Stop screaming in my ears!

In the beginning of Google+ the people were nice, sweet, respectful. I rarely got a disrespectful or rude comment. But since Google+ is open for public, Google+ is more of a reflection of the society.  At least the society I life in. We have this right winged (and extremely anti-Islam) political party called PVV. 1,5 million people voted for it. We have around 17 million people living here. Excluding youth under 18, ethnics with no Dutch passport, people who didn’t vote at all, it must be around 12% of the population (I’m guessing, don’t sue me on this one). That is 1 out of 12 people. I know a lot of people; family, friends, colleagues,acquaintances, neighbours. None of them dares to admit to me they voted PVV. Because of the google+ real name policy it seems it’s almost the same. People rarely comment disrespectfull or rude in public, but they do say it in private messages. I get approximately 1 a day.

There are many, many smart, sweet and respectful people (I love you all), but there are also people who keep screaming in my ears. In my left ear there are the bigots/ racists/ right winged extremists/ islamophobiacs or whatever you want to call them. Some examples of private messages:

 “I hope your family finds out you are here and lock you in the basement where your cousins will rape you every day”

“I’m gonna slit your throat”

“You’re a fucking muslim, go to hell”

That last example was kinda rare, cause it was posted publicly (https://plus.google.com/u/0/104807707676075308449/posts/9dcGH3SPGjd). Normally I remove them immidiately, but this time I didn’t.

Screaming in my right ear are some extreme muslims who think they know me and tell me I am not a good muslim. I am apparantly too modern, too liberal, too free. Some examples of private messages:

 “You should be married and take care of your husband.”

“Of you’re  liberal, you’re a betrayer of true Islam”

 “You’re flirting with men, you will go to hell”

I’m starting to get fed up with people screaming in my ears  In real life and here. Who are you to decide who I am? What I believe in?  What my goals in life are? How I should behave?

I am Jasmina. I am a woman. I am a Muslim. I am against any form of violence or extremism. I am pro-democracy. I am a liberal. I am sweet. I am happy. I am caring. I am in love with life. I am honest. I am stubborn. I am sometimes afraid. I am naive. I am free. I am proud. I am not a terrorist. I am not anti-semitic.  This is me. Whether you like it or not.

Mourning for the loss of a dream

Sometimes I wonder if I mourn for something/someone I lost or for the dream or fantasy I had about it. To explain myself better I’ll give an example. What if you fall in love with someone. And afterwards you break up for whatever reason. Are you mourning then because of the loss of your lover or are you mourning for the loss of a dream you had. For the fantasy you had about you and that person together. Which in time you found out wasn’t true. Because he/she was not actually the person you thought he/she was. You maybe imagined he/she was. Or maybe hoped he/she was. Aren’t some people fooling themself by getting all upset for believing it was the love of their life they’ve lost? I have this friend who broke up with her boyfriend. And her whole world stopped. For months. She had lost the love of her life. As she claims he was. But actually he was a jerk. He mistreated her, cheated and wasn’t nice at all. So what was she mourning about? Him or the dream she had of the person he was? Of the picture perfect she had in her mind about them together. I believe it was the dream, but she still insist it’s him who she is missing. It’s hér feeling, so I’m ok with that.

And it’s not only about love, it’s also about friends. I’ve lost friends and because of the good memories I remember, I mourned for their loss. And I tended to forget about the bad things. I mean, they obviously weren’t the friends they’re supposed to be otherwise we would still be friends. So am I mourning for their loss or for the loss of a fantasy friend I had? And the same goes with family. Ofcourse I’m not talking about people who died.

After writing this I come to the conclusion I’m mourning mostly for the loss of a dream. But without any doubt I still keep on dreaming. Is it hope or naivety? Or do I just simply refuse to give up my dreams? Even if most of the time I’m mourning afterwards. But what am I without my dreams? 

Multicultural society a failure?

In the beginning of this year our vice Prime Minister said that the multicultural society has failed. I wonder where he has been living his whole life. But let me tell you, it is not a failure in my town. Wé are not a failure vice Prime Minister.

I’m living in Rotterdam. The second biggest city in my country. Or maybe I’m wrong, but we like to think that we are. Half of the youth is non-western ‘ethnic’.  And you know what, we dont care. I heard this youngster screaming to his friend last week “Ewa sahbi, pass me een kip roti kardashhhhh!” (translation: “Hey my friend, give me a chicken roti, Surinamese dish, my frienddddd!”) I mean, that’s like Moroccan, English, Surinamese, Dutch and Turkish in 1 sentence. And the funny part is, all his mixed friends understood him. And so did I. Because besides the English, German and French we are obligated to learn in highschool, we also pick up words from people around us. We mix it all up. Like we are all mixed up. ‘Rotterdammers’ (residents of Rotterdam) are raw, they say what is on there mind and they do that very direct. And it doesn’t matter where you come from. If you act stupid, you are a stupid Rotterdammer. We like to complain about our city, but when we are outside it we will defend it with our lifes.  And it doesn’t matter if you’re from Morocco, Turkey, Suriname, Somalia or whatever, if you are a Rotterdammer, you are a Rotterdammer.

I must give credit to our education system, cause I can talk to my Thai neighbour in (sort of) English, German to my neighbour from Poland and some French to another neighbour from Congo . I don’t care if they don’t speak Dutch, I can talk to them in other languages. And I like to talk and learn from different cultures.  So I usely do that a lot.  And we talk Dutch too. Cause they want to talk Dutch with me so they can practize it. They are sweet and warm people. They also care for their street, their neighbourhood, their city, their country. They also care for their children, for safety, for their neighbours.  Who let’s us think they are second-class citizens?

The problem in The Netherlands in general is that for some adults ‘ethnics’ will always be ‘ethnic’ and it doesn’t matter if you were born and raised here. If you lived here for 40 years. If your children are born and raised here. If you speak the language fluently and you pay your taxes every month. If you participate in Dutch celibrations (like Queensday) and obey the rules of this country. They will still be seen as ‘ethnics’.  And as long as we all don’t accept ‘ethnics’ as Dutch civilians, this will never change. I’m proud of my city and I think it is a good rolemodel for the cities who are not that far. Who maybe never have been multicultural because their are not much ‘ethnics’ living there. In Rotterdam their are daily a lot of people from outside the city. I notice cause they are the ones who threat me different. I’m not ‘ethnic’, but anyone with a veil is ‘ethnic’ in most Dutch eyes.  So I know how some can act. But yet, I still think we didn’t fail (yes, we fall sometimes) and a vice Prime Minister telling us we failed is not very helpful.  What kind of message are you sending to our youth then? Our youth who mostly don’t care where someone is born or where their parents are born. Our youth who is used having their group of friends mixed. Our youth who cares about the character of a person instead of their ethnicity. I think vice Prime Minister, that you’ve failed in realising that this generation of youth doesn’t care if someone is ‘ethnic’. And you have failed in giving them credit for that.

Note: This is only based on my personal opinion. You may disagree. But this is how I see it.

My superhero grandma

My best childhood memories are in your house, grandma. I used to play in your garden, cuddled with the rabbits and made thousand of chains and bracelets with daisies . And when it was raining we went inside and baked cookies, played boardgames or read the hundreds of comics you saved for me and my brothers. And their was always this smell. The smell of cooking porridge. Cause that was your favorite. You loved eating it and it was always cooking on the stove when we arrived. I can’t smell it without thinking of you. I remember you also took me to the cinema or the zoo sometimes. What a party was that! I was too little to realise then you didn’t have much money and saved every little dime so you could bring me there.   But when I grew older I learnt more about you. About your tough life. You were a young adult in second world war and althought you rarely talked about it, it had a big impact in your life. And when you found out grandpa was tasting candy somewhere else, you kicked him out.  Fifty years ago that was not an easy thing to do. All of a sudden you were a single divorced mother of 4 young children. You worked day and night to provide for them and never thought about yourself.  And they grew up wonderful. You wanted to set a rolemodel for your children, but you also set a rolemodel for your grandchildren.

You were always so strong grannie. I have only seen you cry once. When one of your children died. You always said ‘I should have gone first, no one should survive their own children’. I saw the pain in your eyes for many years. But as usual you stayed strong. You kept the family together.  You were the centre and we would all gather at your house.  I will never forget your tolerance too. I remember you were the one who found out one of our relatives was gay. You laught and said, “well, who cares, I still love him.” And when your only granddaughter converted to Islam you said exactly the same. You were the only one who accepted it.  Accepted me. We talked a lot about religion with a cup a tea in our hands and playing scrabble at the same time.  You were Christian and believed. I was Muslim and believed. And we both believed in the love for eachother.

And then 6 months ago the whole family went to Italy. You couldn’t go, you needed 24/7 medical care. I couldn’t go. I couldn’t bear the feeling of leaving you all alone the whole week with no familiar face around you. So I stayed.  I stayed here and after work I drove to you. You knew I was coming, I was only 10 minutes away, but then you left. Death took you away from me. I was so angry, cause I was so close and didn’t had the change to say goodbye.  I was so angry, cause you were alone when you left. But maybe this was also you. Quiet going away while everyone was gone. I know you were very ill and I know you didn’t mind leaving. You were sick before many times, but you always crawled back up because you saw the pain in our eyes. It was your time to go and maybe if we were there, you would have tried to fight it again. But it’s ok grannie, you’ve fought your whole life, you may rest now. Your pain is over.

I miss you grannie. You are my rolemodel, you are my superhero. And you will always be. May you rest in peace.

Let fear not win

When I had dinner with some colleagues last week I asked the waiter if the meat was halal. The respons was “Oh you’re that kind of trouble  muslim who only eat halláaaaal”. I’m sorry, did I ask for his chef cook to convert so he can kill the chicken halal? I don’t mind if it’s not hallal, I’m just asking. If it’s not, I eat some vegetarian food. No problem at all.

It reminded me of a time I went for dinner with my friends. One girl was getting married so we decided to go out to a nice restaurant and celebrate.  While we were there for 3 hours I realised I had to renew my parkingcard. So I left to renew it and went back in 5 minutes. Trying to walk in they forbid me the entrance. I was overwhelmed.  I didn’t connect it with my veil, I’ve been there for 3 hours already. When I asked why, they pointed out that caps are not allowed in a restaurant, so neither are veils. One guy thought he even had to point out that if I wanted to wear a veil, I should go to my own country.  The only reply I could give at that moment was “but….I am from this country”. I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t reply. Ofcourse hours later, when I was already home, I had a lot of replies for them in my head.  Which were not so nice, so I will not repeat them here.

This didn’t happen in a small village, it happened in one of the biggest cities. A big city where half of the youth population is ‘ethnic’. Is this common here? No, luckily not. Yet. But it does happen and waving it away as if these things never happen here is wrong. It happened to me many times (in different situations) and I bet it happens to others too.  We should be aware of this. It hurts people. It hurted me. I don’t care about (for example) the restaurant, there are many others places to go to. But I felt humiliated and ashamed. Ashamed to see my friends through the window and calling them that I couldn’t get in. My friends are awesome, so they stood up immidiately and left. They were mad. And so was I. I felt powerless, helpless, but the shame hit me more.  I think it’s dangerous too. And no, you don’t have to be afraid of me.  But if you get this over yourself many times I can understand why other youth gets frustrated. Frustrated about society, frustrated nobody speaking up,  and maybe so frustrated they distance themself from this society. The society they live in, where they were born and raised.  I’m a person who speaks up (if not at the moment, then later on), because I’ve learned how to do that. I’m well articulated and I cán. But what if you can’t? Where does this frustration go? It worries me.  Especially in a time where society seems to revolve around the individual. Where freedom of speech seems to be only for the ones who have the biggest mouth and hurts others the most. Where freedom of religion is not that common anymore and where fear seems to win.

I did not write this to place myself as a victim. I am not (and even if I was, I refuse to be one). I write about this, because this is reality and we should all be aware. Let fear not win. Let it not devide us into groups and fingerpoint at each other. Let it not stop us from communicating with eachother. And most of all, let it not wipe away respect for eachother, how different we might be.

Addiction to the night

Sitting on my balcony, watching over nothing but gardens. The darkness of the night is full of wonders. And I love it. The only sound is from the little waterfall in one of the gardens. No honking cars, no phones ringing and, best of all, no people talking. I can hear myself  thinking, wondering.  Wondering about life, about people, about reality and fiction. Questioning the existence of human being, of belief, of the entire universe. Wishing  I was naive, innocent and full of dreams again.  While I sit underneath the blanket of stars I ask myself  how  I can crawl back from my tearvalley and dance again on the courtyard of my heart.  I have a journey to make. And although that frightens me, the night covers me with it’s calmness.

I sit there for hours, waiting for the spectaculair ending. The birds start singing their melodies. It’s a symphony of pure joy.  And it’s my signal to go to sleep. While people are awakening I pull myself back. Hiding for the day and longing for the next night. It’s an addiction which has no cure. 

Ramadan in The Netherlands (and what a day it was!)

Since I try to write about my dialy life, this is an item that can not be missed. I hear people talking about ramadan and the warmth it brings to everyone, the solidarity. Fasting together, eating together when sun goes down, praying together, remembering and thanking Allah swt for all the blessings given to us. I hear about it, but I never felt all of it. Ramadan is different for me. My family is Christian and this society is also mostly based on that. This is a day of my ramadan.

I stayed awake till fadj so I stood up late at 11:00. It’s still a long day, cause sun goes down at 21:33 here. I have to hurry up cause I need to go to the shop before I go to a businessmeeting in the afternoon. For most people it’s kinda weird, but shops close here at 18:00.  After that it’s quiet in the streets and after 22:00  most people go to bed. What a difference is that to what I’ve seen in many Islamic countries.  But, to keep it short, I go to the supermarket and leave for the meeting.

At the meeting they offer me coffee/tea/water and as I say politely no and explain it’s ramadan, I get the same old questions. Every year in ramadan I get the same questions and mostly even from the same people. “Oh, it’s ramadan…..but you can still drink some water right?”. I explain again and then the final comment is most likely “Yeah, but you can do it secretly right, I won’t tell anyone”. You know, I always explain, but some people just don’t want to know or learn.

After the meeting I go home and while I’m driving, I’m being stopped by the police. Routine alcohol check. For real! The policeman asked (before I have to blow into a machine) if I've been drinking today. I smile and try to be funny “Not even a single drop of water, sir”. He looks at me and asks “Are you drunk?”. I laugh so hard it takes me 5 minutes to calm down and explain it’s ramadan. I must note, most policemen know this, but apparently this policeman was sick the day this lesson was given at the academy. Ofcourse I still have to blow in some kind of machine, cause, and I quote “otherwise everyone can say he/she is having ramadan while they are secretly drinking”.

When I get home I call my parents, see how they are doing. My mom asks me to come by next week for dinner. I explain that I can come by, but that it’s ramadan and I can not eat with them. This is a struggle ever year. They know I fast, but they feel that I can still eat with them. What is the difference if I eat 1 day with them? I explain every year, but sometimes it feels like talking to the Chinese wall. My mom tells me to stay home if I don’t want to come by to eat. Ok. I don’t know how to respond to it anymore. I go sit on my couch and start reading Quran.

At 20:30 I start to plan my cooking. Props for all the women who don’t need to plan this and who’s kitchen is not totally ruined. Everything has to be finished at the same time, so it’s all warm and fresh. That really needs some scheduling, otherwise I would forget at least 1 thing. It kinda feels like going on vacation. I pack the day before but can’t sleep at night, cause I still have this feeling somewhere inside me that I forget something. Turns out I indeed always forget something. Luckily I only have to feed myself, otherwise it would be a disaster in my kitchen.

And then, it’s finally time. I eat a date, do my praying and go to eat a healthy iftar.  I’m easily filled and now I’m here, drinking my coffee and writing this. I love ramadan, the meanings behind it, the feeling I get, the awareness it brings. It’s the best month of the year. But I do miss the gathering, the sharing, the solidarity. I wish you all a blessed ramadan with all your family and friends. Enjoy and ,most importantly, learn.

How free are we really?

They often tell me I’m lucky to live in the free Europe. Where everything is possible and anything can happen. But how free are we really?

People tell me sometimes I’m being too negative and I have to look at the good news. But what good news is that exactly? The western media only put a one sited view about my religion, which is mostly about Al Qaida, taliban, Aghanistan, Iraq, suppressed women in muslim countries. They like to talk about muslims a lot instead of talking with them. Want to have high ratings? Put an item about muslims and violence or muslims and suppressed women. High ratings guaranteed.

I try to be positive and enjoy the world to the fullest. I see beauty in a simple flower or in the pigeon who lands on my balcony every morning. I feel beauty when the sun warms my skin or when it’s raining so hard I just get out to get totally soaked.  I hear beauty in a child’s laughter or when  my cat is meowing with joy. But yet I wonder, does this world loves me too?  I’m getting overthrown by  prejudices and stereotyping. But ofcourse I’m not allowed to talk about that, cause the ones who don’t face it every day tell me it’s not so bad and there are some people who think good about muslims. So I just stay quiet and try to straighten the misconception. Although nobody seriously ever asks.

We need more sweet grannies!

I was waiting at a busstop last week when an old woman came walking towards me. She approached me and told me the bus wasn’t driving that day. There was some kind of strike and it had been on the news. I normally don’t use public transportation and since my head is already full of garbage I tend to forget things which I don’t have to remember. She smiled at me and tapped me on the shoulder.  She told me, using her hands and feets, that I probably didn’t understand the news but that she was going to explain to me where the subway was. I knew she thought I didn’t understand Dutch. Normally I have a quick adroit reply, but as I was watching her trying to explain to me where I had to go, I was overwhelmed by her sweetness.  I gave her my smile and she gave me hers back. I stood up and walked in the way she pointed me and mumbled something like a thank you.

That day I was thinking a lot about her. Althought I’m an originally Dutch girl, I am not Dutch for most people anymore. It’s the way I look, the veil I wear. I haven’t changed a bit, but my appearance make people think I’m a foreigner. It makes people think I can’t speak their languages. It makes people give me flyers on the market to go to school and learn Dutch. It makes people think I am stupid.  It makes people feel they have the right to discriminate me. A politician said a few days before that the fear of foreign influences is understandable and justified.  That the Netherlands is not what it was anymore. Although the politician  used it in a different context,  I realised that indeed the Netherlands was not the Netherlands anymore.  These sweet old grannies are dying and the next generation is not so sweet anymore. The time where you could leave your door open and where everybody knows their neighbour is over.  I live in this house for six years now and I don’t even know the name of a single neighbour.  I greet them every morning, but 9 out of 10 times I get no reply back. We’re suppost to live together, but instead we all live on a seperat island.

Later that day I accidently saw the sweet granny again. She wanted to cross the street, but the cars weren’t stopping. I walked to her, gave her my arm and brought her across. She smiled at me and reached into her bag. She gave me an orange and continued on her way. I don’t think somebody ever gave me a fruit as a thank you.  It was kinda ironic, cause the national colour of my country is orange. She made me smile with her sweetness and I realised that this country now need to build bridges more then ever before.

The beauty of silence

Why is it that people always feel the need to chat. Every moment of silence has to be filled. I don’t like it. And if you talk too much, I don’t like you.

It’s actually why I always go to my friends instead of let them hang in my place. So I can leave when I’m done talking. When I heard enough noise. I’m too polite to tell them to shut up. I go home and be alone. Luckily my friends know me well and let me leave without questioning. I’m lucky with my friends. And although I have a lot of friends, I’m still a loner. And I love it. I love the silence. There’s something magic about it. I can be alone for days and I don’t care. Am I a social disaster? Probably. At least for society. But maybe they are just weird. And not me. It is possible. Don’t get me wrong, I like to hang out with my friends and talk and act goofy. But I can’t live without my alone time. 

And don’t let me start about guys, what is wrong with some of you? It happens sometimes a guy likes me. Not so often, but occasionally it happens. And the more I go away for some space and some silence, the more they come barking into my space. What the hell is wrong with you? Do I seriously have to talk to you every second of the day? Did men became girls all of a sudden? Leave me alone. Go sit next to me, shut up and play with your laptop. 

“You are single? Yes, I’m not so good”

People ask me many times why I’m still single.  They don’t ask in a less direct way, they just ask. Right in my face, as if they are my best friends and are allowed to ask me whatever they want. I must have a good answer to that question, cause how can a sweet girl as me be still single. I must do something wrong. They can fix that for me. They think they know me and overwhelm me with compliments. But the truth is, I’m not so good.

I’m floating down a river named emotions. And I throw them out. I don’t care if it makes you feel uncomfortable, cause I’m also kinda selfish sometimes. I have the ability to show emotions of a 5 year old, so that throwing out is not working very well. I don’t trust you, you have to trust me, but I don’t trust you. Cause yes, I’m projecting on you what other men did to me. I should have a warning label permanently attached to my hip. One that reads: "WARNING: I will push you away because I have a fear of getting to close to you and then losing you." I’m jealous too. I don’t accept you being jealous on me, but I am on you. So I give you 2 options, either stay home for the rest of your life or give me your password from your e-mail, facebook, twitter and google+. Maybe when times passes I have some kind of trust in you, but I don’t trust the other women around you. I know them. I am one of them. They are manipulative and will turn you around there finger. And you are naive. I decide that for you. So it’s better if you don’t speak to any women at all, unless she’s your family or a lesbian. Although I have my doubts about lesbians as well, they might turn into biseksual for you.  I might just lock you in my room, so your world is all about me. The same as my world is all about you. Cause that’s who I am too, I give you all my loyalty and love. I might even die for you.  I smother you with love and hugs and kisses. I’m open and honest. I am the nightmare girlfriend, but also the best girlfriend you ever had. That depends on how I feel. Cause I have moodswings and when I’m feeling bad you are the one who will know first.

Therefore I don’t think there will ever be someone who has enough patience, hope, believe in me, but this is kind of a long answer to the question why I am single. So I just shake  my shoulders and tell them I don’t know.