Monday Music: the melancholy dust edition

I had a ton of work today, and was stuck trying to catch an errant signal outside (while the wind blew my fringe into my hair, making my eyelids red and itchy) and trying to figure out the continously failing signal at Starbucks. It is official, I HATE Orange Jordan (I’ll have a post coming up about that soon, as part of a little thing that Jad is doing). The word “annoying” doesn’t quite do the situation justice.

I’m also going to Ukraine next week, probably for a while, and I am starting to feel an entire host of emotions – fear, sadness, anxiety, and doubt about for how long I am willing to put up with the garbage and the swearing outside my window. I don’t want to be apart from Habib either. There is a melancholy cloud of yellow dust hanging over me, so I have to turn up the Verve and go from there.

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“Converting on Paper”: Faith vs. Warm Bodies

This post on Muslimah Media Watch caught my eye, because it reminded me of one of my favourite topics – converting on paper. I think the subject is pertinent. I disagree with Yusra’s assertion that for Muslim women, marrying non-Muslims is not an issue, because, as she puts it, “Muslim women believe that their freedom lies within the teachings of Islam.” I rather view this as a minority issue – no more irrelevant than the issues the GLBT community faces when trying to carve out its own space within a particular religion. I also think that this issue will continue to grow in importance, because, crisis or no crisis, the world is progressively getting smaller. More and more people are leaving their communities, or stretching the concept of what “community” means in the first place. As their numbers continue to grow, so will the issue of “mixed” marriage.

What do I mean by the phrase “conversion on paper”? Let’s put it this way – We all know people who had to convert to a particular religion because of their prospective spouse. Whether due to religious law, family pressure, inheritance issues, etc., people convert in order to get hitched all the time. While some are sincere in their conversions, others view it purely as an issue of convenience. With Islam in particular, it’s not as if a Muslim woman (someone who isn’t very religious, for example) can simply say, “oh, I can’t marry this dude ’cause he’s a non-Muslim? Well, I guess I’ll stop being Muslim then,” because many communities actively police those who would like to officially leave the religion.

The word official is important here, because we all know that the issue of religion is actually quite elastic to begin with. I’m not just talking about Islam here either. Many people are religious only nominally, or culturally (I often see the argument that Asra Nomani is pushing for a cultural interpretation of Islam, which makes me scratch my head, because who isn’t influenced by a particular culture in one way or another?).

Conversion is often framed as something that’s “best for the children,” as in “dear God! Won’t somebody please think of the children?” but we all know that you can’t make your kids believe. You can make them culturally adherent – little Soraya put on a hijab upon puberty, how wonderful, little Boris goes to Sunday prayer every week, how special – but faith is a different subject altogether. You can lead a horse to water, et cetera.

Conversion, instead, is important because it addresses the “warm bodies” issue. It gives the impression that the religion is striving and strong, that it won’t be taken over by infidels of whatever stripe. It’s addresses a security concern.

Modernity takes its toll, but religion isn’t going out without a fight. I believe that there will be more and more “paper converts” in the future. This may be the part where you say, “of course, it’s terrible what’s happening in these modern times, but when we get society fixed up, inshallah, we will…” What? Send a weekly committee to the house of every convert to make sure they’re following whatever interpretation of Islam (or any other religion that’s an issue) you have decided is the most authentic?

We all know that you can choose who you marry (well, assuming your family doesn’t shove a prospective spouse down your throat). You don’t choose, however, whom you fall in love with. So people make whatever arrangements that are necessary. Remember that scene in “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” when the prospective groom converts to Orthodox Christianity? It’s shown as a positive moment, but it also made me wonder just what the character was supposed to believe, in the end. Probably nothing. The ceremony is what’s important. Not the faith.

In my impossible post-religious utopia, the only issue will be that of faith.

King’s Way: A bit of internal tourism through Jordan, complete with overblown simile

So this past weekend, as previously mentioned, Boyfriend and I decided to show my brother more of Jordan. Besides the already familiar sites that are Petra & Aqaba (we actually stayed at the Radisson at Tala Bay – which is pretty sweet – but drove into Aqaba for the evening), we wanted to drive down the legendary King’s Highway or King’s Way, pretty much one of the most ancient roads on earth.

We decided to try and take it back in the direction of Amman after leaving Aqaba on Saturday morning, figuring that we could drive a stretch on the main desert highway, and then take a detour. After climbing back up away from the Read Sea, I took a left turn where the sign said “King’s Way” – I had driven this stretch before, after leaving Petra the previous day, so I was certain we’d be alright. The fun started when we decided to begin asking locals how to get to Karak via the ancient back roads. Most people flatly stated that this road doesn’t even exist, and suggested we get back on the highway. Boyfriend’s dad confirmed that the road does, in fact, exist, but painted a grim scenario wherein our car would inevitably break down on the most desolate part of it imaginable, at which point we would all be humped to death by sheepdogs, or something like that.

Finally, we or, rather, I (since I was driving) screeched to a halt next to the local Marriott, nearly getting killed by a pissed-off family in an SUV in the process, and got confirmation from a desk clerk that we can take a rural road toward Tafila after driving out of Petra. When we finally made it to the crossing, my brother was asleep in the backseat and Boyfriend and I exchanged a look – “Get back on the boring highway? Or see the local wonders and risk humping by sheepdog?” It was no contest.

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From Facebook: 15 Books in 15 Minutes

Besides work (please read Sarah’s excellent piece on Iran & Twitter, by the way), it has been a slow couple of days. We’re going to Petra tomorrow, and have rented a fancy-schmancy car for the occasion. Tonight, I drove in Amman for the first time. I even rolled down my windows and played particularly trashy techno  music as I ripped through Abdoun, before buying my brother dinner at Blue Fig. Together with my darker hair and my obnoxious handbag, I have become a stereotype. Naturally, I love it.

There’s a cool new meme floating around Facebook this week, and since it has to do with books, I can’t pass it up. Behold, 15 books in 15 minutes:

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Monday Music: the smoky new hair edition

Because I don’t own a decent digital camera, I can’t quite do justice to the efforts of 3+ hours at the hairdresser’s today. One of these days I’ll write an ode to Amman’s Toni & Guy. People tell me it’s clichéd to go there, but, for a year and a half now, my hair has been happy in their hands. Happy hair is already a rarity, but today’s hair is practically ecstatic, on account of it being a subtle blend of brown, blond, red and even a bit of lilac.

I might as well look good, since I am exhausted. So exhausted that I could almost cry a little. It’s a good kind of fatigue, stemming from accomplishment as opposed to futile thrashing (you know the kind), but that doesn’t make the buzz in my head or the tenderness of my eyelids any more bearable. Articles came in late (though they were all great – and I suggest you check out our latest update on the Iran election turmoil). The cat decided to give us the happy surprise of diarrhea. My brother will not stop asking in-depth questions about various side-quests in Oblivion. My lover is stuck in perpetual frowny-face mode.

So for the first song, we need to go to John Lennon, to those evenings I spent lying on the floor of my bedroom in the winter, as lazy, sleepy clouds moved outside the window, and there was such stillness in my chest that you could hear individual blood cells knock against each other (maybe):

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