Chaucer Midterm

This is part of a my Chaucer class midterm (which I took fall term, 2007). I'm writing in the point-of-view of the Wife of Bath addressing the Clerk and the Clerk's Tale from The Canterbury Tales. Enjoy!

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I can’t believe the nerve of that Clerk! His tale was by far the most unbearable of all the tales I’ve heard of so far. Of course everyone did ask him to tell a tale of adventure instead of a moralistic sermon like the Man of Law implied with his tale, which is also one of the silliest tales I’ve ever heard. That’s what happens when you have a clerk tell you an adventurous tale—it always contains morals, especially for women, to have patience and be virtuous. Why is it that women can never be free of the rules that men put upon women and why do women readily agree with these rules and not break free from them?

Why is it that the Clerk can’t change the tale a little, make Griselde stand up for herself and demand that her children should not be taken away from her. I, the Wife of Bath, might have even switched my tale around to make it more suitable for the audience. After all, who wants the knight to lose a woman in the tale if she’s ugly? So, I thought I’d make it seem like the knight triumphed in the end instead of the woman that he finds. It’s the battle between a beautiful and ugly woman who are both faithful.

Men, like Walter in the Clerk’s tale, can think that they are in control, but it’s really the women who control them. After all, how can there be men without women? After being in control of a man, I would never end up obeying him like Griselde does—no matter how much he loves me or not. Children would also get in the way of my plans. How could you control the father of your children? It’s possible, yes, but I don’t think it’s done.

The moral of my little rant is that all things don’t come to you if you’re a sweet, patient, and virtuous maiden. You have to act like a man, fight like a man, to get what you want in this life. That’s the only way to become confident with who you are, and who you married.

Qurrat-ul-ain (Delight of the Eyes)

I wrote this story in my WR 324 (Fiction Writing) class that I took fall term 2007, but it's not as good as my other stories. I thought I would post it anyway.

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As I awoke, my body wracked with uncontrollable shivers and I could feel the sweat dripping down my face. My eyes cracked open with alarm as I felt the rapid beating of my heart from the one real nightmare that could never be forgotten. I couldn’t stop looking at those eyes—those obsidian eyes that were so dark and endless. Those eyes that were full of fear, shock, and something else…” I sat up, waiting for my heart to calm down and the air to return to my lungs. Tears streaked down my cheeks as I slid out of bed, knowing I would not be able to fall back asleep.

It had been about a year since that incident. It was the reason why my dreams were always filled with nightmares from that night. Everyone had noticed a change in me. The most noticeable change had been the significant weight loss. I had always been chubby but within the past year, food no longer appealed to me. My parents and friends just thought I was dieting. They said I was in good shape and that a swarm of suitors had become interested since then. It’s ironic that when I was chubby the men coming to see me were few and far in between but when something as drastic as this happened, they would eagerly ask for me as if I had become one of the most popular girls in school.

When I had come back home that night a year ago, it was late enough that my parents were already asleep. I had felt so dirty that I can’t even remember how many times I scrubbed and rinsed myself. I had to get the feeling of those men off of me. The only thought going through my mind was how to keep everyone in the dark about this. I had no idea what my parents would do or say or what would happen to me. The next day I went to one of my friends’ houses—one who I knew was sexually active. While she was in the bathroom, I snooped around her dresser until I found a bottle of Plan B and took a pill. She wouldn’t notice. Nobody would have to know—I couldn’t afford to let anybody know.

I had never heard of a Muslim girl ever being in this kind of situation before and it terrified me. I didn’t look like a Muslim, always wearing what my parents called “modern American clothes.” Then again, since my parents weren’t Arab, they weren’t as strict about my dress code as the other Muslim parents were. I didn’t cover my head or face, I wore t-shirts and jeans, and though I never drank alcohol, I did go to a lot of parties. That night I had gone to party hosted by one of my “American” friends so I was wearing a skirt and a t-shirt. I knew that I shouldn’t have walked home alone from the party but I didn’t want to become a burden to anyone since I was leaving earlier than everyone else. I never thought anything would happen.

Physically, I was healing slowly but surely. Mentally, I thought I would never heal. I never told anyone and had never planned on telling anyone about what had happened that night. I kept a diary hidden under my mattress because I was too afraid to keep a blog online. I didn’t want someone randomly searching and finding my blog, only to call the cops. I was always cautious about what I wrote on my blog. It was never anything too personal. It was something my friends could read and they would know that whatever I put in my blog was part of who I am. They didn’t know that the person I became around them was nothing like who I was inside.

Today was Friday—a day where most people start to relax, party, or bar-hop, after a long week of work or school. Today was also the Muslim Student Association’s first meeting of the year. MSA had become a joke recently because we rarely ever did anything, and if we did, it turned out to be something that had nothing to do with Islam. In the past, all of us would take turns reading the Koran, our holy book, or we would read a book of sayings from the Prophet Mohammed. We used to actually plan activities, like barbeques, informational tables, and bring in guest speakers so our city and student community could learn more about Islam.

I couldn’t believe that this was the beginning of the end. The end of the first week of my senior year and I was already ready to get out of college and fully experience the world. I guess having lived here my entire life I wanted to find someplace new where I could start over—where no one would notice the difference between the girl of last year from the woman of this year.

This was also a time when my parents started actively looking for suitors to find a potential partner for me. Since we aren’t allowed to date, we have arranged marriages, and the first step to an arranged marriage is to find a man that fits the bill. Ever since I had lost weight, there were many suitors who had come to our house. Many of them were handsome, had a sizable bank account and had a good sense of humor. I said no to all of them. Ever since I was young I had wanted to get married and fall in love with my husband, but those dreams had been shattered just like a part of me had. I never told my parents, but after what had happened, I never planned on getting married. I didn’t want to endure what would happen on my wedding night and I knew that any man that I married would notice right away that I was no longer a virgin and they would tell my parents and probably divorce me and find a “pure” woman.

I knew my parents were getting upset because of all the men I had turned down over the past year. I don’t even think I cared much anymore. Out of frustration, I told them that I decided to just marry the next guy that my parents thought would be a perfect match for me. After my parents would say he’s a perfect match, I would talk to him alone and tell him all my secrets. I just hope that if I do tell him, he wouldn’t say anything to my parents—maybe he would be too shocked and disgusted to do much of anything. I wouldn’t blame him though. I was disgusted with myself and still shocked about what had happened.

Another suitor was coming to see me this weekend. I wasn’t worried at all about my parents picking a man for me. They knew me well enough to know what I did and didn’t like in a man and what I expected of him in the future. My parents didn’t know much about this one though. All they knew was that he lived in California, was a couple of years older than me and was in his last year in medical school. Ever the careful, loving parents that they were, they didn’t even know what he looked like. They still invited him and his parents over on Sunday. I knew I could look forward to helping my mom clean the house instead of doing my homework—at least I would be keeping myself busy.

“Annie!”

“Yes Mama…”

“Remember to call me when you get out of class. I want you to pick up some groceries for this Sunday.”

“Okay Mama,” I replied.

Throughout the day, classes kept me pretty busy. I was getting a BS in Health Administration and was planning on getting a Master’s in the same field. I was swamped with studying for classes, applying for graduate school and studying for my GREs—not to mention the constant cleaning of our house, which was always swamped with suitors.

After getting the groceries for my mom, I went back to campus to go to the MSA meeting. I had a lot of Muslim friends that I didn’t get to see often because I wouldn’t go to the mosque. Instead of going to the mosque, we would usually pray and eat at home seeing as my parents were always busy. We didn’t exactly have any activities for MSA going on lately so it would be nice to see everyone again. I entered our meeting room amidst hearty ‘Salaam’s’ from everyone and hugs from the girls.

Omar, the president of MSA stood up and looked around. “Is this everyone?” he asked.

At that moment a man came strolling through the door. “Asalaam o’laikum everyone, I’m sorry I’m late! Did I miss anything?”

All I could see were those eyes—they weren’t obsidian like I had recalled, but they were still very dark, a brown pushed to the brink of black. His hair matched his eyes and was very fine. All those memories that I had tried to pushed to the back of my mind came rushing back.

I started walking faster and then suddenly I heard footsteps behind me—that was when I started running.

Men surrounded me to the point where I couldn’t breathe. They wouldn’t let go of me—they wouldn’t stop touching me.

One of them told the others to stop but they overruled him and all he could do was watch. The only thing I could do with shock and the burning of tears in my eyes was to watch him. “Please help me…” He didn’t respond to my helpless plea, but continued to stare as if he couldn’t believe what had happened.

“Annie, are you okay? You look pale,” one of my girl friends said. His eyes widened with shock when he noticed me. As soon as I locked eyes with him, his gaze turned apologetic as if he were ashamed.

I turned away from him and told everyone I had to use the ladies’ room. My mind was swirling with so many emotions that I wasn’t sure what to think. Once I entered the bathroom, I let out the tears that I’d been holding back earlier. I didn’t know if I could handle him being there or not. So many questions were plaguing my brain. Had he told anyone about what happened? Why hadn’t he helped me at least try to get away from those monsters? Why was he here?

So there I was in front of the sink in the girls bathroom, gasping for breath as if I’d run the mile. When I came out he was waiting for me outside, probably hoping he would get a chance to talk to me, but I walked right past him.

“Annie, wait…” he said. I turned towards him giving him the kind of look that would strike him like a blade in his heart.

“Annie, I’m really sorry…about what happened. I was too scared…”

“Scared? You thought I wasn’t scared when they held me down like that? If you were so scared, why weren’t you scared enough to call the police?”

I was so upset that I couldn’t stop the tears coming from my eyes. I knew that he was telling the truth though. I would’ve been too stunned to do anything other than watch. In that one conversation, his eyes told me so much about him. He was being sincere and somehow I knew that he hadn’t forgotten what had happened. Maybe he was even having nightmares about it like I was.

He let go of my arm, turned and walked away. I took out my cell and dialed the number of one of my friends in the meeting to let them know that I wasn’t going to be able to stay.

All weekend, my thoughts were filled with the mysterious man. I was surprised that I didn’t know anything about him—not even his name. This wasn’t all that big a city and word traveled fast. If he was new, everyone would be talking about it. Maybe he was just visiting.

The weekend was a blur of homework and thoughts of him. Pretty soon, it was Sunday—a day where most people in our moderately sized city would be waking up to go to church soon. My family on the other hand, was expecting guests so my parents required that the house be cleaned. These weren’t just any guests though. They were specifically coming to see me—another suitor and his parents coming to impress us with how much money they make, how much religion means to them, and how I’ll be able to get my happily ever after with them.

I was so sick of all these men coming to our house. I just wanted to be left in peace to finish my degree and be able to find a job. I didn’t feel like having another stressed-filled weekend catering to people we didn’t even know.

The doorbell rang and my parents went to greet the guests. I ran upstairs. Once my parents thought he’d be a good match, they’ll come up and get me. I waited what seemed like for hours until my mom came up into my room and told me how handsome and established Amir was.

I came downstairs, only to find him there. I didn’t think I would ever see him again, but he seemed just as surprised as I was. Our parents, who were seated in the living room, told us to go talk alone in the adjacent room.

We sat across from each other and the room was suddenly filled with an unbreakable silence. Both of us were trying to figure out what to say to each other. He finally broke out of the uncomfortable silence and said, “I didn’t know that my parents had recommended you for a bride.”

“Why were you here from California last year?” The question came out of the blue, but it was the first thing that popped up in my head. I could see him trying to figure out what to say.

“Please…tell me the truth.” He was like an open book. I only had to read his eyes to see what he was going to do.

“I came up with a four of my friends to look for a potential bride. They didn’t know that though. The guys thought that we were just going on a road trip. In every city we stopped in, they would go into bars or clubs and they would come back drunk. That day you were invited to one of your friends’ parties. We were invited to the same party but we came a little earlier.

Before going though, I told them not to drink because it was a pain in the ass to take care of them afterwards. Of course they promised but as soon as we came to the party, they got a hold of some booze and couldn’t stop. When you were walking past us in the parking lot, I tried to turn them around so they wouldn’t see you. One of them did, and once he saw you, all of them did.”

By this point I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my cheeks. I was in a daze so I didn’t notice when he came and sat down beside me. I felt his hands wipe the tears from my cheeks. Stunned, I looked up at him. In our culture, men and women weren’t allowed to touch before marriage, and here he was touching my face with his hands. It was endearing and scandalous at the same time.

“I tried to stop them…I did everything in my power to stop them. I know I should’ve called the police but my mind was blank and I didn’t know what to do. After they left, I drove back to California in my car and left them at the hotel. I was so disgusted by what they did, that I couldn’t even look at them without thinking about what happened.”

He looked at me with his sad eyes and with finality said, “I’ll tell my parents that we’re not suited for each other. They’ll understand. I just hope that someday you can forgive me.”

I turned towards him. “Amir, I forgive you.” The joy in his eyes brought delight to mine. “I don’t think I am able to marry anyone right now, but I will tell my parents to keep you in mind. I do want to marry someday…but…maybe we were not meant to be.” He nodded his head in understanding.

When Amir and his parents were getting ready to leave, he came up to me again. “Thank you Annie...thank you Qurrat-ul-ain.” As I gazed through my window while their car left our driveway, I knew everything would be alright. Knowing that my mind would finally have some peace, I smiled. Everything would be alright.

Creative Exercise

This is a creative exercise that I did for ENG 465 (The Uncanny Novella) and that I had to read for the whole class. I'm surprised I got positive reviews for it (in class anyway). Well, let me know what you think!

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As I was folding up the laundry I heard him talking on the phone in the other room. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll do it tonight.” He was so serious when he said it, so I went to investigate. As I came into the room, he looked up holding the phone in his hand.

“Hey, who’s on the phone?”

“Just a friend…hey, why don’t I make dinner tonight?” he replied, changing the subject. I gave him the okay to use my kitchen in an attempt to cook something edible. He usually did this when I was tired or particularly stressed about something. Lately, I had been getting really bad migraines and went to see the doctor the week before. Everything was normal except for the fact that I had an excessive amount of earwax. It was a waste of time going to the doctor—all he did was give advice on which meds to use and sent me on my way. I could hear a lot better though, which was a plus.

When I came home, stepping out onto our driveway, I could hear him talking on the phone. I froze and shook my head—it’s probably the meds kicking in or something. When I opened the door, he was in the kitchen, probably getting ready to create some havoc—and talking on the phone, but how I’d known, I had no idea. I didn’t understand—could hear rats scuttling above in the attic but had never heard them there before. As I ran upstairs to change into something comfortable, I heard him talking. “Yeah, I still have it…I put it in the kitchen cupboard. I told you I would do it tonight, so I will!”

“Honey, could you come down and stir this for me? I need to check something really quick,” he yelled. “Sure.” I admit my curiosity got the better of me and once I saw him go upstairs, I looked in the cupboard under the kitchen sink. All I could see were a couple of small moldy boxes that probably had tools in them, dish soap, and rat poison. As I heard him coming down the stairs, I started stirring the concoction until it looked like it was well-stirred.

“Who were you talking to before,” I asked.

“Oh, it was just a friend asking about something at work. Nothing too important.”

“Really?” I replied, “It sounded serious.” He shook his head, “It was nothing.”

He was up to something—too bad I didn’t have telepathy. He was acting odd these days, really secretive. I could hear guilt in his voice, but I couldn’t tell you why. As I washed the dishes he had used to make dinner, he set the table, poured us the soup as I joined him at the table. He smiled and said, “You look beautiful. Go ahead, dig in and tell me how it tastes.”

As I raised the spoon to my mouth to try it, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” he said. I stuck my nose in my soup bowl and found it had a funny stench. So then I took a whiff of the soup in the pot—it was fine. My traitorous mind thought of all the possibilities of why my soup had a strange scent but I couldn’t come up with anything believable. I figured he had put something in the soup as a prank, like he used to when we were younger, so I switched my soup with his. I looked up and saw him staring at me. “It was a just a solicitor,” he said. I gave him a small smile and said, “Let’s eat.” As we sat there, supping soup, I kept looking at him out of the corner of my eye. He caught me staring. “What? Do I have something on my face? Do you like the soup?”

“It’s surprisingly good,” I replied. That night, we fell asleep in each other’s arms. When I woke up, I felt cold. Turning towards him, I smiled, gradually opened my eyes…and screamed.

Sleeping in Class

This is me venting about how I can't stay awake in my Early American Literature class. LOL! I can't even believe I'm putting this up on here but one of my friend's suggested it and that it's really funny. Hope you get a good laugh out of it!

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How can someone so sweet be so boring? Maybe it's the subject--or is it the fact that I'm so sleepy because of work and fasting? I'm writing this for the specific reason of staying awake and not embarassing myself. How can people NOT be sleeping??? She teaches exactly like Paul Hagood!! *Sigh*...I'm so tired.

Oh my GOSH!!! There are so many people annoying me today--especially the one sitting in front of me! He looks like a bum--fat, glasses, scruffy, hairy, gross, and talks like a dumb person. He's one of the biggest crunchers--seriously! I CAN'T STAND HIM!!!! Does he have to eat chips so loudly? Plus the guy behind me started eating something crunchy too. ANNOYING!!!!!!

I'm seriously not even listening to this discussion we're having in the class anymore. Fifteen more minutes left. I wish it would go fast. LOL!!!! The guy in front of me--whenever he laughs---he starts coughing. I bet he's a smoker. When he did that just now I almost laughed out loud. It was THAT funny. Ten minutes---YES!!!

I want to go home and sleep. *Sigh*...I wish I had a cell or something so that I could text Maryam. LOL, I'm even thinking about showing this to her---how sad! The BUM is hack-cackling again. LOL. I'm bored. Not to self-->remember to start writing "My Life As a Kitchen Assistant" as soon as I can. Argh!!! I still have to read so much!!! Especially for both of my art classes. FIVE MINUTES!!!!!! Okay, I'm going to start packing---talk (or maybe write) to myself later. Bye bye! :)

Pakistani Myth Story

I just wrote this in 10 minutes or so on Tuesday (October 4, 2005) for my Early American Literature class. I chose to write a myth about how Pakistani people were born based on the Native American myth that we read in our textbook.

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A single jasmine flower sits in the soil as if it were the queen of the night. It’s sweet smell mixing with the honeysuckle. The wind carries this sweet fragrance of jasmine and honeysuckle, swirling, mixing, until it mixes with the rain—and turns into human skin. A man is born.

The rain floods the river, flowing out onto the land and mixing with the soil. The man looks on to see that the different parts of the soil and mud are forming into an animal with the help of the wind and rain. The cows, sheep, and other farm animals are born.

The soil next to the honeysuckle forms into cats while the one next to the jasmine forms into tigers. All this time, the man is looking on…curious and shocked at the same time. A flash of lightening crosses the sky and turns into a bird, bright and colorful, they soar over the man’s head.

The man tries to talk to the animals but he does not understand them and they do not understand him. He shouts into the sky, “Oh God, creator of everything and anything, will you please make someone who can understand me, and who can trust me as I trust them?”

The rain and lightening recedes. The wind is gone…the sun’s rays shining down upon the man.

The man is confused. He thinks, why would God stop the rain, the lightening—the wind? Did he not hear me?

The man looks out onto the land and finds that the flood is gone and the rivers back where they were. A small pond is the only thing left behind. He finds some bubbles coming out of it. A beautiful woman with hair so dark that it almost looks black. Her brown eyes stare into his and she smiles while he smiles back. He thanks God for the companion and then he takes the woman's palm and walks away with her.

Two Random, Very Short Stories

This was also an assignment for my Intro to Fictional Writing class. We had to write about love in one of the situations but we couldn't say or put the word "love" in there. The other one is about death but we couldn't say anything about that in there.

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It has been many years since my son used to sleep in his crib, play with his soccer ball, or even go to high school. He made me proud. I know at school he used to be called a “Mamma’s Boy,” even though he didn’t tell me that they teased him, but I could tell because he had this certain look on his face that I had come to recognize so often. It was the face that said that he didn’t care and was content on making me happy. After high school, he went off to the army to get an education and to pay for college on his own.

I rarely ever saw him again. Because he was so busy, he was never able to visit for more than a couple of days every two months. War is a terrible thing that separates a mother from their child. My son was there fighting a war (or wars) that I didn’t agree with. I prayed for him. I prayed that he would be happy in whatever he does and where ever he is. I cried many nights because I knew what would happen in the end. I also knew that when it happened, he would be happy about it.

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I wake up to find that it’s a bright, sunny day and no sign of any clouds. The weather fits my mood well. It isn’t too hot nor is it too cold, but a warm feeling tells me that it’s not just the weather making me feel this way. It feels as if there are a million butterflies in my tummy and I feel giddy every time I think of him. I can’t wait to see him again. I’ve known him since we were in diapers. Some people say if you known someone that long, it’s like having another sibling, but I don’t think that’s true at all.

Whenever we talk, he’s always there to listen to me and let’s me pour my heart out. I do the same thing for him. My friends always ask me if I’ve done “it” with him yet and the answer is always the same. We don’t’ have to be physically intimate to satisfy the craving that’s deep within our hearts. Someday, when we get married—we will—but right now we want to enjoy each other by just being with each other. He respects my beliefs and I respect his. We both agree on most things but of course, sometimes that doesn’t happen.

There have been a couple of serious arguments that we’ve had and the day after, we wouldn’t talk to each other. There was one time when we didn’t speak for a whole week. When we apologized and forgave each other, he said that it was so hard being so close, yet so far away from me. I felt the exact same way about him. That’s the day that I was certain that he would never leave me.

Sequel of "Heat"

This is kind of a spin-off/sequel of the short story "Heat" by Joyce Carol Oates that I wrote in my Intro to Fictional Writing class Spring term 2005.

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After I had started dating, my parents would watch me from the doorway of my bedroom every night and I knew their thoughts. I just knew. They were thinking about Rhea and Rhoda and pondering how they could keep me from harm. They didn’t say anything—didn’t even whisper—but I knew from the looks on their faces that they didn’t want me dating anyone. They would do anything to keep me from harm.

I also remind myself of what happened with Rhea and Rhoda. I did marry a man some years ago, but before that, I never let any man touch me in any way. Not even a kiss on the cheek whenever we would come back from our date because they might think that I’m really serious about them and start doing something that I was not ready for.

I saw Rhea and Rhoda at our wedding as well, but I never told anyone because nobody could see them. I would like to think that they came to me that day because I would talk to them in my dreams. They always did tease everyone—including me. When I talked with them in my dreams, they were sweet and told me that they missed being here. The night before the wedding, they told me that they would be there.

My husband knew that I would never let him touch me until long after the wedding, yet he still went through with it. When my father gave me away on our wedding, he whispered something in my ear. He told me everything that he and my mother thought about when they stood in my doorway and looked at me when I was “sleeping.” They knew that I was not sleeping. Don’t ask me how, but they knew. It’s good to know that your parents will always be there for you, at any age and at any time.