Yes child, come to the dark side
Laughing and crying at the same damn time to this
Most awkward hug of all time.All TIME
Jay-Z at Arsenal-United
This is difficult to admit but I’m an emotional person.
No I don’t cry when my soccer teams lose, but my demeanor is pretty close to someone who just lost a loved one. I get swept by emotion and its difficult to present a calm exterior when something hits me. So to the people who see me go from weepy to grinning on my daily T commute, I’m ok honestly I’m just listening to the wrong playlist.
Maybe its better to describe myself as a serious person. I take everything seriously. I take entertainment seriously. I take joy seriously. I take other people’s pain seriously. I take life seriously. I know nothing is guaranteed in this life and I try my hardest to make sure I whatever I get to do I do it properly. I give my all into things, and when I say I love or hate something or someone I don’t say it lightly. You know every fiber of my being will strive to prove it.
I thank Allah for letting me win the lottery and letting me be born into a family that didn’t have to struggle a lot. When I see anyone in need I want to help and hate myself for not being able to do so.
Which is why overly serious Mo is not in a good mood.
Yesterday along with a number of people I happed to be on Boston’s Boylston street watching the annual Boston Marathon. I had my Nikon D5000 strapped to my right hand, gazing over the runners like a hawk over his prey (I also take photography really really seriously). I was looking for a story and a marathon is strewn with a multitude. The runner knowing the end is near, yet fighting the urge to collapse. The runner with the name of a loved one tattooed on their arm. The costumed runners with great senses of humor (I see you Leonidas and hamburger dude). I was hunting for agony, joy, smiles and relief.
Pretty girls out from hibernating Boston winter’s brightened an already beautiful day and were occasionally wonderful distractions. But I had work to do goddamit, so that grin turned to an angry scowl and I continued hunting.
I remember putting my camera down looking for more distractions when I heard and felt a boom. I thought it was a cannon from a ship. I hoped it was a cannon from a ship. But why would a battleship be on the Charles? I fought down the idea and remembered the last boom I felt. It was the earthquake in DC a couple years back and it brought back the same unwelcome emotions. Fear and anger, coupled with the shame of feeling afraid and angry. But the worst of all was hopelessness; knowing there’s absolutely nothing you can do. My short time was up.
I looked around and for a moment concern was covered by a little relief. And then the next moment another boom and a clear white shoot of smoke a few blocks away destroyed the calm that remained. There was screaming and running and crying and there was nothing I could do. I just stood there, fixed to my prime photography spot. I couldn’t move I couldn’t even think. I just stood there.
When I finally gathered myself I texted my mother over whatsapp and calmly told her I was in the vicinity of the bomb, but was unharmed and that if she couldn’t contact me I was fine. I still can’t believe how coherent I was when I texted. In that moment everything was so clear and I’m happy that she responded in an even calmer manner.
I quickly bagged my camera and ran towards the smoke to see if anyone needed help. Its one thing I have yet to learn in my two decades on this planet, knowing when to find my own safety. The police stopped me from going into the smoke and chaos and I’m thankful in retrospect. Like I said earlier, I take other peoples pain seriously. If I had gone in and saw with my own eyes the scenes that now cover the internet I don’t want to know how I would have a reacted.
From then on carrying into today I have the same face. Anger, fear, shame and helplessness plastered onto my visage. Anger at who ever did this, anger that this might again be a group of people using my name and my religion to justify pain on innocent people. Anger at myself for jumping to those conclusions when no evidence yet points to it. Shame for feeling that anger. Shame for feeling overwhelmed by anger and not just being calm and making sure any friends in the area are safe.
Fear that that morning, I had two choices of routes to take and I picked the one that allowed me to sit in my office today typing this up. I wanted to take pictures of the finish line since this is my last year in Boston. The plan was to start at the finish line and work my way through to earlier parts of the route. Going there first and seeing how many people were there turned me off the idea of staying or going back. And here were on Tuesday April 16, 2013, sitting in one piece while 3 people lost their lives and over 150 are injured. It’s really absurd how one quick thought can impact the rest of your life.
Most of the fear is gone now. But now I’m dealing with the anger. Why would anyone do this to anybody? Why my city? I live to understand what drives conflict. To understand what grievances lead desperate people to do stupid things. To understand why they are they way they are so we know how to make them stop. At this point we all know killing people just begets more death, more suffering. But at this point all I want to do is cause more suffering. I just want to pummel whoever did this into oblivion. Not bomb, not shoot; pummel with my own fists. Nothing can justify you causing a mother to cry over her child’s death. Nothing.
Time might be able to heal this. Maybe this weekend people will gather on Boylston and grab a drink (or five) and let loose and let out all this emotion. I just wonder if I’ll ever be able to walk past Copley and not see blood and pain. I wonder if even these idiots get caught whether I will actually be able to forgive them and let it go. I wonder when I’ll be able to not take my anger so seriously. I wonder if I will ever be able to do my bit to end suffering like this for people the world over.
I just know I never want to ever see anyone, friends, strangers, anyone, ever feel this way or experience loss on account of these attention seeking miscreants.
Enough is enough. No More.
It turns out procrastination is not typically a function of laziness, apathy or work ethic as it is often regarded to be. It’s a neurotic self-defense behavior that develops to protect a person’s sense of self-worth.
You see, procrastinators tend to be people who have, for whatever reason, developed to perceive an unusually strong association between their performance and their value as a person. This makes failure or criticism disproportionately painful, which leads naturally to hesitancy when it comes to the prospect of doing anything that reflects their ability — which is pretty much everything.
But in real life, you can’t avoid doing things. We have to earn a living, do our taxes, have difficult conversations sometimes. Human life requires confronting uncertainty and risk, so pressure mounts. Procrastination gives a person a temporary hit of relief from this pressure of “having to do” things, which is a self-rewarding behavior. So it continues and becomes the normal way to respond to these pressures.
Particularly prone to serious procrastination problems are children who grew up with unusually high expectations placed on them. Their older siblings may have been high achievers, leaving big shoes to fill, or their parents may have had neurotic and inhuman expectations of their own, or else they exhibited exceptional talents early on, and thereafter “average” performances were met with concern and suspicion from parents and teachers.