I'm your sister, not your friend

Well...

After logging into blogger more times than I care to mention and forlornly looking at the many drafts saved in my posts page. I have decided to write something and publish it the same day. Well, here goes something real (like really bad).

These past couple of months have more or less been nothing to write home about, the weddings have dwindled into nothing, although I made the decision at the last one I attended to be steadfast in wearing the hijab to weddings. I've decided to take a leaf out of the Malaysian book, when even the bride wears hijab, and not the halfhearted Somali way where seemingly most steadfast Muhajjabahs on the night of a wedding suddenly turn 360 degrees to up-dos, loose waves and Afro curls. (Shame on you Dahab!!!)

Moving on...

Work = still the same.
IQ = decreasing rapidly.
Hope = dwindling.
Movie trivia = on the increase.
Sanity = borderline (on the good side)
Skin = looking great!
Diet = not so great.

I have developed an unhealthy interest in makeup and beauty, practically stopped buying all the Elles, Vogues, Harper's Bazaars and Vanity Fairs (my debit card got overused and ran away in hysterics!) instead my time is now vested in a new outlet, a rather vain one but just as fun. I have found a new use for YouTube other than the usual Def Comedy Jam and Poetry Jam and stand-up by Arnez J, Korean romances and BBC period dramas.

"Makeup Gurus" The unjust selfproclamation of some of these 'Youtoobers' makes me want to laugh derisively sometimes (as if I actually know how to do that.) Just about anyone can make a channel on the YouTube and call themselves a guru after posting a vid for all to see how one back-combs their hair for a fuller look (successfully ripping out many follicles in the process). Leaving that aside the attraction for me is the fascination of finding out how much someone can create with a couple of brushes and a whole lot of colour.

Finally I'm having some abayahs made after years of having an extremely limited collection, at one point it petered off to a measly one. I'm very excited by it, because for a long time I was finding it hard wearing the abayah, low emaan, wastage of loot on other things and as if in a downward spiral I started to find other non-hijab alternatives more enticing than being modest.... I cringe as I write this.

Saffiyah the Seamstress has been unceremoniously fired by mother dearest and I grudgingly have to go along with it, I don't know why I say grudgingly because truth be told she has caused me a ton load of grief over many years, she would all put it down to my lack of taste selfishly stifling her need for artistic freedom.
As much as I feel comfortable with her, which is a big must in my book when it comes to one's tailor. She has a way of convoluting your words to fit her own idea of what the finished product should look like. This is how a typical visit to Saffiyah would go for me (and for many others I later learnt).

You arrive, show her the material, explain to her how you want it to look like(neckline, sleeve length etc.) she may measure you if you have no comparable garment to give her. She may even let you draw out a little diagram of how you want the finished garment to look lulling you unwillingly into a false sense of security, you look up from your badly drawn sketch of a vision that came to you in your dreams (minus the house in the hills, with the private pool and the gardener with the body of Adonis) and then you notice a passing glint of malice in her beady eyes at this point you realise the grave error you made in coming without backup. You jump up mumbling a sad excuse of having more material to bring, "it's best when it's done all at once blah blah blah", you try to grab the material but her iron grip makes it impossible for a clean escape,you give in and accept the fate of your garment. Once home you convince yourself you're just overreacting and as you've given her all the necessary information its impossible that she has changed the brief.
You are reunited with the finished garment a week or so later, your mind foolishly at ease, you're expecting a stylish yet understated garment, you find the material you spent a whole day traipsing around East London for has been massacred through the addition of fuzzy pink felt edgings around the sleeves, neckline and hem adorned with glittery rainbow sequins, ruffles have magically appeared on the shoulders followed by billowing French sleeves. Needless to say the abayah fits to a T.


Finally something more in relation to the title, forgive the pun.

I remember when I was younger I used to naively wonder how it could be possible for siblings to cut ties, not ever speak to one another, become like strangers to the point where one could go days without speaking to someone they shared their early life with! I don't mean withholding conversation from someone in anger, but more of a gradual dissociation type of silence, where you get to the point where you have nothing so say, being alone with that someone leaves you with dread, and WHAT on earth could you even talk about? Now I have grown up slightly and learnt some of life's harsh lessons, it is becoming clearer more and more each day how it can get harder to maintain a semblance to a relationship to the point where one struggles to even identify with someone whom they have known all their lives. Sure the predictability of their actions remains but the sense behind them do not remain.

Nimo and I say to one another to cut short our banter when one of us realises the conversation is going in a direction we don't want it to go. "What's it got to do with you? You're only my sister not my friend" meaning I didn't choose to be associated with you, it just happened. Sadly the true feelings behind this jesting line rings true for others. Try as one might I feel sometimes when you overstep this boundary, it becomes near impossible to go back to the innocence of youth where blind adulation exists for an older sibling merely for having attained more years than you, your so-called teacher and mentor. Then you grow up and realise that they are far from perfect, and you end up resenting someone for falling off the pedestal you put them on to begin with.