Here I sit with the other crazy folk who are awake and studying at 2:30 AM in the I-House library. You'd be suprised how many of us there are. I have to wake up at 7 tomorrow, and I'm working at the Asian Art Museum 'til 5:30 -- I'll be lucky to get an hour nap, if that. So why am I writing this?
Well, like a lot of bipolar folk in manic episodes, I've figured IT ALL OUT. I don't know if this is going to make any sense tomorrow (or when I come back down from the clouds) but it's rattling in my brain and I probably won't be able to sleep 'til it lets itself out.
It began with a mental dialogue on whether or not there is such thing as an unnatural human behavior. Then it shifted into me finding discrepancies between qiyas of certain hadith versus the way they're usually interperted. From there, into the conflict of God as unchanging and Jesus 'saving us from the law'. Then, onto the duality of God and..what?
This is a conversation I've had with my mother:
"Does God need man?"
"Of course not."
"Then why did He create him?"
To which my mother had no answer. I've been thinking about it some more, and came up with a more disturbing question -- not why did God create man but how would He even get the idea to form something (ie the universe/s) Other than Himself? After all, creation presumes a duality between inner (creative urge) and outer (creation). In other words, how would an idea like creation -- which is, after all, shaping the outer to reflect the inner -- enter an entity that is all-encompassing with neither outer nor inner?
And if God has outer and inner, what's the point? That would mean that there is something Other than Him, which would be a direct contradiction to omnipotence. How can something perfect and complete divide itself?
Therefore, I've come to the conclusion that nothing exists, because nothing can exist. I think I think, therefore I think that I am. But there is no think, no I, no am. I'm trying to wrap my mind around the idea of the nonexistence of everything, but I'm sure that'll resolve itself soon enough.
So there was the 'Skirt Party' at the I-House tonight. I was trying to figure out whether to go or not -- my desire not to be around a bunch of drunk people was warring with my desire to see lads in skirts -- when I decided to see if Angel was around. She had been interested in going to the public library, so I was gonna suggest a trip. Well, what do I see but Min (Angel's roommate) in Zayar's doorway! I went over, and it seemed that they were having a debate about whether or not to go to the party.
"There!" said Zayar, "You can go with her!" Trying to get out of the party. See, the funny thing is that it wasn't the skirts that scared him -- he haunts the hallways, computer lab, etc. in a lungi frequently enough. It's the /party/ aspect.
Now, usually we hang out together during party nights like the antisocial recluses we are, but the prospect of men in skirts was too much for me. I agreed that I would go with Min, and we mocked him s'more before heading off to change.
Believe it or not, I /do/ have skirts, and not just sarongs. I put on the asymetric black skirt that I bought last year while shopping with mayn meydl. The fishnet stockings as well, and a bizarre black blouse with woodcuts of innocent Victorian children and pastoral scenes in white. Then, the piece de resistance: the boots. More specifically, the painfully-tall leather boots crisscossed with riveted straps that I got over the Labor Day weekend.
Min, of course, was the perfect complement to me in a light, tropical-pastel sundress and sandals. We tried to show outselves off to Zayar before going to the party, but he didn't seem to be in his room.
Cut to our return to the corridor. Cut past the party in Shalini's room with its discussions of corporal punishment, showtunes and eye disease. Cut past the close reading of 'Fuzzy Wuzzy'. Cut to me standing alone in the hallway with Zayar, having already been given the chilli pickles and fried beans. Cut to him peering down at my befishentted legs and scary boots.
"Ah, Maria, when do the ladies in your country wear those kind of socks..?"
I grinned rakishly and replied, "Respectable ladies don't."
He became, if anything, more uncomfortable, and admitted that he didn't like The Boots. "Can I say honestly what they make me think of?"
I wasn't quite sure what to expect (I mean, I'd know what to expect of an American, but I dunno what in the Burmese Experience they'd conjure up) but I said okay.
"They make me think of a bank robber."
Huh?
"So please go back to your room and take them off."
Alright, man, whatever you say.
Possibly overheard in the I-House cafe patio tonight, the continuing education of visiting scholars.
Grammar and usage:
"The verb is 'to blaze'. As in, 'he blazed some turds.'"
Medicine:
"Do you need a massage? Is there any way I can help?"
"Yes, but only if I can get an ass massage."
"Don't tempt me."
Careers:
"The dominatrix is the scary woman who dresses in black leather and whips naked asses."
Current events:
"So /have/ you ever seen beneath Arafat's keffiyeh?"
"Yes!"
"And? And?"
"Some things weren't meant to be seen, darling."
There's truly never a dull moment.