God, Clarity and the Muse

After my birthday, I've decided to let it go, to stop ranting and to get through my remaining days in Qatar as quietly as possible. But some voices are just too loud to ignore.

The other night I had a conversation with God. I was doing my nightly walk and passed by a Mosque. I promised my mom that I'd pray on my birthday, and since I didn't do it I thought I should at least give a shout-out to God or Allah, whichever name He preferred here anyway (it would depend on His passport I suppose). I did not stop and pray, it was more like, I was praying while walking, but directing all thoughts to a minaret and hoping that the speakers protruding from the windows also held a microphone so God can pick up my thoughts.

I asked for clarity. I realized that in six months, I did not achieve anything here. I complained most of the time and made some people feel bad while I did that. I asked Him to at least give me purpose or the sense of it. Before you give me 40 Days and a book (and a complimentary key chain and t-shirt), spare me, I'm not that lost.

I said I had a conversation with God. A conversation means that a message was sent and a reply was received. I say that because I think He answered me. Right after I left the green on the Mosque's compound, Natalie Merchant's "Wonder" played on OW:

"they say I must be one of the Wonders of God's own creation, and as far as they see they can offer no explanation. I believe fate smiled and destiny laughed as she came to my cradle. Know this child will be able. Laughed as my body she lifted, know this child will be gifted. With love, with patience
and with faith."

Merchant, Natalie ...

Of course I brushed it off as a coincidence. OW was still on shuffle mode and it's not like I'd deliberately play it just to make it all cinematic and force goosebumps on my skin. But then, as I walked farther I met the PC Guy who was trying to convert me, and while it's not unlikely that I'd meet him there, it was the first time that that happened.

I'm crazy, I know. I'm not good in math but when I add these two together I can only assume that my prayers have been answered (damn! I wish I had prayed for a million bucks! Clarity. What a loser. LoL). The instances did not offer me a particular message. But the assurance that I was heard and acknowledged was enough.

Then, this morning, I woke up with a solid idea. I'm going back to my writing. Not blog writing but scriptwriting. And I have to do it before I leave Doha. That will be my purpose here!

Enough ranting. Enough complaining. I don't care anymore that I woke up sweaty today because my friggin Chinese roommate has low tolerance to cold temperatures and has turned off the AC just as the dawn's heat was creeping up. I don't care anymore that last night the boss made me write emails at 11PM. I don't care anymore that the office is impossibly loud today with thousands of people talking er shouting in unison.

Actually, I do mind that last one. Shut up, people! I'm trying to think now. The muse is back and she only has two weeks on her visa. I need to write while she's still here. I need to write while I'm still here.

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Crescent Over Cross?

The second most asked question for me here in Doha is: "Are you Muslim?" (the first one is: "Can I get your number?" LoL). Seriously, after asking my name or nationality, the next one is the religion question, it's like filling up an application form everytime you meet a "brother". Sometimes I want to say that I am Muslim if only to stop them from converting me.

Conversion. Muslims stress that it is your own free will to convert. However, more and more people are trying to woo me to their side.

Every month, one guy would make it his mission to win my soul for Allah. Not that it's a bad mission, but I sometimes feel that they're missing the point. I'm not religious to begin with. I don't believe in religion. I believe in God or Allah. But I find religion too contrived a set-up.

Islam is a good religion. It may even be the religion. I've read the self-help books on Islam and there are very convincing points. But then, there are the sexist issues (ie men can have more than one wife while women are expected to be faithful to their husbands), and that, for me, can never be justified by any Holy book.

Missionary Styles
Don't get any dirty thoughts. Any Muslim can be a missionary. I thought I'd recall some first-hand experiences I had with some of the more persistent missionaries.

Missionary: Boss
Style: Give and Take
It's obvious that the first person who'd want to convert me would be my boss. During my first month here, he would bring me to big lunch gatherings with his friends. I admired the locals for their hospitality and warmth. A nice plan to attract a Christian. Then came the gifts. He gave me two sets of jalabiyas so I'd know how it feels like to be conservative, clean and pure. It felt nice to wear those clothes in public because it gave me the feeling that I belong. So what went wrong with the boss' plan? Nothing. I was stubborn, he was impatient. Soon enough, he grew tired of waiting for me to say "yes" to Islam. He doesn't bring me to lunch anymore, and no more gifts too.

Missionary: Officemate
Style: Press Release
Next to try his magic wand on me (well that sounded gay LoL) is this old officemate. He didn't try hard. He just told me a story on the day before Christmas. He saw me looking lonely and he asked me my tragedy. "It's Christmas" was all I could say. Then he told me a story of how generous and understanding Muslims are. I can't remember the exact "parable" but it ended with this Christian guy supposedly being cared for by a Muslim (might be their own version of the Good Samaritan). "So, tomorrow, I'll bring you Chicken and you will have your Christmas celebration," he said, so full of passion that I could almost hug him for being so kind. Christmas came and went. So did New Year. Even Eid passed. Valentines day zoomed in a heartbeat. But that chicken never came. A tall tale, if you ask me.

Missionary: Mr. Writer
Style: Convert to convert
Probably the best style ever. I wrote about Mr. Writer in Night of Coincidences. I was ready then to become a Muslim. Problem was, he was too busy converting other Christians that he rarely shows up to convince me further. Mr. Writer is American. He wrote several books on the study of Islam. Impressive studies. And there is something about a convert that puts you at ease because he knows what it was like to be a Christian.

Missionary: PC Guy
Style: Audio-Visual
One of the PC Guys next door was probably bored that one day he came up to me and asked if I was Muslim. "OH?! WHY NOT?!" was his horrified reaction, as if I was the only one left in the world who hasn't embraced Islam.

PC Guy then shared his Sura audio tracks and demanded I listen to them even if I couldn't understand Arabic.

Then he gave me a Quran. He placed the Holy Book on my table and gave me specific instructions to wash my whole body before reading the Book. When he said "whole body" he made a hand scrubbing gesture on his private area and stressed it again: "whole body". I told him I got it.

I wanted to move the Book from the table to the shelf, but he stopped me from even touching the Quran and told me to wait till morning when I have washed my "whole body" (yet again doing the wax-on wax-off motion on his crotch).

Everyday since then he'd ask about my progress. I didn't read much. Didn't even listen to the audios (it creeped me out). Finally, I told him that it's not a far fetched idea because my mom is a Muslim and that there is a big chance. He asked me why my mom didn't convince me to become a Muslim. I told him that my mom wants me to discover the beauty of Islam on my own much like she did before. He never asked me which Sura I was reading again.

Now, the boss' brother has ventured into the conversion idea as well, but he hasn't unleashed his style yet. I'm tempted to tell him to take a number or get in line.

I wish I could just be rude and say that I don't care much about religion . But I'm sure it would only make things worse. In fact I don't care so much that tomorrow I can convert to Islam and it won't make a difference to me. But I do believe in spirituality. And I'd rather not have a religion than be a hypocrite. I'm not saying that everyone who has a religion are hypocrites (a lot of people can actually live by the Book and I admire them for that), what I'm saying is that I'm not a saint, and I don't plan to be one anytime soon.

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Night of "Coincidences"

There comes a time when you realize that everything falls into place.
And maybe there is somthing you can do about it, but maybe no
matter what you do, you still end up doing what has already been
set for you the day you were born.

I was sitting silently at the back of my boss' Pajero when I noticed
the digital clock on the dashboard as it added a minute more to the
already late hour. It's officially 2:01 am.

We were parked outside a convenience store in a district that was
at least 45 minutes away from Doha proper and the three of us in
the car were patiently waiting for the guy who sat beside me as he
bought some bread and milk.

I was lost in thought while observing the fog outside build up
across the vast expanse of the industrial area. It's the closest to
a desert I have ever been to in Qatar and the night was almost
perfect. The dim district made the stars look brighter, illuminating
the fog as it crept through the darkness. Just then, the empty seat
beside me caught my attention. There was a book, a thin one. I
read the note about the author on the back cover and was pleasantly
surprised. I have met the author a few weeks ago and he is by far
the most interesting adult I have met here. At first I thought he's
Sudanese but then he spoke excellent English. I didn't know then
that he wrote books, all I knew about Dr. Bilal Philips was that he
was passionate about Islam. My first encounter with him ended
with him giving me a book "Life of Mohammad" of which he said I
should take time to read. I did and in one sitting.

The guy who owned the book in the car finally came back. A few
minutes later we dropped him off at his house. It was only on our
way back home when the "coincidences" made sense to me. Could
this night be a sign? Then the questions started to come as if
answering each question with a question.

Why would the boss invite me to a late dinner with his friends when
I don't even speak Arabic? Why did it take us too long to finish dinner?
Why did we arrive just a minute after the bus left the station making
the boss' friend miss the last trip home? Why did the boss opt to drive
him home even it was already past 1am and the guy's house was way
out in the desert? Why didn't he just take a cab? Why did we have to
stop by the convenience store when we were already tired to make
stopovers? Why was boss' friend carrying a book and why did he leave
it when he went inside the store? Why did I read the cover? And why
did it have to be Dr. Bilal Philips, the same person who asked me to
know more about Islam? And more importantly, why am I connecting
all of these incidents as a sort of possibility that the events that occured
were "signs"?

Just as that last question filled my head, the boss turned on the radio.
Quran-reading filled the otherwise silent car. Now tell me if I'm just
overreacting. I smiled and looked at the window and as if the humor
won't stop, we passed by a mosque. That was then when I challenged
whatever or whoever was playing a trick on me. I said to myself that if
I see two more mosques before we reach the city proper, I would
definitely consider this "sign" as worth meditating over.

Not long after the first mosque, another mosque appeared. Only one more
mosque and I am going to blog about this, I thought then.

The city lights were drawing near and we're almost at the city proper
roundabout. And there it was to my left, a humble looking mosque standing
serenely beautiful in the starry night sky. Although you probably know
already because I'm blogging about it now.



(Al Wakra Mosque - Industrial District)

I lost the challenge. But to what or whom I don't know. I am more cautious
now because it's not fun when fate plays a practical joke on you. Or is it a joke
in the first place? Now I'm even beginning to wonder if I came here to Doha
to earn money or earn something else, dare I say it, a spirituality.

For now, that single night remains one of the most meaningful "coincidences"
that came my way. My eyes are open and my ears will listen.

Part of me calls it a bluff but there's also a part of me that wonders if the
last mosque I saw that night was also beautiful inside. OUT.

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