A Walk Down Memory Lane
My Philosophy
My personal philosophy, in all of life’s situations, has
always been the wise words uttered from the ever-caring gardener, Samwise
Gamgee, trustful friend, ally, and companion to the burdern-stricken Frodo
Baggins. The line, “there’s some good in this world, and it’s worth fighting
for”, has been my mantra ever since I first read those words. Wait, no. Since
this is my memoir book, I might as well be truthful. I have not yet read Lord of the Rings, sadly; however, they
are on my summer reading list. But I have watched the trilogy countless times.
Whenever I am in a tough situation, or am questioning why I am faced with
difficulties, I think back to when Frodo and Sam leave the Shire, their home,
and trek on to Mordor to defeat a terrible evil, and I think to myself that
this tiny situation I am in is nothing compared to the trials and tribulations
people of the world are going through, just as Sam and Frodo did.
My
personal philosophy revolves around one thing: kindness. If someone is mean to
you, forgive them anyway. If someone speaks ill of you, forgive them anyway. If
someone cheats you, forgive them anyway. Everyone is facing their own battle,
and going through things that others will never understand. Yet, we are all
hanging on to that little sliver of hope that, as Sam said, there is some good
in this world, and it sure as hell is worth fighting for.
Lessons I Learned from Literature
Harry Potter
JK Rowling taught me the value of family. Harry grew up
without parents in a hostile environment, and yet he still was able to fight
for those he loved, even if he wasn’t related to them. Through Harry, Rowling
taught me that family goes beyond blood, and for family, one can do anything.
Rowling taught me that home isn’t where people are, but rather the place where
one feels most comfortable, just as Harry’s home was Hogwarts, mine is anywhere
I’m with my mom. Rowling taught me that friendship and bravery are more important
that books and cleverness, with Hermione, the brightest witch of her age, being
sorted into Gryffindor rather than Ravenclaw.
Above all, Rowling taught me that good will always triumph over evil, as
Harry was able to once and for all defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and now can
be named and said without striking fear into the hearts of many: Voldemort.
Walden
Thoreau, in Walden, taught
me to be one with nature. With his words
of twisting paths, and grass-filled lanes, he made me believe in the beauty of
nature. He taught me to simplify my life, and learn from nature all that I
could. Thoreau, above all, taught me to live life as a true human being,
without the distractions of modern technology.
Oscar Wilde
Wilde, in his episcopal Picture
of Dorain Gray, taught me off the ills of narcissism and selfishness, and
also that ones outer appearance says nothing on what’s truly important: what’s
on the inside.
C.S. Lewis
C.S. Lewis, with his beloved books detailing the enchanting
land of Narnia, taught me that “there are far better things ahead than any we
leave behind.” With Peter Pevensie, he taught me to always look out for my
family, and always be there for them. With Susan, he taught me to always be
kind and gentle. With Edmund, he taught me that even our most horrid sins can
be forgiven, and that one must always be just and fair. And with sweet little
Lucy he taught me to never lose the hope that things will get better, and to
always keep my innocence.
JM Barrie
JM Barrie, with his delightful land of Neverland and with
the boy who never grew up, taught me to always retain the characteristics of a
child: honesty, innocence, and compassion.
The best lessons I have learned in life have all come from
literature, and I can’t even imagine a world without it.
Letter to Future AP Lit Students
Dear Senior,
I am
glad you have decided to take this class. While others are giving you advice to
not procrastinate and to actually read
the book, my advice is on a wholly different spectrum, and it is this: respect
your teachers. Time and again, I cringe when I see how my “peers are treating
their teachers—their elders—and how they belittle them, and yell at their
faces, mocking them and pestering them with their inane and moronic comments on
how “we’re not going to use this in the real
word”. I repeat: respect your teachers. They are doing the most honest and
selfless job there is, and that is educating the youth of our nation, and hoping
to inspire them to change the world. Don’t talk back, mimic, complain, or speak
over your teacher. Though you may feel the urge to impress your friends,
showing them “who’s boss” and whatnot, I entreat you to not do it. Back in Pakistan, teachers are heralded as
VIPs. One must always speak when spoken to, not speak when not supposed to, and
always do as one is told. If one does not obey these simple commands, a smack
to the back of the hand is employed. It’s sad seeing how in other nations,
third-world nations I might add, children respect their teachers, while kids
here, in a land that is supposedly more “civil” and “educated”, kids are
cursing their teachers and doing all types of idiotic and disrespectful
shenanigans. More importantly, I beseech you to tell your peers the same. I
wish I had the audacity to tell my classmates to zip it when the teacher was
talking, or to actually do the assignment instead of making me do it all on my
own. Be a Gryffindor and stand up to them and don’t let them walk all over you.
Most importantly, respect Mrs. Baugh. She is fine and astute educator who knows
what she’s talking about (and a fan of Doctor Who, but that’s beside the
point). Don’t test her patience with turning in assignments late, and by
claiming that turnitin wasn’t working for you. If you allow her to, she can
make your senior year highly enjoyable, and full of top-rate learning. Please,
just heed this advice and respect not only your teachers, but all of your
elders. They are older than us for a reason, and have experienced all that we
are going through, so listen to what they have to say as well. Trust me, you
won’t regret it.
A Fellow Peer,
Aisha Riaz
Stop the Drone
Strikes
Everyone
in America has heard the story of Malala Yousafzai. She was the girl who stood
up to the Taliban, and got shot in the head because of it. She is the girl who
stands for women’s education in a highly oppressive nation that treats women as
second class. While I applaud Malala and her heroic actions, and agree with all
that she has to offer, I must ask you this: what do you know of Nabila Rehman ?
Does her name ring any bells? I thought not. You see, Nabila is a nine year old
girl whose grandmother was killed in a drone strike issued by none other than
President Obama. The reason you haven’t heard of her is because her calamity
was caused by the US, while Malala’s was caused by the Pakistani extremists. Do
you see where I’m going with this? CNN is always quick to point fingers at the
destruction the Taliban and Al-Qaeda are causing, and I understand completely
why they do. But what I fail to even minutely comprehend is why they are not
speaking out on the countless drone strikes issued by their own country that
have killed thousands of innocent civilians.
Sure, a few terrorists have been killed, but at what cost? There are
millions of people who can rest at night now because one more “bad guy” has
been defeated, but what about the thousands of grieving families who have lost
a loved one just so that someone a thousands of miles away can ride an airplane
without having to worry? I wonder how Obama and his staff can sleep at night
with the weight of a child’s life on their shoulders. Imagine if your child was
killed “for the greater good.” Would you sacrifice that? Probably not. Then why
are we forcing the people of Pakistan and Yemen to do the very same? Sure, you
can say I’m biased since I’m from Pakistan, but honestly, I would argue that I
am biased because I am a human being who
still has a shred of humanity within her. Obama jokes about his drones, while people grieve the loss of
their loved one. Wake up and smell the roses, for they are covered in the blood
of innocent people yearning for an end to their tragedies.
Page 225 of My Autobiography
Hope in Hell
I am a child of two juxtaposing worlds. The first
world is America, land of the remiss free, home of the perpetual brave. My
other world, however, is on the opposite side of the spectrum--Pakistan: land
of the remiss drone strikes, and home of the perpetual fearful. My time spent
in Pakistan greatly differs from my time spent in America, and has endowed me
with the unique perspective of experiencing two vastly contrasting lifestyles.
Journey to the outskirts of Pakistan, and you will uncover the debilitating
effects of illiteracy. Journey to the outskirts of my Californian hometown, and
you will discover another Starbucks. These two experiences have not only given
me an extensive knowledge of the radical differences inherent between the two cultures,
but have also shaped me into a woman with high aspirations; I hope to one day
become a TB specialist serving with Doctors Without Borders in Pakistan.
I have never lived a sheltered life. I have always
been aware of the inequality and poverty around me, and while I never ignored
the unfortunates, I never cared too much for them, thinking that life was meant
to be like this, a never-ending circle with a plethora of sad truths. However,
one little boy changed all of that. It was during the summer of my sophomore
year of high school when I met the young boy with old eyes.
During one of my rounds in the infirmary at the
local makeshift hospital, I encountered a child, roughly around the age of
eight, who was playing with a young, recently orphaned girl who was suffering
from bouts of tuberculosis. He was distracting her as the doctors were
injecting her with antibiotics. Soon, though, the girl realized what was
happening and began to shriek and scream, crying out for the mother she didn’t
have, the mother she just lost to the same disease that was consuming her. What
the young boy did next, however, is something I shall not soon forget. He took
the young girl’s face in his hands, and consoled her, saying that all was going
to be well soon. After watching this exchange, I was left in shock by the
wisdom this boy had shown. This little boy was giving something more precious
than time or medical care to her; he was giving her hope. It was in that moment
when I realized that, despite their illiteracy, humans are still capable of
instilling hope into the most forlorn people. Hope is something that cannot be
taught in classrooms, and knows no boundaries; in fact, I learned of hope from
a young boy. I plan to one day instill this same hope into children across the
world who are suffering: hope that life will get better, hope that the
suffering will stop, and hope that there are still people in the world who
care.
I went back to the infirmary and asked the young boy
what he wanted to be when he grew up; his answer: a doctor. I desperately wish
that he will be able to, but sadly, he doesn't have a chance, since there are
no schools in Pakistan for those without money, and this fact greatly saddens
me. For if he had the education, he would have made a fine doctor. Being in
Pakistan impressed upon me that it is often such mundane, pedestrian
circumstances such as place of birth that determine the dogmas by which we live
our lives. Given the privilege of
living such an easy life in America has instilled in me a sense of altruism
towards my brethren in Pakistan. I could have been that little girl dying of
TB, or her mother who already died. But I have chosen to be that little boy. I
have chosen to be the paradigm of hope for the people in hell. These
experiences have shaped me into a holistic, altruistic woman who has dreams of
being a doctor that not only gives people medicine to cure their ills, but one
that gives people the hope and tenacity to live, and I hope that you at the
University of California will allow me the chance to do so.
An Ode to the Eleventh Doctor
I’ll
never forget that man. An enigma, cavorting through time and space, like fire
and ice and rage. His laugh tore through the holes of the universe, defying the
laws that dictate the cosmos; time can be rewritten, he says, that impossible
man. He’s ancient and forever, both impetuous and clever; a paradox unto
himself, a Rubik’s cube that can never be configured. I still recall his
gleaming smile: that madman with the blue box, tearing through universes,
defeating the Silence once and for all, combating the dreadful Angles of Stone,
the ones that took away his beloved Ponds; all of this, and yet he ended up
alone. Alone like Rose, left in another world. Alone like Donna, who, when
questioned, “Where’s the Doctor?”, will reply, as most do: “Doctor Who?”. The Tardis is blue not because it’s his
favorite hue; it’s sad that his hearts have been torn in two. His ears will
never again here, the utterance of the two words he holds most dear; dare is
speak them completely? Well, they are: “Hello, Sweetie.” Why must you ask for
this entreaty? That man at the center of the universe will never be seen again,
in flesh, but, oh his innocence will linger on, and enmesh, with the heralder
of the new age, a man in a crèche. So while our sad hearts may cry, Moffat’s
ears will not hear them die; for he has a new plan, and to this I must say: Run
as fast as you can, Capaldi won’t lead us astray.
Love Letter
To whomever is confounded by the perplexing idea that is
love,
Love. People say that love confounds the mind. People say
that love disrupts speech. People say that love blockades our hearts. People
say that love muddles our nerves. I cannot prove the validity of these
statements. Nor can I disprove their deceptions. I find that I can only wonder,
wonder if this is how love truly is.
My age hinders me from acquiring the wisdom needed to
explain the ambiguities of love. Not once has love affected me, rather, I don’t
think it has. I do not know what love truly is.
I believe that no one my age knows it either; for how can we know a
thing so fragile and intimate, when we do not even know ourselves? In our
formative years, parents repeatedly soothed our damaged souls by saying that
they loved us. Sleep never came without the soft whispering of that
three-worded phrase. Wounds were never healed until the locution was heard,
pacifying the injured hearts. Doubts were never ceased without the reassurance
that they would always hold our
hands. We were told that love was simple and easy. But, I always found it hard believing that love and simplicity
went along well together. Too many times I saw the detriments attributed to
love. Too many times did I see it tear people apart.
Yet, I also witnessed love’s sheer power. It drives a person
into compelling situations. Snape sacrificed his life for love. Katniss
fought in a bloodbath for love. Romeo and Juliet died for their love. So many people sacrificed so much for love. But
what is this love?
Love captivates the minds and hearts of whomever is
afflicted with it. Love urges us to make priorities and protect that which we
hold dear to our hearts. Love soothes the many qualms and melancholia of the
human populace. But who’s to say I am right? For all I know, love can be a
deception that forces us to make rash and unwise decisions.
Love. People say that love confounds the mind. People say
that love disrupts speech. People say that love blockades our hearts. People
say that love muddles our nerves. I cannot prove the validity of these statements.
Nor can I disprove their deceptions.
This is love. A vast and fleeting array of emotions that
confounds our minds, disrupts our speech, blockades our hearts, and muddles our
nerves. Love encompasses all that is good and bad, right and wrong, easy and
hard. Love is a journey. Love is life.
From another soul
searching for love in a world clearly devoid of it,
Aisha Riaz
Regrets
"Regrets collect like old friends. Here to relive your darkest moments"
My life has been full of regrets, but what life isn't.
Moments arise and we can either learn to embrace those moments, or shy away
from an opportunity to do great things.
I
regret not speaking up and speaking my mind.
I
regret not reading as much as I could this year.
I
regret that one all-nighter I pulled on that one day, which caused me to give
death threats to anyone who dared speak
to me.
I
regret that time I stumbled upon spoilers for my favorite show, BBCs Merlin
(why, Arthur, why!!!)
I
regret not enjoying the weekdays, instead only looking forward to the weekends,
even though I ended up
sleeping through most of them.
I
regret not having the courage to live truthfully.
I
regret that one sub I ate that gave me food poisoning.
I
regret digging deep to find out my family’s secrets. Remember that there is some
knowledge that can rob you of your sleep.
I
regret answering the phone and having to speak with my relatives, people who honestly
could care less for me, and I
them.
I
regret not truly living my life the way I have always wanted to, but instead living
by the guidelines given by
those around me.
However,
despite these regrets, I have done some things, not necessarily the best for me,
but I have loved them all the same.
I
don’t regret staying up late to watch the Royal Wedding that one time years
ago.
I
don’t regret camping out for tickets to the LA premiere of Catching Fire,
missing school in the
processJ
I don’t
regret writing my personal statement for college at the last minute, because that’s
when I write best.
I
don’t regret skipping school so I could spend the day with my mom, reminiscing on
her past.
I
don’t regret sleeping outside under the stars, even though I woke up with a
cold.
I
don’t regret choosing UCSD over the highly prestigious UC Berkeley. (and I hope
I never will)
I don’t
regret my nonconformist ideals. Even though it has made it harder to make
friends, it has made my
friends a group of people I can truly trust.
I don’t
regret choosing happiness over material wealth.
And
above all, I don’t regret any of my aforementioned regrets, because my mistakes
have built me into the person I
have become.
Soundtrack of My Character
1. Living in the Moment--Jason Mraz
1. Living in the Moment--Jason Mraz
2. Forgotten Promises--Sami Yusuf
This song expresses my humanistic side as it reminds all those who listen to it, to remember that we are all part of the same world, striving for the same things, and that we must all help each other.
3. Number One For Me--Maher Zain
This song expresses my love for my mother, and though it isn't necessarily a personalty trait, per se, it is something an aspect of my character that I hold dear.
4. Daniel in the Den--Bastille
This song expresses how I am able to forgive those who have wronged me, despite the level of seriousness of their transgression towards me. I think forgiveness is the only way one can learn to grow, just as the biblical Daniel was able to.
5. Someday--Celtic Woman
This song expresses my optimism and hope for the future; hope that there will be a better tomorrow, and a better life.
6. God Help the Outcast--Hunchback of Notre Dame
This song expresses the altruism I posses, or at least, I hope to be able to possess one day..someday..soon.
Bucket List
1. Hajj--As a Muslim, I hope to one day make the pilgrimage to this holy site
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1. Hajj--As a Muslim, I hope to one day make the pilgrimage to this holy site
2. Join or create a non-profit organization.
3. Watch a performance of Shakespeare's Hamlet at the Globe Theater.
4. See an opera. Any. Just see one, and don't plug my ears.
5. Climb a tree. Become one with nature, and marvel in it's beauty.
6. Road trip across the US. Stop in every state, and do something remarkable there.
7. Go to the airport. Eennie meenie minnie mo, and pick a place to go.
8. Meet JK Rowling and thank her for Harry Potter. I've met celebrities in the past, and have
spoken to them ( Jennifer Lawrence, Mark Walhberg...heck I even saw Obama at Tasty Subs in NJ), but upon meeting them, I realized, as cliche as it may sound, that they are just people. But meeting JK would be different because it her story that I love, not her herself.
9. Fulfill my wanderlust and backpack throughout Europe with my sister.
10. Buy coffee for the person in line behind me. Be kind to strangers more often.
11. Fulfill my mom's dreams. Buy her a house with a prayer room. Massage her feet. Spend more time with her and loved ones.
12. Make the perfect cup of tea. I always put too much milk, or too little sugar.
13. Live in Scotland. Find the Loche Ness monster. Ask him if he wants lunch.
14. Open an antique and rare book store selling all the little books written by the little nobodies.
15. Learn to understand and speak Quranic Arabic. I can read it, but I don't understand what I'm saying, so I'd like to change that.
16. Own a hug library. As big as this one:
17. Actually live life. Don't be afraid to take risks. Who knows, they might pay off...
18. Be kind. To all.
19. Be happy. Choose to be happy, not sad. Choose the things I want in life, not what my parents want for and from me.
20. Find Adnan. This one is personal. In Pakistan, my relatives had a servant whose son lived with him. I befriended the little boy, and soon, he became my best friend over the summer. We talked of life and our dreams, and I fell in love with that little boy who wanted to become a doctor so he could live his life as he saw fit, unlike his dad, who had to obey every command he was told to do. He became my little brother. My affluent relatives didn't like seeing me, a girl of "status" conversing with a lowly "servant boy", and so they forbade me to talk with him. I didn't listen to them. Everyday, before the sun would rise, he and I would go up to the roof, and watch the sunrise together. Whenever my relatives went out, I decided to stay behind, pretending to be sick, when in actuality, I would bring him inside and let him watch TV and eat some junk food. The day it came for me to leave, we both cried, but I vowed that I would bring him here to America, the land where anyone who can dream big enough can make it. I gave him the rest of my money, and he gave me his house number. I still remember his sad face, with tears streaming down it. I held his hand and told him that I would see him again. On the plane back home, I wept for him. I didn't want to have to leave him for a whole year, but I knew that I was going to see him again, for he was a part of my soul now. I called him every two weeks when I came back, and every time, he'd ask if I could take him away from their, and every time he asked, I'd hold back the tears, for I had researched and spoken with Visa issuers, and honestly, there was nothing I could do. And just when I thought things couldn't get worse, they did. My little brother was gone. His father was fired from working for my relatives, and I had no way of tracing him. His number changed, his location changed, everything changed, except for my love for him. I wasn't going to see him again. My little brother was gone, and I had no way of figuring out where he was. Everyday, I find myself thinking of ways I can track him down and bring him here. And everyday I say a silent prayer for that sweet, little brother who I love more than my own flesh and blood.
I will find you, Adnan. I promise.
