Uh...Wow.
Still in semi-shock. Of the freaking sweet variety.
Selfistan - a land, well webpage, where all you see and read is stuff that I want you to see and read. Inspired by my constant ramblings and thought processes and by Salman Rushdie's quote on Selfistan in "Shalimar the Clown", Ramblings From Selfistan looks at the deeper and the not-so-deep aspects of life as I see it. Welcome to my world...
Sunday 31 January 2010
Saturday 30 January 2010
Old is Gold
Courtesy Shalimar and his 30-minute late Happy Birthday (I don't mind that it was late by the way...). It's been stuck in my head ever since.
Monday 25 January 2010
Home is Where the Brain Is
This past week, I put 'Hello Political Science, I missed you...' as my FB status. While it did not elicit the response I desired, a friend of mine commented saying that it was a sad - not in the weepy way, but a 'wow, your life sucks' - sort of comment. Given the fact that I don't think my life sucks (no You, this doesn't mean I give You license to change that), I was disappointed with the comment. I was more upset not at the perception of my life being boring, but at the inability of my friend to see beyond the nonchalant tone of my status towards its real meaning.
I graduated from my undergrad with a double major in Political Science and Asian Languages & Cultures. While I did better on my ALC courses, mostly because I basically studied languages and was (and still am - I think) quite adept at learning them, I enjoyed the PoliSci and International Affairs side of things much more. Politics has been a passion ever since I represented Syria at a High School Model United Nations in April 2003 (less than a month after the start of Iraq War #2) and had to sit between the 'honourable' delegates from the USA and the UK, whilst debating the legality of the war. My interest and love for it - polisci that is - was solidified the following year, during which I represented Pakistan on the UN Security Council and single-handedly got ourselves a much-coveted permanent seat at the table. We were debating UNSC reform and the Indian delegate that got called in to respond to Pakistan's (my) plan for UNSC reform and resolving the Kashmir issue was particularly inept. She had no idea that Partition had occurred along religious lines (and she was actually Indian!)
Anyway. During the first term of my M.A, I took 2 courses that could have fallen under the realm of politics. The first was called Global Political Thought, but we discussed issues of time, colonialism and various conceptions of modernity much more than real - or imagined - political occurrences. The second was a Theory and Methods course. While we read some political philosophy, we were mostly concerned with issues of authorship, identity and such.
So, it was a hard term, as I was confronted with terms and concepts that I'd never really dealt with or thought about. This will betray my ignorance, but at the start of the term, I couldn't have defined terms like 'teleological' or 'ontological', and yet they were being thrown about in the same way that I use concepts like 'the invisible hand' or 'the legitimate use of force' or 'the end of history.'
This term is completely different. Three of my four classes are real political science courses. I understand and know the literature and am, as a result, much more engaged with it. This is my territory, and I'm glad to be back. Now, back to the problems of democratic transitions.
*Massive smile of academic bliss*
I graduated from my undergrad with a double major in Political Science and Asian Languages & Cultures. While I did better on my ALC courses, mostly because I basically studied languages and was (and still am - I think) quite adept at learning them, I enjoyed the PoliSci and International Affairs side of things much more. Politics has been a passion ever since I represented Syria at a High School Model United Nations in April 2003 (less than a month after the start of Iraq War #2) and had to sit between the 'honourable' delegates from the USA and the UK, whilst debating the legality of the war. My interest and love for it - polisci that is - was solidified the following year, during which I represented Pakistan on the UN Security Council and single-handedly got ourselves a much-coveted permanent seat at the table. We were debating UNSC reform and the Indian delegate that got called in to respond to Pakistan's (my) plan for UNSC reform and resolving the Kashmir issue was particularly inept. She had no idea that Partition had occurred along religious lines (and she was actually Indian!)
Anyway. During the first term of my M.A, I took 2 courses that could have fallen under the realm of politics. The first was called Global Political Thought, but we discussed issues of time, colonialism and various conceptions of modernity much more than real - or imagined - political occurrences. The second was a Theory and Methods course. While we read some political philosophy, we were mostly concerned with issues of authorship, identity and such.
So, it was a hard term, as I was confronted with terms and concepts that I'd never really dealt with or thought about. This will betray my ignorance, but at the start of the term, I couldn't have defined terms like 'teleological' or 'ontological', and yet they were being thrown about in the same way that I use concepts like 'the invisible hand' or 'the legitimate use of force' or 'the end of history.'
This term is completely different. Three of my four classes are real political science courses. I understand and know the literature and am, as a result, much more engaged with it. This is my territory, and I'm glad to be back. Now, back to the problems of democratic transitions.
*Massive smile of academic bliss*
Sunday 24 January 2010
What A Weird Phenomenon - Or Maybe It's Just Me
It hit me yesterday, or maybe it was Friday, that I was back at school - grad school (I never studied during my Undergrad because I was too busy doing my extracurricular stuff. Undergrad was also pretty easy) - and had tonnes of readings and work to do. Yikes! I shouldn't have lazed around on Wednesday and Thursday. If I want to have a life, I better pull my act together (I've had a total of 2 days of class so far this term - this is insane), and start studying properly. I'm either going to get eaten alive (I'd rather not use the first *ahem* colloquial phrase that came to mind) by my 4 courses, thesis and work, or survive to tell the tale.
I hope it's the latter.
Anyway. Back to the original point of this post.
Weird phenomenon.
I've noticed this over the past few years, but it seems to have become much more of a minute issue than it has ever been. I know a couple of languages, because that's what I study - politics and languages (and religion - but from the lens of politics, so not really religion). Anyway. When I'm studying, I like listening to music. It calms my mind. I'm a nervous, anxious, freak type of a person - although I don't show it - especially when I'm studying and have to sit still. But I can't listen to music in the language I'm reading or writing in. If, for example, I'm reading an article on the Mughal State in English, I'll have to listen to music that isn't in English to be able to function. If, on the other hand, I'm reading Urdu poetry by Iqbal, I won't be able to listen to anything that's remotely close to Urdu: Hindi, Gujarati, Punjabi etc. It'll drive me insane and all I'll do is listen to the music.
Is it just me? Does this prove that different languages are stored in different parts of your brain? OooOooOooHhhh
I hope it's the latter.
Anyway. Back to the original point of this post.
Weird phenomenon.
I've noticed this over the past few years, but it seems to have become much more of a minute issue than it has ever been. I know a couple of languages, because that's what I study - politics and languages (and religion - but from the lens of politics, so not really religion). Anyway. When I'm studying, I like listening to music. It calms my mind. I'm a nervous, anxious, freak type of a person - although I don't show it - especially when I'm studying and have to sit still. But I can't listen to music in the language I'm reading or writing in. If, for example, I'm reading an article on the Mughal State in English, I'll have to listen to music that isn't in English to be able to function. If, on the other hand, I'm reading Urdu poetry by Iqbal, I won't be able to listen to anything that's remotely close to Urdu: Hindi, Gujarati, Punjabi etc. It'll drive me insane and all I'll do is listen to the music.
Is it just me? Does this prove that different languages are stored in different parts of your brain? OooOooOooHhhh
Wednesday 20 January 2010
After a Night and Day of Certain Occurrences
Sometimes I don't understand You. Well. Make that most of the time.
We have epiphanies at the most awkward and random moments.
We die too young. (RIP Baba Baazigar)
We keep waiting for the one thing we want the most in this world. You keep teasing us. It's almost in our grasp at one moment, and the next - it's far away.
Then again. I wonder if we're even meant to understand You. I guess not...At least, that's what They say.
You ma'ashuq You.
We have epiphanies at the most awkward and random moments.
We die too young. (RIP Baba Baazigar)
We keep waiting for the one thing we want the most in this world. You keep teasing us. It's almost in our grasp at one moment, and the next - it's far away.
Then again. I wonder if we're even meant to understand You. I guess not...At least, that's what They say.
You ma'ashuq You.
Sunday 17 January 2010
Wisdom from the Garden - Shalimar That Is...
Shalimar has a blog. He's not called Shalimar on the blog. But too bad Shalimar. As cool as your name is, I like Shalimar.
Anyway. As I was leaving Home, Shalimar called. I'd been depressed the night before and had frantically texted him (I would've called but I was worried he'd be sleeping. Even though I'm an insomniac, I don't assume that everyone else is) wondering if what I was feeling was normal. He assured me that I was indeed normal (thank God), and told me to go to bed - which I did, eventually.
So the night I was leaving, Shalimar gave me some advice. Advice that I actually listened to (I don't listen to most people - only a handful: i.e. Shalimar, Yogi, Sorella, Burnsy, BKScope and my parents). He said, it's hard leaving anything you're attached to. You're finding it really hard right now because you're leaving people you're really close to, but you'll find it hard leaving NYC when you have to in a couple months as well. The degree of sadness is what's going to be different.
He's right. I remember leaving NYC in December and being sad to have to go back to a certain way of life. I think I even blogged about it.
Anyway. Back to cleaning the fridge.
Anyway. As I was leaving Home, Shalimar called. I'd been depressed the night before and had frantically texted him (I would've called but I was worried he'd be sleeping. Even though I'm an insomniac, I don't assume that everyone else is) wondering if what I was feeling was normal. He assured me that I was indeed normal (thank God), and told me to go to bed - which I did, eventually.
So the night I was leaving, Shalimar gave me some advice. Advice that I actually listened to (I don't listen to most people - only a handful: i.e. Shalimar, Yogi, Sorella, Burnsy, BKScope and my parents). He said, it's hard leaving anything you're attached to. You're finding it really hard right now because you're leaving people you're really close to, but you'll find it hard leaving NYC when you have to in a couple months as well. The degree of sadness is what's going to be different.
He's right. I remember leaving NYC in December and being sad to have to go back to a certain way of life. I think I even blogged about it.
Anyway. Back to cleaning the fridge.
Wednesday 13 January 2010
Let's Start the Decade with some Ramblings
Twelve days into the New Year and nothing to say. Yay for holiday-induced apathy.
It's 2010. Freak-out time. The end of a decade, the start of another, and a birthday coming up that pushes me over the edge into almost-grown-up-ville.
The horror.
No. I'm serious.
The horror.
The peace - and piece - is still missing. Or eh-wall. Yes. Eh-Wall.
El.
Lauw begins with El...
On that note.
It's 2010. Freak-out time. The end of a decade, the start of another, and a birthday coming up that pushes me over the edge into almost-grown-up-ville.
The horror.
No. I'm serious.
The horror.
The peace - and piece - is still missing. Or eh-wall. Yes. Eh-Wall.
El.
Lauw begins with El...
On that note.
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