I have become a bad blogger. Inconsistent at posting and not really offering much of interest. It’s time to turn that ship around! One of the main reasons I want to continue blogging is because it is supposed to be good for someone who wants to be a writer to write consistently. Practice, practice, practice.
Most days I want to write about something in the blog but I think it is too stupid of a matter to discuss online or I can’t be bothered to properly articulate my thoughts on an issue. So, I suppose it is some sort of fear that prevents me from coming to this website and just putting something down.
In an effort to kick this fear in the face and to become more disciplined about writing I will now be posting Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I can’t promise anything earth-shattering or particularly exciting but I hope you will come visit anyway.
Today, I will write about snow.
When my cousins and aunts moved from Pakistan to America the snow was one of the things that struck them the most about Michigan. My one aunt would stand at the window and watch it endlessly. She loved it. She loved it’s cold, it’s white, it’s magic. I thought she was crazy.
Maybe at some point in 1988 when we moved to America, I may have felt that wonder. The complete awe that accompanies watching the world as it is hidden under a big white blanket. The inspiration that comes from watching flakes of snow under a lamp post somewhere. The exhilaration of picking up the fluff and packing it tight as you can and hurling it at your best friend while trying to wrestle away from someone who is shoving a handful of snow down your back.
But 20 years later in 2008, I hated snow. My friend’s used to always tease me about my illogical fear of snow. As soon as it would start to fall, all I would want to do is lock the door of my apartment and hide behind a massive thermos of tea until the first blossoms of spring would show themselves. It was that awful snow that caused my car to skid all over the roads, that made other cars susceptible to come flying at me, that convinced me that death was the passenger each time I got in the car. It was knee-high snow that I trudged through to get to class, it would creep into my boots, my pants and my mittens. It would surely give me pneumonia and lead to a slow, painful death in some anonymous hospital, on some anonymous bed.
My mom’s phone calls didn’t help. As soon as the first flurries would start to fall, my phone would begin to ring.
“Where are you behta?!”
“In my apartment.”
“Good! Don’t leave! Do you have food? On the news today they were talking about this lady that went out in the snow and she slipped on a patch of ice and now she’s in the hospital and they don’t know if she’ll ever walk again. So, even if you don’t have food, it’s probably not worth it to go outside.”
Snow. Stupid, dumb snow. Cold, freezing snow. Pain in the but, piling up all over your car snow.
2010. It’s been almost one year since I’ve seen snow. This week there were flurries and I was jumping around like a kid on Eid. Our office is one huge glass cylinder so when it snows it feels like you are in a massive snow globe. I have been so homesick for what was the bain of my existence. It reminds me of all those Michigan winters. When it would snow and snow until you thought even your house would get buried. And suddenly, everyone would be forced to slow down. They would see their neighbors as they struggled to keep their driveways clear and the sidewalks ice free. I remember going around Ann Arbor and helping people push their cars when they got stuck. Somehow, it brought us all together. How I wish we would get covered in it. To see all the Musjids and the Bosphorus through that magical lens of my youth and my old home. It would be something I would never forget.
Word around the office is that we’re going to get sleet tomorrow and snow on Sunday. I never thought I’d be so happy to hear that forecast for the weekend!