate editor.

2. Follow publications, editors, and journalists that you admire on Twitter and LinkedIn

There’s so much inspiration out in the world and social media is a great place to start. I’ve found that a good amount of editors put out calls for pitches through Twitter or post style guides for how they prefer to be pitched to.

When you see a lede that you resonate with or a writing style that inspires you, look into the publication that published it and the journalist who wrote it. They probably have more good content too that they promote on their social media. It’s been particularly beneficial for me to familiarize myself with publications that I may hope to write for to get a sense of their style. I’d also highly recommend subscribing to Sonia Weiser’s newsletter! It has editor’s pitch calls all put into one place and gives invaluable tips and resources.

3. Reach out and form connections with those doing what you aspire to do

Many journalists within the freelance community have been super nice and helpful. It’s a sort of camaraderie built on an understanding of where we’re all coming from. Freelancing is hard and it can be scary and unpredictable. Every freelance journalist knows this to be true and is likely to give advice or answer questions if you ask them.

4. Develop tough skin & be kind to yourself when rejection inevitably comes

All it takes is one person to say yes to get a byline, but until then you’re going to get a lot of nos. While rejection is never easy, it is a guarantee in this process. The key is to not let any rejected pitch stop you.

I once had a pitch rejected three times in a row from different editors before one approved of it for $500 – much higher than the other three publications’ rates. Also, it may be a good idea to ask the editor why it was denied. This is a great way to learn and move forward with some insight.

5. Know your worth and don’t back down

I have this awful habit of saying that I’m *just* a freelancer until someone once corrected me and said, “No, you are a freelancer and that’s powerful.”

They’re right too. Freelance writers are some of the coolest and headstrong people that I’ve ever met. It takes a lot of hard work and investment to do what you do so don’t ever sell yourself short. Sign contracts for your words with kill fees that will ensure some form of compensation should, for any reason, your story be killed.

Negotiate rates if you don’t feel comfortable with how much you’re getting paid. Hold editors and publications accountable with pay deadlines just like how they have expectations for you. We’re more than “just” freelancers and deserve respect.

I’m still learning my ways around freelance writing but have come so far from where I once was. As with anything, you’re bound to mess up and this craft can be frustrating at times. Take it easy and send another pitch, you never know who might just say yes.

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Life

I am more my true self on my fake Instagram account than on my real one

[Image Description: Two girls laying on the floor, one is looking at her phone and the other is facing her laptop] Via Pexels
[Image Description: Two girls laying on the floor, one is looking at her phone and the other is facing her laptop] Via Pexels.

Linda leaned against the glass window of a used book store, her cheeks painted red under the gleaming neon light. The glowing “BOOKS” sign reflected in her tiny white shades which were balanced precariously at the edge of her nose. She peered over them in the direction of the camera, grinning. The accompanying caption was the starting point for many jokes to be had throughout her account: “She can’t read”. This was mostly amusing due to the fact that I was Linda, a then-junior English Literature student.

It was my roommate that came up with the tasteful name, Linda, as soon as I put on those white shades for the first time in an Urban Outfitters. They were so unlike me, a girl who exclusively wore black. They were a very “bitchy accessory” that drew attention. With their encouragement, I created a finsta (a fake Instagram account) embodying Linda and her bold fashion choices– the list of which grew gradually as I was in New York City after all.

Is having an alternative online persona or a finsta dishonest? We’ve moved on from thinking that everything we are being presented online is genuine. We know social media warps our expectations of each other and is not a true reflection of someone’s reality (although there has been a call for users to show more authentic versions of themselves). 

I pressed ‘share’ more times in a day than I blinked.

Having an alias, finsta account, spam twitter or any other side account allows you to let loose. I believe that they allow you to explore different parts of yourself. Your unbothered side, that unironically enjoys Tik Tok videos, gets to shine through. Or your liberal views get to be made known despite the sternness of your conservative home. Who is to say which is more authentic? And does it matter? 

In my online persona case of Linda, I could play with inside jokes. I could post whatever I wanted whenever I liked. Gone were the days where I had worried about any curated scheme or began overthinking about whether the content seemed like ‘me’. I didn’t have to care if people from high school (who I don’t even speak to anymore) or my mother’s cousin’s nephew’s friend got the ‘wrong idea’ about me. 

Having an alias, finsta account, spam twitter or any other side account allows you to let loose.

My online persona was confined to my private finsta account and I only followed people close to me. I enjoy having a page that I can look forward to posting on. It wasn’t about the likes or comments. It was about the joy that came with the account itself. The fact that it was clearly a finsta made it clear that I was saying, “Don’t take me seriously. Not here at least”. 

In propagation for finstas, I’d like to make it known that the ‘share’ button is always a site of anxiety for me. That looming moment just before you press it often fuels a lot of tension within. I know that it isn’t a real social interaction, not in the same way as a handshake. But it would rather be eternalized in the digital realm – something a finsta can combat. Having an alternative persona allowed me to overcome this anxiety and let me share whatever came to mind. I pressed ‘share’ more times in a day than I blinked. If the post contained a poor fashion decision or an ill-received spoken word video, it was Linda’s doing. 

In my experience as a Muslim woman, we, as well as other women with more conservative backgrounds, use finstas and online personas as a personal outlet. An alternative account is seen as a haven away from the male gaze or even their family’s eyes. The accounts become a way to have a presence online while also remaining private.

Other friends of mine use twitter accounts with aliases to release any pent up thoughts. They read like journal entries. They aren’t forgetting who they actually are or trying to fool anyone. Instead, it is simply a space for us to put ourselves out there while not fearing anyone’s judgement.

The accounts become a way to have a presence online while also remaining private.

There is the fact that any of these side-accounts could turn into a breeding ground for gossip. I can’t deny that I haven’t seen the dark side of being unfiltered and unencumbered by social judgement. People tearing each other down behind aliases and exploiting anonymity to be cruel to those around them or other strangers. But there is a potential for so much more. 

We need these spaces. We need to be under-the-radar and ourselves…or maybe someone else entirely. It may be an illusion, but finstas and alternative accounts do feel more private and personal. Linda can attest to this.