On A Relentlessly Rainy Day

"Sorry, m'aam, no money, no service," The bus driver glared down at her, as she fumbled around in her purse for change, grimacing apologetically. His glowering eyes spat at her pleading ones, as though she had asked him to drain all the ocean's silvery contents and pour them into her delicate hands without allowing them to slip through her fingers, instead of the simple forty cent leeway she had silently requested. He quickly closed the door on her face after she hesitantly stumbled off, driving away speedily and leaving her soaked in her anxiety. He didn't know that the little change she had and was looking for, was lying dejected in a puddle, accidentally dropped in a fit of heartbreak as she spoke to the doctor on the phone about the test results indicating her son's illness. "You need to bring him back as soon as possible," he had said, and she had no health insurance.

The bus driver sighed his laments as he drove away. You see, his refusal to help the lady was attributed more to the habit of being as unpleasant as possible, than to his fear of a next to zero percent chance of being caught letting someone on without paying in full. In between the roads of crushed empathy left by road rage on a relentless rainy ride, and the familiar, gritty stench of marijuana seeping through his teeth, he had lost momentum and all efforts to become the stronger, more compassionate man with self control he dreamed to be, mingled with dirt and trickled away like a broken water pipe.

The teenage boy sat at the front of the bus. The driver was not smiling. The boy was perplexed. Why so grumpy?" He muttered under his breath. Sure, his music was a little loud, and his pockets bulged with freshly packed weed, but so what, he thought. "A bus driving job isn't all rainbows and butterflies, who does he think he is?" Little did he know that the driver was a recovering drug addict, struggling at a second chance in life, dangling on the thin threads of his newfound dreams.

Diaries of an Optimist: Love to be "You"

We all have those little, overcritical thoughts that grip themselves onto our minds and yell at us, and then we wish we had never made that joke nobody laughed at a couple of hours ago, or we wonder why our voices spoke and embarrassed us before our minds could approve. We regret that we couldn't be just a little more witty, or just a little more poised.

Kill those poisonous thoughts. Don't waste your time impressing others; the harder you try, the more you subconsciously change, and lose yourself in the process. The people who are worth your time, efforts and friendship will appreciate you, regardless of what you say or do.

Your personalities, brains, and hearts have given you so much strength, success, and beauty in unique ways. You have made such a positive impact on so many around you, whether it was the moment you walked off that stage during graduation, the old woman who's day was made so much lighter and happier when you smiled at her, or the way you laughed telling stories on the phone to the friend who called you crying a couple hours earlier. So why should anyone else's opinion or dismissal make you forget all of that?

You should not have to mold yourself to become what you think other people will like, Allah (God) has made you "you" for a reason, and if not even a single person would understand that, Allah would, and that is all that matters.

Photo Source:  southerngirlsecrets  

The Gift of Fasting

Today marks the twenty- fourth day of Ramadan, the month observed by Muslims all around the world. It is considered the holy month, in which we increase our prayers, purify our hearts, words, and actions, and give more in charity. The most well known characteristic of this month, however, is the fast. Muslims fast from dawn to dusk everyday, refraining from all food and drink.

Reading this, some of you may be wondering how I am holding up--whether I’m clenching my stomach in pain, exhausted and broken by the 13 hours of not having eaten a single morsel of food.  Some of you may even feel sorry for me.

Although I feel the pangs of an empty stomach that any normal person would experience, I am actually comforted. I am comforted by the fact that fasting has prevened me from overindulging, and quite literally stuffing my face all day with thick, heavy breads, salty chips, and all the destructive sugar that rushes to my brain and sucks it of all hydration. I am comforted that I am stronger every day, confident that my ability to withstand the hunger of today will constantly allow me to stay content and productive in the challenges I face tomorrow. I am comforted with the notion that I am blessed so much that at any give time, I can close my eyes, open my fridge, grab something random, and know that whatever it is, it will be delectable and fully satisfying. What is some hours a day for a month, to the years and years I not only had enough food to fill my belly for one meal, but enough grocery stores and restaurants to pick out exactly what I desired to fill my belly twenty times over?

Diaries of an Optimist: True Courage

When we were younger, we all loved riding bikes; the way we felt like we could conquer the world with our impeccable speed, the way the wind rushed through our skin and flipped our hair upside down, inside out, and onto our faces, appreciated by our careless and carefree nature. Then there were the falls. It was only for a split second that we would turn our eyes to watch that pretty white cat run the sidewalk, or one sharp turn over a rock on the floor, that maneuvered our bikes haywire, and brought our fancy streamer laden handlebars crashing to the floor as we slid off the very edges of our cushioned little seats. There we were, tumbled on the floor with our elbows scratched and our knees scraped, with the skin peeling around the gash, but we were only eight; no we didn't want to sit out and watch everyone else have fun, while we waited for the blood to drain from our veins, and the scars to burn themselves out. We loved those bikes, and we wanted to ride them; so we summoned our courage, bandaged our pain, climbed ourselves back up, and into the wind we ventured. Do you remember that cut? We carted it around with us like a nuisance, but we fed it fresh air, and so it healed, and into the wind we ventured.

Diaries of an Optimist: Overlook the Flaws

Photo Source: Prettylittlepassion, Aliyah

A shadow of prickly thorns accompanies even the sweetest of flowers. Does that stop us from admiring their grace, or bending down to inhale their fragrance? And don't those very thorns protect our Queen rose from the venomous insects that eat away at her delicate skin and destroy her existence? Dwell on the beauty in the flaw, not the flaw in the beauty.