Book of D: A Cacophony of Onomatopoeia

 What, do you probably ask, is a cacophony of onomatopoeia. 

TBC

Book of D: Spill the Feed

Hassan came over again. He was in a good mood - as always. His presence made me happy as well. He was talking about his studies and how he was looking forward to spring break. He also spoke about honoring the fast during Ramadan. In his home country, Ramadan 2024 will start on March 12, 2024 and will end on April 09, 2024. The Ramadan daily fast starts after the sehri or suhur and is broken with the evening meal, iftar. Hassan mentioned how, during Ramadan, his father Amir would remind everyone in the household to wake early for sehri; otherwise, they would have to go without drink and food until iftar. Hassan added that every morning during Ramadan, Amir would get up early to start the day's fire outside in the brazier. The brazier is a square or rectangular metal contraption for creating a fire, usually to keep a tea kettle hot as well as to keep the humans warm whilst outside. Hassan said that his father would make certain to "spill the wheat" for the chickens in the yard. I assumed that "spill the wheat" meant to throw wheat on the ground to feed the chickens. When I asked Hassan to clarify the idiom, he laughed and said that he has gotten a lot of funny feedback from other people, not of middle-Eastern descent, when he used such a term as "spill the wheat." He said this one guy at the university asked him if it meant gossip, which made Hassan laugh so much that his stomach ached. Hassan still laughs at his university mate's interpretation of "spill the wheat," mostly, because why would his dad Amir want to feed the chickens with gossip. When Hassan shared this with me, I laughed really hard, too. I told Hassan that "spill the wheat" would make an excellent code phrase to be used between him and me whenever someone shares gossip or tries to be too nosy and intrusive. 

Book of D: Hassan's Anecdotes

Hassan visited me again today. He was in a great mood. I was also in a good mood, especially because of his visit. He started out by telling me that he had injured his leg the day before during his workout at a local gym. Hassan added that the injury had reminded him of a story-within-a-story that his father Amir would tell. Hassan's anecdote went like this: 

My father used to tell a similar story of an injured leg. In ancient times, when they harvested crops by hand, one of the tribe members would always complain of foot pain and claim he couldn't work. They believed him and tried to treat his foot, but to no avail. He kept insisting his foot wasn't getting better. One night, as he slept, they became suspicious of him. They opened the bandage on the foot he claimed was hurting and tied it to the opposite foot. When he woke up in the morning, they asked him about his foot. He grabbed the foot that had been bound and said it hurt badly. That's when they realized he was lying and gave him a good beating. 

It was a harsh yet funny story that Hassan told. I am so appreciative of the fact that he feels comfortable with me in such a way that he is able to share tales of his childhood and stories that his father would bestow upon them whenever the opportunity gave way. 

Hassan and I ended our visit by drinking black tea. I must say that although it has taken me time to adapt to the bitterness of black tea, I have come to appreciate the health benefits of black tea. Besides, it is not so bad when drinking it with a cube of sugar placed inside the mouth, held between the teeth. This is the customary way of drinking tea in Iran, and although we are in America, I still succomb to the adage of "when in Rome . . ." because it makes for a healthy, safe friendship no matter where or with whom you find yourself.

Book of D: Hassan Questions Idioms

Hassan came by to visit earlier today. He was feeling a little under the weather. Speaking of "under the weather," Hassan told me about the issues he and his family had with idioms, colloquialisms, and homophones when they moved to the United States over 30 years ago. He stated that when he first heard the phrase, "under the weather," he was so confounded by envisioning a person trapped under a cloud of sinister weather; like a boy trapped under a rain cloud unable to escape.

Book of D: My Iranian Friend Hassan

Hassan came over to have tea. That is the highlight of his time with me, with anyone. Hassan loves tea. He taught me how Iranian families drink tea, and ever since that first lesson with the familial details, I was hooked on drinking tea as Hassan and his fellow country people drink it. Hassan told me about his dad, Amir, and how Amir would bestow great Iranian folktales to the family during tea time – actually, the dad would pretty much regale them with a story whenever they were together and had time for such banter. The one story that always fascinated my friend Hassan goes something like this: 

Milad grew up in Iran, near the beautiful mountains that surrounded the town of Langaroud. But, as time went by and Milad's family grew in numbers and in distance, he found himself living in Turkey with his own wife and three sons. As Milad grew older in years, he contemplated moving back to Iran to be near the beautiful mountainous terrain of Langaroud, but he did not want to inconvenience his wife Mahim. After all, Mahim had sacrificed so much in order that the family move to Turkey to start a textile business, so Milad would not ask her to move again and leave their three sons and their respective families. Several more years went by and Milad eventually gave up on his dream of moving back home. After all, Milad's family was healthy and happy, and his business, although it had taken time to grow, it eventually became rather large and enormously successful. Milad retired at an early age and gifted the business to his three sons. Milad's beautiful Mahim passed away a few years later. The dream that had consumed so much of Milad's time as a middle aged man had once again reared its head now that he was elderly. Milad had a family meeting and shared his dream with his sons, and their families, of moving back to Iran. The sons were concerned, but they knew the yearning that Milad had for his home country. Much to Milad's surprise, Mahim had often told their three sons of Milad's wish to move back to Iran. Hearing of this touched Milad and almost brought him to tears. His precious Mahim had been paying attention to his gripes; moreover, she had regularly shared Milad's dreams with their sons. Milad sold everything that had belonged only to him and Mahim and gifted the rest of his personal belongings to his sons and grandchildren. He only needed enough money to travel to Iran and buy some property near the foothills of Langaroud. He would build his own one-room cabin to mimic the very cabin in which he was born and lived until he married Mahim. Such was planned and such was done: Milad moved to Iran. He bought prime land at the foothills as he had envisioned – the land even had a creek running through it. Milad was happy and lived another thirteen years before his tired body had had enough of this earthly realm. Milad's sons were at his bedside when Milad took his final breath – just as they had been when Mahim passed away. The sons opted out of having a "body washer" bathe their deceased father's body. The sons instead took great care to wash their father's body and prepare it for immediate burial as is customary. Milad's body was wrapped in a simple white cloth, placed on a stretcher with his face covered. The men of the mourning party heaved Milad's corpse upon their shoulders, shouting “la ila ilallah,” which means “there is no God but God.” The men walked toward the cemetery in cadence, and the rest of the mourners followed in a long procession. The love story of Milad and Mahim had also been laid to rest. Or was it.

Upon finishing this fascinating – yet poignant story to me for the first time, I asked Hassan why this was his favorite folktale, Hassan just smiled. It took several occasions of drinking tea and sharing stories for Hassan to finally admit that Milad had been his paternal grandfather. Milad passed away right before Hassan was born. The story and telling it was my dear friend Hassan’s way of paying respect to Milad and of keeping the family history "with his heart.” So, the folktale of one Milad was, in fact, a true story – not fiction. Therefore, the love story of Milad and Mahim continues – forever.

Book of D: Defining the New Normal

꧄맏😠Since the fiasco that caused my career at the university to come to an end, I have had trouble sleeping. I have been a content creator and making thumbnails and editing videos for some YouTubers for a while now, and I guess I have taken the adage about "when in Rome" to heart. So . . . I have been staying up late watching YouTube and all its glory. At first, I was mostly watching the influencers that I had subscribed to for a long time; only watching on and off - during the day. But then, I started watching without cause or concern. I was watching incessantly, especially DIY channels. Then one night it hit me and I started wondering about the YT videos that cater to ASMR (autonomous sensory meridian response). As a counselor, I am well acquainted with ASMR, especially because I am an avid fan and believer of methods that deal with tapping and meridian points. I just never bought the idea of videos being able to calm and soothe people. I was wrong. The ASMR videos are awesome. I am following new channels that I might not have tried in the past except for the fact that they are listed on ASMR watch lists. I won't mention the channels, but they have actually somewhat helped me push away from the imposter syndrome and self-fulfilling prophecy theories that have been plaguing me for such a long time. I am replacing negative self-talk with positive self-talk and incorporating more of the self-affirmation theory in my daily life. I am trying to replace the screwed up pathogenic beliefs that were embedded in me from an early age and only grew in proportion to my age because of the people with whom I surrounded myself. I'm not casting aspersions; the ideologies and how I chose to allow to allow in my life during any given zeitgeist and epoch are partly of my own doing. I might not have known about or for sure not how pathogenic beliefs were negatively affecting me, but since majoring in psychology and earning a master's in clinical mental health counseling, I have seen the error of my ways. Sure, I still hold others accountable for any maltreatment of me, but I know I allowed much of it. Just like I gave too much power to my former employer and allowed the admin to walk all over me at times. Just like I gave too much power to my former lovers and allowed them to use and abuse me. Just like I am currently giving too much power to my stress and allowing myself to be depleted of melatonin. I can just see the cortisol levels laughing and doing a little jig as they slam my bloodstream. Okay, circle of control: I cannot control what others do or say, but I can control how I react to it. I just need to turn off all electronics by 9 pm and do my breathing techniques as I lay in bed. My new normal should not consist of negativity or for certain not streaming YouTube at 1 a.m. My new normal should only include positive things and people (that's on me). I need to seriously start studying for the National Counselor Examination (NCE). I'm all over the map, per se, but I'll get myself in line. I always have - I always will.

Book of D: Letter to My Former Employer (unedited)

Thank you for convincing me that transferring to your department was going to be great for us all. NOT! I agreed to move in haste, and I have never felt 100% certain I did the right thing. Actually, on the day you told me I was moving to another department with a new supervisor, I knew I had done absolutely the wrong thing in transferring departments.

Thank you for never telling me that if I or anyone else ever gossiped about you that you would know. NOT! You unabashedly made that comment to me on the very first day I shadowed you at work, and it was a fucking eerie! What kind of manager even says that. Thinking back, it should have been a RED FLAG!!!

Thank you for allowing me to order business cards when everyone else was. NOT! I was always denied having business cards. During the five + years, I was never allowed to have any cards despite how much I networked with other System universities and community agencies. I was always embarrassed that I could never trade business cards.

Thank you for hearing and accepting my ideas about managing the four programs I was hired to run. NOT! I was hired to manage four different programs, but I was never allowed to follow through with ideas I had. I was usually told by you that we are a small school and the ideas that work for the other System universities would never work here. I wanted to make sure our university had Narcan, but you said that was not needed. I wanted to start a recovery program, but you said it would never work. I wanted to provide scholarships for students to help with our peer programming, but you said we did not have the money - despite having been granted thousands of dollars by the System.

Thank you for ordering new furniture for me when everyone in our dept was getting their own. NOT! I always received old, mismatched furniture, but I forced myself to act like it did not bother me - again, I was too embarrassed and afraid I would break down and cry if I admitted how much it hurt me to get the "fugly" furniture.

Thank you for not telling me that I would be moving from the old center to the fourth floor concrete jungle. NOT! Not only did you tell me that I was going to have to move to the fourth floor, but you failed to tell me that the office I was being reassigned to was nothing but concrete with exposed ceiling pipes and electrical wiring. The person who handles phone systems is the one who asked me several times if I was sure that I was to move to that office. She had the key and showed me how awful the office was. In fact, she used the word, uninhabitable. I was once again triggered and had to hold back tears. When I finally got time with you, you said I could buy a throw rug but that painting the room or carpeting was not in the budget. The phone systems technician added that she had never known anyone to inhabit that office and that it had always been used for storage.

Thank you for not making me move to the office formerly occupied by a colleague who had just passed away. NOT! Not only was I told to move there, but I was told to just move her stuff and use her furniture. The poor deceased colleague had not only been a mentor of mine, but we had had our own disagreements. Upon finding out that I had moved into the deceased colleague's office, other employees (staff and faculty) were shocked and disappointed that anyone had been allowed to move into the office. Again, I felt badly, but it was never my choice to move into that office that began to feel like doom and gloom.

Thank you for never boasting about your accomplishments while bragging about what others were doing. NOT! You always bragged about how much money you made and how much others made and how others were not deserving of their respective salaries.

Thank you for acknowledging all the behind-the-scenes work I ever did. NOT! Not once did you ever tell me in the five plus years I worked for you. Well, there was that one time after a basketball game when I worked late managing a promo table and tacos table. You know, the event when you said I worked really hard and how did I feel about getting my salary bumped another $5,000. Your boyfriend was there and he heard. He also heard when you put down my colleague and said she "was lazy."

Thank you for not taking credit for the many spreadsheets, Apps, PowerPoint presentations, Forms, and reports I did for you. NOT!

Thank you for not promising me an office transfer to the new building only to renege and leave me in the old, tattered office. NOT!

Thank you for not making me feel like shit when my colleagues were excitedly moving to the new building while I watched and silently cried. NOT! You have often told this odd story that ends you with you comparing me to a dog. Oh, and let's not forget the other triggering event when our division was in a Team's meeting (planning for entertainment), and you said the university could replace me and instead use my salary to bring some group to the university. Yeah, that wasn't embarrassing or hurtful at all.

Thank you for not leaving me behind in the old, tattered office during winter without any heat. NOT! Yeup. For almost a week, I was left in the old center without heat in the dead of winter. I had to call the department that handles HVAC issues. The lady told me that the supervisor had put in an order to have the heat cut off. She apologized as she had no idea I was still working in the center, so she had the heat turned back on, but it took two days for that to happen.

Thank you for not taking my skill set for granted and having me table and attend meetings that a secretary should do. NOT! I ended up doing duties that a student-worker or an entry-level admin was hired to do. I was promised more responsibility as I was soon to obtain a master's degree, but that was just another empty promise.

Thank you for making sure my birthday was always announced via email as was done for everyone else. NOT! Till this day, I can only remember my birthday being announced one time.

Thank you for celebrating my graduation from the arduous graduate program as was done for the others upon receiving their master's degree. NOT! Even as I graduated from the university, I did not as much as get a bouquet of flowers. Nope. I did not get the extravagant master's graduation party like my two colleagues received upon their respective graduations - and both of them graduated from other universities. My own alma mater recognized me for ... NOTHING!

Thank you for feeling never taking your power and entitlement for granted and not speaking ill of our colleagues and the students you were supposed to help. NOT! You have spoken ill of others as follows (named left out to refrain from emotionally triggering or hurting my former colleagues): you said about a female colleague that she was emotionally inept and that you were constantly having to go meet her in person to talk her down or having to take her to lunch because she was a person of color and you know how they are; you said my colleague was lazy; you said another colleague was fat and needed to lose weight; you said that a colleague was taking for granted that she had a baby and was calling in too much; you said a colleague was dumb wasting his time in grad school, and you couldn't wait to fire him; you said almost the same thing about another male colleague, this time saying he was too stupid to finish his b.s. and that he was lucky if he still had his job in a few months; you said about a female colleague that she had a "r" child; you referred to a couple of female professors as "the lesbian"; you said one of the execs had her nose so far up the president's nose; you said a male colleague was slow and too stupid to know when you and the other big wigs were talking about him. Boy, this list can go on and on, but it is proving to be much too unsettling for me to continue - for now, that is!

Book of D: Choices

Everything you do is a reflection of what you've decided is best for you at any given point in life. Everyone you ever loved is a reflection of what you deemed was important to you at that time in your life. The fact that you deeply care and guard things and people in your life is not a result of good or even bad decisions but a direct result of what you loved and needed at that specific time in your life. No one gets to decide what was right or wrong with your decisions but you!

Book of D: My Other Sister's Birthday

Well, well, well. My oldest sister, Aurora, celebrates her birthday today. I won't post her age. That would be rude. And, I ain't gonna be rude. LOL. She is my hero. There were times in my life as a teenager that I didn't think I was going to make it. I'm not just talking about getting through school, but with life in general. Thinking back, depression has always plagued me. I just didn't know what it was back then. I would often be riddled with bouts of melancholia, which was in and of itself bothersome. I thought I was weird. I hung back in the shadows and stayed away from big groups of people. It's safe to assume that a lot of my classmates thought I was rude or anti-social, but I didn't care. I was like Holden Caulfield in my favorite novel of all time: The Catcher in the Rye. I preferred not to get to know people and refrained from the sadness that losing them would cost me. Additionally, I like Holden's take on phony people: Phony people irk me to no avail, and I would prefer not associating with them. The art of knowing who to avoid has matured within my obstinate bones all these years. Sadly I must admit that there were years when my novice self did not know better than to socialize with certain people, and those relationships cost me dearly. Anyway, after this long-ass tangent, what I really want to say is "thank you" to my beautiful, badass sister, whom I also call "BSA" for Big Sis Aurora. Thank you, BSA, for saving my life so many times and for all the expenses you went through for me so that I could get stuff throughout school, for the prom, for my high school graduation, etc., for my love of math and reading, for my love of the Dallas Cowboys, and especially for allowing me to live with you after dad passed away and mama went to live elsewhere so she could recover from such a devastating loss. 

I love you so much, sis A. Love, BSD (Baby Sis Dora).