Eid Mubarak

It’s Eid. For those who don’t know what that means, Eid can be thought of as Christmas for Muslims. But not really. It’s much better (or supposed to be) because it has meaning attached to it. The festive day celebrates the culmination of a month of self-abstinence via fasting. The day marks the end of a month where Muslims forsake bad for good, television for prayer, alcohol for sherbet, pepperoni for dates, hedonism for charity, and promiscuity for chastity. Correction: forsake only until the sun is shining. After sunset, some Muslims seek freedom from the boundaries of the holy month by continuing to indulge in their pernicious desires. But that is perfectly acceptable, because, according to their interpretations of the Islamic doctrine, they are not breaking the laws of fasting. Either way, Muslims around the world celebrate Eid with their families and loved ones, giving and receiving hugs, money and presents. It’s quite a jovial day, to say the least, or supposed to be.

For some reason, days that are a source of pride and togetherness for my community have only brought me emptiness and bitterness. Eid is no different. Since coming to the States, I’ve never had the chance or taken the opportunity to celebrate this day. In fact I still remember how strange, and somewhat morose, my first Eid in this country was. I was in Bristol Virginia, a southern conservative Christian town with no Muslims or mosques, spending winter break at my suitemate Brandon’s place. It was the first time I had missed the obligatory Eid prayer, a ritual that every Muslim takes great pride in being part of. But it wouldn’t be the last time. I was mindless of the prayer, sometimes from a hangover, during most of my college career. And this time was no different. I woke up Sunday morning, not hung-over, but dressed up in anticipation of my first Eid in this magnificent city. But, after my painful thirty-minute morning walk, all I found were two giant empty tents laughing at my face. On asking some poor bystander where everybody was, I discovered that some holier-than-the-rest-of-America Muslims had decided to celebrate Eid a day earlier in DC. Joy. This is what happens when Saudi Arabia, which is too good to celebrate Eid with the rest of the world, controls the funding to the National Islamic Center in this State. What stupidity. Well, at least, I had the intention of praying. So, maybe I’ll be rewarded for that. Though, serves me right for not keeping a single fast. I should have no right to Eid prayers if I’m not going to fast. Right?

Nevertheless, I called all my Muslim friends, whoever I cared to talk to, so as to offer my greetings. That part of the day was nice. That’s probably because it’ll be the only part of the day that will give me a chance to celebrate Eid. I mean, how else am I supposed to celebrate? I have no family in the country and only a handful of Muslim friends. And all of these friends are busy with their own lives, mostly in other parts of the country. So there you have it. My little celebration. No gifts, no money, no hugs.

There are some things in life that are important to me. Sometimes these are also the things that I try not to care about. I’ll explain. I’m talking about my family. On this day, when the elders of the family are supposed to express their love to the young ones, my sisters didn’t even bother to say hello. Am I asking for too much by expecting a telephone call? Fine, I’ll be understanding. Telephone calls from Pakistan are expensive. But what about E-mail! Bottom line: there is always a way to communicate, but only if you have the will. And sadly my sisters don’t because, not only are they wrapped up in the miserable circumstances of their lives, but they are also extremely selfish. It’s true. I’ve called each of my nephews and nieces on their birthdays this year. And it’s not because I did it to show their parents that I care for their children, but it’s because I do love those kids. And when you love someone you want to tell them or show them how much you love them. And in this case, I neither see nor feel any love. I try to tell myself that my sisters want to call me or talk to me. Or at least I hope they do. But it’s sad to realize their indifference to our relationship and the meaning of family in one’s life.

Last week was somewhat busy. After the unexpected episode Monday night, I got busy with work and recruiting. Oh, and there was this thing Wednesday night. The Litigations and Investigations Practice, which I belong to, went out for a night of bowling to Strike Bethesda, this hip bowling alley in the area. It was fun, even though I embarrassed myself with the bowling aspect of the night, partly under the influence of stiff drinks at the open bar. Most of the people seemed to be really easy-going and fun to hang out with, which is pretty good. Take it from me: the people that you work with can make a HUGE difference to your satisfaction from your job.

The new interviewees are coming up to our office these days for Super Days. It’s nice, getting to know a load of eligible hot young straight men applying for a position at our firm. This Friday, I was acting as a buddy to a cute dorky guy from UVA who was also in some college band. I think he was pretty cool and is going to get high marks, at least from me. The firm could definitely use more cuties, preferably gay ones though. Which reminds me. I have to attend another company dinner tonight for the Super Day tomorrow. Adios.