Moor(ish).

May was a good month for this wanderer.

I spent half the month in Europe on a belated honeymoon with the hubs. Four cities, two countries. It was my first time visiting Europe in a decade and our longest trip in the nine years we’ve been together. My best friend (a Swiss resident) and one of my closest friends from college (a Dutch native) crashed our honeymoon, so I managed to get in some friendship time toward the end of the trip too.

Most of our travels center on nature/parks or art/architecture. This trip was largely focused on the latter. I love being immersed in the old. Feeling transported through time. Thinking about all the people who’ve tripped upstairs before me.

One of the places our travels took us was Granada, Spain. I booked an esthetically on-pointe and ridiculously reasonable Airbnb in the medieval Moorish district of Albayzín. The area is so old that a cab from the airport can only take you so far. Our driver turned off the main street, and soon we were bouncing down an ancient cobblestone road. He dropped us off in a courtyard and our host walked up a moment later. An innkeeper by day and DJ by night, which explained the turntable he carried with him. We walked the rest of the way to the house, enjoying the quiet night and our first moments in a neighborhood as old as time. We entered the house, a cluster of eight apartments with a lush, open courtyard at the center. The house had white plaster walls with exposed brick, red tiled roofs, vibrant tapestries, and colorful Spanish tiles. And then he led us upstairs. To the rooftop deck. With a midnight view of the Alhambra, illuminated against the darkness. My heart all but stopped.

Albayzín and the Alhambra are world heritage sites and here’s the skinny: The Moors were Muslims who inhabited north Africa, Malta, Sicily, Portugal, and Spain during the Middle Ages (700s-1400s). The Kingdom of Granada was established in 1230 which marks the start of the Muslim dynasty--the Nasrids--who constructed the dope af Alhambra palace. It was originally built as a fortress in 889 AD, later expanded by Mohammed ben Al-Ahmar, and then converted into a palace by Yusef I. For over 200 years, the area flourished artistically and economically until the fall of the Moors to Ferdinand and Isabella. The Alhambra then became their court (from which they sent their boy, Chris Columbus, on his misshapen search of India in 1492).

When we left the house the next morning, I half expected to see a crew setting up to film the next Indiana Jones. The Arab and Muslim influence is palpable and permeates throughout this part of Spain. We walked down winding cobblestone roads, surrounded by ancient white plaster buildings until we came to the town center. From there we continued our walk to the Alhambra, passing small shops and cafes along the way.

The Alhambra is comprised of multiple complexes with different aesthetics and histories. My main reason for visiting was to see the Nasrid Palaces and Generalife. The palaces were exquisite. Every surface appeared to be covered in some combination of cool white marble, wood inlay, tile, or plasterwork with the most detailed Islamic calligraphy. The gardens also didn’t disappoint--lush, diverse, and geometrically perfect. Plus, you've got to love a good ancient fountain. Or 87. It’s an oasis everywhere you turn.

We ended the afternoon across the street at a rooftop garden restaurant. Lunching on regional cuisine like creamy sliced potatoes, stuffed chicken, and saffron rice with nuts, honey, and golden raisins, I thought about how much this place has seen. From the cultural prosperity of the Moors to the extreme oppression of the Spanish Inquisition that followed, the city has been through it all. Changed, but still standing. It was a good reminder for me that, one way or another, life goes on.

Granada was really the only leg of the trip where I left feeling unfinished. Until next time.

Keep on keeping on,
SRD.

A Seattle first.

Every couple of weeks, I pass by a small mosque (masjid) on my way to Target. After the initial Muslim travel ban was enacted, I noticed colorful posters of support tied along the property’s fence. Unable to read the messages from my car, I did some sleuthing. I was happy to see that the community support didn’t appear to be in response to any sort of vandalism at Idris Mosque (it was just in response to the more systematized hate crime perpetrated by the Executive Office).

Turns out, the unassuming brick building was actually the first masjid in Seattle and has an interesting history. Learn more here.

Keep on keeping on,
SRD.

It's getting hot in herre.

Coinciding with Trump's 100th day in office, I attended People’s Climate March in downtown Seattle today.

The fact that many of our nation’s leaders so vehemently refute the science of climate change is outrageous. It's just plain unacceptable to deny what is now data-backed common knowledge when considering environmental legislation. 

No one present today appeared to be under the disillusionment that walking would somehow solve climate change. That isn't the point. The point is to demonstrate solidarity, draw attention to an issue that our representatives are choosing to ignore, and lend a voice to reason.

On that note, it was wonderful to see an array of groups turn out today. And participating made me more considerate of how people are coming at climate change, viewing issues and solutions through different lenses. Vegans came to discuss the merits of their diet in relation to carbon and methane emissions. Christians came with signs conveying messages of stewardship. I showed up as a trained biologist concerned with Executive and federal overreach, particularly with regards to the rollbacks on academic and research funding, undermining of EPA protections, and threats to National Parks and federal lands. And on a personal level, to stand with my friends who are working scientists and academics, fighting to keep their research alive and accessible.

Keep on keeping on,

SRD.

 

Proceeds from the husband's Rogue NASA tee were split between Girls Who Code and the National Math + Science Initiative. Mine went to a number of foundations committed to protecting public lands and our national parks.

 

Do it for science.

I know, I know. It’s April.

I’ve been doing more reading than writing lately, apart from the writing I do for work. Truthfully, I got pretty depressed after the inauguration and swift bombardment of overreaching Executive Orders. From the Muslim travel ban to the gag order on federal scientists, it was and continues to be an exhausting time. There appears to be a fine line between staying informed and staying sane. 

Today is Earth Day. 

An already busy family visit mixed with someone getting in a minor car accident meant that I had to sit March for Science out. 

I may not be a working scientist, but that is who I am at my core. My academic training in the sciences is at the heart of how I understand the world and think critically in an age of alternative facts. Science illiteracy is the cause of so much misunderstanding and distrust in our country today. I deeply believe that having educated citizens is as important as having informed leaders and representatives. And the scientific community must be a part of the conversation when considering environmental legislation that will affect generations to come.

Thank you to all who walked today. I am with you and will see you at Climate March in one week.

Keep on keeping on,

SRD.

We march.

Starting the year off right, with a renewed sense of hope. Today, I marched in peaceful solidarity with 3.2 million other souls in the largest one-day demonstration in our country's history. Seattle alone expected 50,000 and over 130,000 showed up. I walked alongside people of every skin tone, gender, religion, age, socioeconomic background. Immigrants, the disabled, hearing impaired, elderly... Tremendous, glowing diversity. 

All present to simply demonstrate unequivocally that women must have equal pay for equal work and retain autonomy over their reproductive health. That citizens of all ages need access to affordable healthcare. That LGBTQ citizens deserve equal rights under the law. That climate change is real and accelerated by our excessive consumption of fossil fuels. And by extension, that our environment matters. Clean air, clean water, without them we have nothing.

These issues aren't going anywhere no matter how much the new administration would like to sweep them under the rug. The question now is, how far behind will we be in 3 years 11 months and 2 weeks when the Cheeto in Chief gets the boot? Time will tell. 

But for now, today was a comforting and fierce reminder that despite the results of an antiquated electoral college, Trump lost the election by over 2 million votes. He does not represent the majority of Americans. And while he's already started turning back the clock, we will continue the fight to protect our and your civil rights in the days to come. Onward.

  

Keep on keeping on,

SRD.

A little alliteration.

I got cat-called while I was walking the Freedom Trail in Boston with a gal pal. Typically, I'd ignore the behavior, but I was surrounded by history, excited to visit the state archives to see one of the original copies of the Bill of Rights, and was just supremely irritated. I spouted, "you're a pawn of the patriarchy!" and kept walking. It felt good. It might be my default from now on. It'd also make a fun hashtag. Let's try it in a sentence: This rando #pawnofthepatriarchy told me to smile more.

Yes, that'll do nicely.

Keep on keeping on,
SRD.

Token.

Taking a moment to acknowledge my privilege: high school for me was awkward, as it is for most, but it didn't suck. I was fortunate to attend a small, private college-prep. The intimate classes were a welcome change from my previous existence (crowded public schools and overworked/overwhelmed teachers, charged with cranking students through the floundering education system as best they could). I'd had a decent enough experience in public education up until that point, but the high schools in my area were struggling--significant overcrowding, high teen pregnancy rates, low college acceptances. So, I ended up at a Catholic school for girls. I'll take a stab at the usual questions before moving to topic:

1.  No, I didn't mind that there weren't any boys. Excepting two particularly good childhood friends, I found that pubescent boys were largely shitheads. And I was sure I'd meet the good ones in my new extra-curricular, multi-school theatre program. Even if some turned out to be gay, at least they weren't the slightest bit date rapey!

2.  No, my parents weren't particularly worried about me being indoctrinated into Catholicism. In fact, there is quite an ingrained respect for religious-private education within the South Asian community (thanks, British Imperialists!).  

3.  No, I didn't mind the uniforms. I had my morning regimen down to 15 minutes flat. I like my sleep. And without the constant worry of presenting myself as a suitable mate to opposite sex, my brain could focus on, you know, my education.

The school was actually pretty progressive, as far as Catholic high schools go. As an independent school that wasn't part of the diocese, educators were granted a certain level of autonomy in creating their curriculum. As a result, we had some fantastic classes that I thought I wouldn't encounter until college--World Religions, Oceanography, British Lit, Philosophy of Personal Morality.  

As forward-thinking as the school was, I still remember feeling pegged as the token Muslim (and I was until a couple more gals enrolled). I think it came out of a well-intended effort to acknowledge diversity. Excessive recognition can come off as labeling. But being on the liberal end of the spectrum let me share a version of Islam that perhaps my peers would not have otherwise ever encountered. I find profanity to be cathartic, had no plans for an arranged marriage, and don't wear a hijab. Keep in mind that 9/11 happened my junior year. Anything I could do to normalize my family and our way of life during that time, I would do. I'm not a spokesperson for a diverse religion of 1.6 billion people, but I hope I made a halfway decent impression. Maybe even one that stuck with them at the polls this last cycle.

For more on the merits of single-sex education, check out this most excellent read.

Keep on keeping on,

SRD.

Not quite Muslim enough.

For years, I struggled with what it meant to be both Muslim and myself. Then sometime between 28 and 30, I thought, fuck it.

Full disclosure: I'm on the agnostic end of the spectrum and I suppose the sociologist in me has always thought religion was largely a matter of family, upbringing, and your birth spot on the planet. But, even at a young age, I had interest in theology. First, it was the Ancient Egyptians and Greeks who piqued my interest with their numerous gods and fantastical underworlds. Who doesn’t love Pegasus?! Later, it was the Druids and Pagans. I was drawn to their expressions of nature worship—it seemed more hardcore than the basic Jewish/Christian/Muslim principle of stewardship that I grew up with. I ended up going to a Catholic high school and learned a lot there. Then in college, it was Buddhism that sparked my curiosity. But in every case, my interest was on the intellectual plane. Islam was the only faith that felt like home. It is so entwined with my identity as part Pakistani that it doesn’t feel right to have one without the other.

There are also a number aspects of my faith that I truly connect with. Like most sane humans, I think religious texts aren’t meant to be taken verbatim, but are intended to teach more general life lessons. Subtext for the win, ya’ll. I love that Islam was truly a religion ahead of its time, particularly concerning the treatment of women and the poor. Its focus on inclusivity and diversity also stikes a chord with me. Go to any mosque (masjid) in the world and you will see every race represented. It’s beautiful and feels extremely welcoming. When I was really little, I remember not grasping the concept of a Korean or Black church—our masjid just had everyone.

I also like that Islam kind of keeps to itself. It is not a proselytizing faith, so there hasn’t been a history of missionaries bulldozing the local culture of far off lands. Island culture in Hawaii and Polynesia, for example, changed substantially to acclimate to Christian life. (Side note: Fiji didn’t go that route and many of the unfortunate souls who ventured there to change the locals were simply eaten. Point taken.) And let's not get into the contemporary extremists, because true Muslims denounce their radical actions and resent being lumped in with what amounts to a handful of crazies. If you're going to hold over a billion and a half Muslims accountable for abhorrent actions of a select few, then I guess you can be held accountable for the atrocities of the Crusades, Spanish Inquisition, and Holocaust. Cool?

Having been born and raised in California and having attended UC Berkeley, you might surmise that I have more liberal leanings. But even by Pakistani standards, my family is pretty progressive. Most of the women folk don’t wear a headscarf (hijab), no one’s had an arranged marriage, and in many respects, I was given a fair amount of autonomy growing up. I didn’t have a curfew. I could wear shorts and tank tops. I went to prom. I had male friends. Though, many turned out to be gay. (I did a lot of theatre.)

So, I will try to be Muslim enough for you. But I am not speaking on behalf of all Muslims, which is as silly as it is narcissistic. And really, I’m like any other Pacific Northwesterner. I drink a lot of coffee, burst into flames if it gets to be over 75°, and love hiking, star gazing, layers, flannel, and yes, microbrews.

Keep on keeping on,
SRD.

Teeny weeny yellow polka dot burkini.

A one-sentence history: The burkini was developed way back in 2004 by Aheda Zanetti, a Lebaneze-born Australian designer, specifically with the goal of giving more conservative Muslim women a swimwear option they'd actually feel comfortable wearing. 

Having had friends and relatives that would never go swimming because of the lack of fabric associated with contemporary swimwear, I was ecstatic to learn of the burkini. I have always loved the water--ocean, lake, river, pool, hot springs, hot tub--I'm there. Growing up, it broke my heart that women I cared deeply about would never share in the peace and refreshing freedom I felt in the water. And as someone who would, given the option, opt for baggy striped 1920s swimwear, I get the appeal.

So, back in September, when a woman in Nice was made to remove her burkini by armed authorities, I was pissed. In the aftermath of yet another atrocious terrorist attack, the French government reacted out of fear and a ban was passed on this particular piece of beachwear (it looks funny and scares white people, would be a sufficient synopsis of their logic). This is a matter of personal choice and an individual's comfort, not national security. Given that the state typically does a decent job of protecting individual liberties, French countrymen and women of all backgrounds were also livid. Being topless is fine, but covering up is a crime? (That wasn't supposed to rhyme...Anybody want a peanut?)

Then, a few weeks ago, I read something that gave me hope. Halima Aden is a Somaliese teen who was born in a Kenyan refugee camp and came to America when she was six-years-old. While participating in the Miss Minnesota USA pageant, she wore a burkini in the swimwear segment. Plus, a hijab for the whole thing. Mic drop. These moments where we are nothing other than ourselves humanize us in the eyes of the scared and uninformed. We must follow Halima's lead over and over again. Until we're all just your friendly neighborhood Muslim.

Keep on keeping on,

SRD.

Full circle.

It occurred to me this morning, that I'm right back to the first career I ever dreamed of as a kid.

It's a frosty 37° Pacific Northwest morning and I'm bundled up with a blanket daringly draped over my legs and the rolling heater. I’m sitting at my Pottery-Barn-by-way-of-Craigslist desk. The pup is in her rightful place, on her bed to my left. The cat is at my right and huddled up against the heater. Out one window I can see Lake Washington, and out the other (on a clearer day) I can see Mount Rainier.  

Coffee's in a deep blue, clay mug--a remnant from my past life in Monterey. It rests on a tin coaster featuring a vintage Corona beer girl, a souvenir from my backpacking trip through the Yucatan.  They’re accompanied by a pair of plum knit finger-less gloves, my pocket knife, phone, and all the usual office accouterments.  In front of me is an antique globe of the moon that belonged to my grandfather, that for whatever reason, I can’t bring myself to dust. Beside it sits a jar containing a colorful collection of sea glass from my travels, a ceramic armadillo lamp, and a petite glass full of sand stolen from Australia.  If I look up, I see my maiden name. A cubicle nameplate from my years as an education program writer hangs on the wall, reminding me of my roots and first content gig. Around it, there’s a black-and-white picture with the hubs, and some of favorite artists: a painting of a vampire squid by my college best friend who is also a scientific illustrator, an abstract tropical fish painted by my sister in middle school, and a bright watercolor unicorn painted by my husband years before we met. There is also a large comic featuring a girl and her sea monster by a Portland artist, a vibrant low-brow painting of a woman and narwhals gifted by my high school best friend, and a framed scarf featuring a number of Australian butterflies.

I am surrounded by nature, artistic inspiration, and furry, unconditional love.  Some of my most treasured keepsakes energize and focus me.  It is the best possible workspace.  I am in the middle of a script for work, but stopped to write this because maybe I'm not as focused as I just claimed.

I first wanted to be a writer circa second grade. Mrs. Nicholas, a tall, tan white woman with braces and the most perfect side-part, fostered my love of reading. She gave me special assignments to take with me to Pakistan during a month-long visit with my family, where we traveled for my favorite uncle's wedding. I felt so honored that his beautiful bride let me have a sleepover party with her the night before the festivities, had my hands covered in mehndi, ran around my grandparents' palatial estate with all my cousins, and attended the glamorous affair covered in mosquito bites. When we returned, I wrote my first book, lovingly bound in a red report folder by my mom.  It was a travelogue called The Trip to Pakistan.  Staring cats.  Just cats. They made for far more interesting characters and were less daunting to illustrate than people.  I stand by my choice.

I remember writing it and thinking: None of the kids in my class are going to get this, but I don't care...I can’t say that my ideology has changed much.

Back to work, I go.

Keep on keeping on,

SRD.