Tough As Nails

I've been cutting my kids' nails for 3 years and never cut them too short...until this morning. It was a good run. I've pretty exclusively done the nail-cutting in the household since my first child was born, so I'm very comfortable with it. Maybe too comfortable. While clipping 9 month-old Hudson's baby claws, I accidentally snagged some skin from his index finger. I initially mistook his jerkiness for typical baby resistance to any situation in which I'd like him to be still. But after realizing what happened, I was properly horrified by the sight; he was properly over it within 30 seconds. It's hard enough clipping baby nails, imagine trying to do it after such a mishap destroys the trust it took 9 months of clippings to build. As I lifted each of his tiny fingers thereafter, I felt like each trimming attempt was met by a face that said, "Hey, Edward Nailclipperhands - try not to cut off one of my digits over there. I need all 10." I proceeded with caution, and after a coupla wiggly minutes, I was done. Both of us relieved and worn out, early nap time beckoning. Talk to you guyzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

The Fast and the Failures

I'm going to hold off on the third part of my reflection because I realize that that is something I should be reflecting on towards the end of this week. For now, let’s talk about my failures. Rather, let’s talk about one big failure. An intentional one, I guess. To be clear, I’ve had many others, like the time my food wasn’t finished being cooked before dawn and I just kept right on eating until I was done, bathed in sunlight. Or the time I skipped suhoor for the second straight day (meaning consecutive days of 21 hours of fasting), and I had a little protein before iftar because I’d been working out and because GAINZ.

One of rap's foremost Muslims, brother Freeway. 
If you're of a certain age, when this come on in the club??
What?! I half expect them to play Society at Hilton this year.

I’ve faltered here and there, I accept and expected this. It’s not as easy as some veterans make it seem, and not as hard as some people who’d never try it assume it is. On the flipside (can’t say that word without thinking of the Roc’s reign over hip-hop mid-2000s, specifically them Philly boys), I’ve persevered on days I absolutely thought I would crack. I understand now that I have to go through these trials to determine how to push the boundaries of my discipline. There are challenging variables I didn’t plan for, that I couldn’t plan for, that have nothing to do with hunger and thirst. I’ll know to consider these things next year. I’ve gotten great guidance from Muslims who do this every year, but that advice can only go so far. They don’t know the intricacies of my daily routine. It’s within this routine that I have to mentally manage my way through little landmines of food and negativity.

But yea, let’s get back to my “intentional” failure. See, I like my massages. And I like to be massaged by females. Actually, the best massage I ever had was by a guy in Sri Lanka, and nothing beats those barbershop Indian head massages, but I prefer a woman for a full body experience. And I just recently found out that these are available in various hotels here. So I’ve been scheduling them for the past month. I scheduled one for this past weekend, not really thinking about the haram part (it’s always haram) and how it should count under “no sexual activity.” I mean, I kinda knew, but I didn’t really think about it. I mean, I thought about it, but not in that way. I mean, I did think about it in tha…ok, fine, I knew it was forbidden as all heck, I just wanted my dang massage, ok?! Look, I consider it medicine. There are no endings of happy sort. It’s for my poor muscles. But I can see how it’s not allowed, especially considering I had to wear these:

Supposed to cover your guy unmentionables.
Made of coffee filter material.

Now, I’m used to the little bits of fabric they give you to cover up in certain places. In NY and other places, you just go nude with a towel, but I’ve encountered the weird little underwear before. These were the weirdest.  I wanted to be like, “Excuse me, I don’t need a headband, thanks though.” So small that they could only cover half of…my back, if I wanted to cover all of my…front. And vice versa. So a choice had to be made. You can probably guess what I chose to cover ALL of. And by “ALL,” I mean “just enough to not get arrested for indecent exposure if I have even a fraction of an impure thought.” So yup, this was quite the haram experience for Ramadan. Gotta say though, it was my best massage here so far. Olga was very professional, friendly, and applied just the right pressure. If I was going to have my fast broken on this day by a haram massage, it was as close to worth it as I was going to get. 

One Week Reflection Part 2: Managing Food and Sin

This was my second Ramadan objective:

• No food, water, sex of any kind, swearing, or sinful thoughts from sunrise to sunset

Let's look at this objective, and break it up into its three parts:

1. No food or drink from dawn to sunset
2. No sexual activity of any kind from dawn to sunset
3. No swearing or sinful thoughts, again, from dawn to sunset

Not eating or drinking is something your body can largely get used to. After a few days, I don't really start to feel as hungry in the late afternoon. I'm someone who doesn't really eat a whole lot anyway, and as long as I'm busy, food isn't a major necessity for me. Out of the 15 hours or so I fast each day, I can do 12 pretty easily just off of routine, and the last three off of discipline. Lack of water and the "suhoor struggle" I previously wrote about are my biggest challenges when it comes to eating. There is so much we don't know about nutrition, and the amount of food we need each day. When you fast, you get a good sense of how mental your diet is. You start to realize how often you eat just because you think you should be eating and not because you're hungry. 

Something I struggled with during the first week was coming home earlier than normal from work because of Ramadan hours, and not eating as soon as I got home. Since I get home by 2pm each day now, and the kids are in school until four, me and my wife have the opportunity to breathe for a second, and enjoy ourselves as husband and wife and not mom and dad. Time such as this is usually made more special by being able to have a meal together without the Rugrats running around. These are times we meet up at, or drive over to, one of the restaurants in our neighborhood and enjoy some quality time over some quality food. Half the time, we won't even be hungry when we do something like this. It just seems like food and free time go together, like food and watching a game on television. So we've learned to use that time to figure out something else to do (which doesn't include doing each other, as you'll read more about very soon). Maybe each of us does something task oriented, but within the same space without distractions. Or maybe we just do something we normally we do, just without food. 

I'm also able to recognize the many times I reach in the cabinet for a cookie or two just because I'm upright. Fasting has shown me that I don't have to suffer from that accumulation of all those empty sugary calories. I can be more disciplined than that until it becomes natural, like it used to be for me. I'm getting back in touch with a lot of the habits I acquired during my healthy journey a few years back, and have somewhat moved away from over the years. Fasting has shown me in this way, and in many other ways, that instead of becoming something new, I'm more interested into transforming back to something I was.

The sexual activity thing is not so difficult. I am a teacher and father of a three-year-old and a nine-month-old; while school is in session, I don't have much time for, or willingness to commit to any act that may bring more children into my life. Usually, after sunset is the only time I have for such activities anyway, so this isn't one of the more difficult aspects of the fast. Oh but wait, hold on. Yeah that's right - masturbation is sexual activity. You cannot self-pleasure. You can't even listen to Michael Jackson's "Beat It." That may lead you down a slippery slope. And that connects to the hardest part of the fast to adhere to - no sinful thoughts. I've come to realize that my thoughts are pretty much dominated by sin. Mostly in the form of profane internal outbursts and fleeting thoughts of murderous mayhem driven by road rage, Facebook, and probably the hunger I've boasted about defeating. 

I used to think that most of my sinful thoughts were due to sex, but either I'm purposely avoiding such thoughts so that I don't fail at one of my other objectives, or I'm just a lot more psychopathic than I previously thought. Swearwords and negative thoughts pop in and out of my head faster than I can filter them. And I consider myself to be a generally positive person. I'm probably wrong about that. I've come to realize that the only way I can master this challenge is it by not feeding the environment that breeds these kinds of thoughts. Occasionally, it's as easy as stopping myself and reaching for a better thought, but mostly, what I have to do is recognize that I am in control of, and the cause of the type of environment that feeds negative thoughts one way or another. I am able to see the root cause of my thoughts, and not just attribute them to the top layer of reflection that I normally limit myself to. For example, the aforementioned the road rage. Though I am much much less angry on the road than I used to be, I still have multiple instances of anger on any given morning. (I'm much less relaxed going home of course, because I'm not racing against the clock most of the time, and neither are most other people probably.) A lot of this anger is due to me trying to have as close-to-ideal conditions as possible, to be able to get to work early enough to settle in comfortably. Using a method similar to "The 5 Whys" is a good idea to get to the root of this problem. I come up with three reasons why I have road rage, and I'll focus on one: because I'm trying to get to work on time. Why am I always trying to get to work on time? Because I live far. Why do I live far? Because I value my neighborhood over proximity to the school. So I know that I won't move any closer. Dead end. Let's do some more "why" work. Why don't I have enough time from where I live to be able to get to school without rushing and raging? Because I don't get up early enough. Well no that's not true, I get up very early, I just choose to do certain things during the early hours. Why do I choose to do those things at that time? Because I don't think I can get them done during other parts of the day? Well here's a solution - schedule all of my tasks for a week see if I can get my usual early morning tasks done at some other point in the day, thus leaving me with more time to get out of the house earlier in the morning. This way, I can drive much more relaxed, on an emptier road, and always have time to settle in once I reach work. This is how creating a better internal and external environment can ward off a lot of the negative thoughts which manifests themselves in a very real and hurtful way to my mind, body, and soul.

So as you can see, I'm working on the stuff. Actually, this blog is proof of that. I wrote this after choosing not to do my hour long morning walk this morning and arriving at work a half hour early. Instead of going in to the school building and accumulating the stress of the school day a half-hour early, I sat in my car and banged out this post. Since this is something that's pretty important to me, I would have had this on my mind all day. Now I can go in and focus on the work I need to do. I'll return to this post to do some editing before I publish it, but the meat of my work is done. Progress.

One Week Reflection Part 1: The Dawn of My (Mis)Understanding

As I sit down to write this post at 2pm on Friday, a mere 4 hours away from my goal of fasting for the first week of Ramadan, let's get into some specifics of my fast. The mini-objectives have been as follows:

• Determine the parameters for when I will begin and end my fast each day, as a non-Muslim not following the prayer times
• No food, water, sex of any kind, swearing, or sinful thoughts from sunrise to sunset
• Praying or meditating at least 3 times a day

Let's reflect on the first objective:

I figured it would be easy to just look up the sunrise and sunset times each day and go from there. But at the time, I didn't know about Suhoor, only Iftar. There isn't really much conflicting information about when the fast ends. It's basically from the beginning of twilight (which has always been my favorite time of day.) Beginning the fast is a little trickier. Even though I'm not a Muslim, it's helpful, sensible, and respectful for me to use their guidelines as a reference when deciding what my fast will be like. Although I was able to easily find out when the pre-dawn meal time was, I haven't been able to nail down when I must stop eating. Apparently, many others have this issue, as terms like "suhoor before or after fajr," "confused regarding the time to stop eating sujoor," and "when does suhoor end?" are very popular with Google.

Trying to figure this out is incredibly frustrating. It seems like it should be as simple as stopping all eating/drinking a few minutes before fajr, or dawn prayer. But here in Qatar, fajr times are nowhere near dawn. Well, that's not true. It's at the very beginning of dawn, astronomical dawn when it's still very dark. Confusing. In which case, when should I wake up to eat? Then there are calendars that have suhoor and fajr at the exact same time. Remember when I said the calendars were all cool and useful and whatnot? Yea, I rescind that statement to an extent. Most are conflicting. The amount of astronomy involved is incredible. I think people just follow the traditions they have had in their families for generations. After hours upon hours of reading, and learning some basic astronomy, this is how I will approach it in my second week, which is much different than I did my first week:

During Ramadan, you aren't fasting from sunrise to sunset, as I originally thought. But you can, I guess. It just wouldn't be Ramadan. You are fasting from dawn to sunset. This gets tricky depending on your location on the globe. What I will do is try to fast from CIVIL dawn to sunset, or more specifically, civil twilight (and this site is super helpful to me). My suhoor window will be from the local suhoor timings to the local dawn timings. Civil dawn, not astronomical dawn because I find that to be more...civil. This still helps me to feel empathy for what my colleagues and friends go through, while leaving me some breathing room to reconcile my understanding of it all. This means that I will allow an eating window of roughly 3:10-4:15am, instead of 3:10-4:40am as I was doing previously. It's not as expansive as the fajr to maghrib fast which starts at about 3:10, but then again, I may end up basically doing that anyway since the last two days I've just been having water in the morning. This works for me. And to those who've accused me of "cheating," it wasn't on purpose! Great Islamic scholars disagree about the interpretations stuff (though admittedly, none said you can eat until sunrise haha), I can be forgiven for getting it wrong on my first try :)

Day 6!

Day 6!

Early morning 3 mile walk :)

N.I.C.E.

Much appreciated compliments from co-workers.

Cynicism seems like the way of the world these days. It could never be my way. Though I often lean towards being cynical, as defined in some ways, I am not "distrustful of human sincerity and integrity." If I was, I wouldn't trust myself. Even though I feel like I'm often in an environment filled with people who have embraced cynicism, I also believe that they have all the potential in the world to let that go. As far as myself, I like being a nice person. I'm a truly nice guy, always have been. And I usually finish first. I wrote these bars as some advice I'd give to my younger self:

"Nice guys don't finish last/
That's what weak guys say, who are not in your class/
You're a king, you're NOT a king, you're a king's advisor/
You're NOT A KING, you're WISER, you're A LEADER, A FIGHTER/
a BREATHER OF FIRE..."

A nice guy who finishes last is probably not nice enough to himself. Being kind begins with being kind to yourself. Allowing yourself the space to succeed. Putting yourself first so that you can enough for everyone else. Building up your internal strength so that your can manifest if externally.

Things like that.

Being nice is way tougher than being mean. It's easy to embrace your anger and negativity! It's hard to remain true to the gentleman inside in a world that seems to respect un-directed aggression. A real nice guy isn't weak though. A real nice guy is MLK teaching people to master their anger until laws were changed through that power. A real nice guy is Malcolm becoming so powerful after discovering the love of diversity that he became a threat to everyone, even his so-called people. Real niceness is dangerous in how disciplined it is. 

True niceness is fair and consistent, something most people aren't, which is why I get told and treated like I'm intimidating way more than a person who is always polite should be. This doesn't mean anger is without its place. Anger is necessary and powerful. I subscribe to the school of thought I once saw a sitcom dad share with his son who was fighting in school: "Don't waste your anger, it's too valuable!" You think some of the greatest nice guys in history weren't angry? Of course they were. Fire-breathing nice guys who knew how to use that energy to make others angry about important things. As a country, we still get angrier debating about our sports teams than debating about the state of our republic. The woman or man who can best spread their anger, and get the masses to take up the cause of it, often is in charge of change. This is true in the arts, politics, and the streets. Don't sleep on anger. Niceness and anger are fraternal twins.

True niceness is misidentified and misrepresented. I've heard Greg Popovich is one of the nicest guys when you get to know him and I can totally believe it when I actually listen to what he's saying. Niceness isn't about making you comfortable. It's about being in mastery of your negativity. Mastery of your negativity is some powerful stuff. A "face" in wrestling, a good face, is nice and powerful. He wins in the end by consistently keeping to his values and literally fighting for them. Fans don't like characters that come across as fake nice (John Cena) or weak nice (Roman Reigns), whether the guys playing the characters are like that or not. Sometimes, the fans realize they were wrong because you learn about people through experience (John Cena and Roman Reigns, again). I've had people totally disregard my presence when mistaking my niceness for weakness, until they got to experience me over a period of time and realize my power and intention. 

This doesn't mean everyone who is fair and consistent, and doesn't give in to their anger, is a nice guy. Batman is as fair and consistent as they come, but he isn't nice. He's a(n something that rhymes with grasshole). His discipline and code is a vice. Now Superman IS nice, but we don't like him as much as we like Bats, do we? Because Supes' niceness isn't human enough. We can relate to Bats, even though he's a billionaire. He lives out the ultimate "nice guy's revenge." Except nice guys shouldn't seek revenge. Revenge isn't justice. Batman should be in the Revenge League, not the Justice League. Either way, being nice still means being human, and flawed. 

Being nice has gotten me everything, and I don't think I could've been as successful if I wasn't. It's because I've harnessed a strong optimism, based on tried-and true-methods of dealing with people and attacking my goals. No mean person could put up the fight I have all of these years. I want you to remember that NICE should never, ever mean WEAK. N.I.C.E means "Never Internalize a Cynical Existence."

Skipping Suhoor: My Rookie Ramadan Mistake

"You're not yourself during Ramadan."

A bit of terminology before I get into this:

Suhoor – the meal you have before dawn, and before the fajr prayer, which is the prayer between the beginning of dawn and sunrise. Basically, the last meal of the night, which should end as soon as you see any remnants of the white sky of the morning (“the white thread of dawn appears distinct to the black thread of night,”according to the Qur’an.) This meal is a blessing which enables you to stay strong throughout the fasted hours. You should wake up for it, because if you don’t, you won’t be eating until the sun goes down. That’s a long time. You can probably guess where this blog is headed.

Iftar – the evening meal when Muslims end their daily Ramadan fast at sunset, often as a community of family and/or friends. (I’ve done a lot of reading, and I’m still not completely sure about Iftar’s relationship to the magrib prayer, and either’s relationship to what is technically considered “sunset.” This isn’t necessary to know, but I like to understand these things.) No one will ever have to tell you to make sure you eat at this time. You’ll be crazy hungry, and proud for making it through another day. Give thanks.

Now you tell me *face palm*

Ramadan started here on Friday night. Meaning, the fast was on, and my last meal not in the state of fasting was around 6:30pm Friday evening. If I was to get through my first day of fasting on Saturday, I'd need to do my first Suhoor, which is the meal you have before sunrise to help you fast until sunset. But instead, I slept Saturday morning, which is a common rookie mistake, an arrogant one for me. (Actually, I've heard Muslims say they have lots of trouble managing Suhoor, so I'm not too hard on myself.) "I like to get up very early anyway!" Ego said. "We'll see about that," replied Humility.

Since I was committed to the fast, this meant I had to go from 6:30pm Friday until sunset on Saturday, which was 6:19 pm the next day in Qatar. Nearly 24 hours. This was not pleasant. Headaches, children, and hunger. It's a genius way to get closer to God really, because you feel like you're dying. I successful avoided this on subsequent days, knowing that the extra hour or two of sleep was not worth the suffering I'd go through all day on an empty stomach.

After doing lots of reading, I'm realizing that fasting start and end times aren't agreed upon depending on a host of factors I'm not going to go into. There are all types of cool clocks and calendars that pinpoint the exact time you do Suhoor, Iftar, and the daily prayers in various cities around the globe. These timings are VERY helpful. But MY fast starts at the sunrise and sunset times here in Qatar. I allow myself to eat from the Suhoor timing until the sunrise timing each day. I'm not a Muslim, and I don't follow the prayer schedule. I think fasting must be accompanied by an awareness/mindfulness practice of some sort, so I do pray and meditate in my own way. 



My breakfast has normally consisted of eggs, turkey bacon, waffles or bread, fruit, and a shake (protein, chocolate soy milk, banana, peanut butter). This gives me energy that lasts throughout the whole morning. Afterwards, depending on the needs of the household (i.e. if the kids are up), I take a long walk in the early sun, which is quite glorious. When this isn't possible, I'll just do a short yoga session, or a quick mobility exercise. As I near the end of the week, I'm thinking of extending my fast beyond the plan one week, because I really think I can find a balance in my routine. I think I'll shoot for two weeks now.

Ramadan Kareem My People!

So, I haven't written in this blog in 3 years! Wowww. Qatar is a VASTLY different (and IMO, better) place than it was when I was blogging here regularly. My life and I are also VASTLY different from 2014. Take a look through to see what I USED to go through, then stick around to see what'll happen next, and maybe get filled in about whatever the heck was happening from 2015-2017!

As for right now, this is the blog that’ll probably guarantee my detainment at JFK this summer (or whenever I next decide to go back home). Kidding, not kidding. I don’t say that because I plan to write anything that should offend American sensibilities, but more so because I probably achieve that just by 1) living in a Muslim country, 2) having a unique and somewhat dissenting view of what I perceive is the general Western opinion about Islam, and 3) now deciding to practice a major Islamic tradition for a short period of time.

I can only assume that in the eyes of an American public that chose to be led for the next four years by a robber baron instead of a (deeply flawed, but) very qualified and capable politician pretty much because she was a woman (yea it is that simple), I’m probably a disgruntled black man they’ve chosen to have on a terror watch, a threat to convert. 

I’d just like to give advance notice to TSA and the watchers who give their orders, that the only thing I’d ever be a threat to covert to is a routine of yoga and Pilates from weightlifting and calisthenics. Carrying the weight of being a very real person seems to not agree with my joint and tendons.

This blog will simply be about my experience with practicing Ramadan for the first time in my nearly five years living in Qatar. For those who aren’t familiar, Ramadan, one of the five pillars of Islam, is a time when Muslims purify the mind, body, and soul through an intense regimen of fasting and praying from sunrise to sunset, in an effort to be closer to God, empathize with those who are less fortunate, and discipline themselves to reach a more fulfilling state of spiritual existence.

Ok, so there's conflicting info out there
about just HOW strict you should be (no MUSIC??).

“Why would a non-Muslim choose to do such a thing?” you might ask. "It sounds hard." And it is hard. I see what my Muslim colleagues go through during the holy month. Fatigue. Hunger. Irritation. More fatigue, more hunger, more irritation. The reason I'm choosing to do this is right now, I’m going through some things, internally, that I can’t seem to affect by any means I’m already familiar with. Maybe I’ll delve deeper into this during the month, but I’ll reveal up front that family, finances, work, and health are in order, so no worries there. The fact that I still feel like I need major work should reveal more. 

Multiple times in my past, I’ve undertaken some sort of fasting routine when I was in need of evolution, so the opportunity to attempt this type of cleansing, with everyone and everything around me also in that mode, is very appealing to me. My environment has rarely been so complimentary to my personal need, and it’s up to me to really take advantage. My goal is to do a strict week – no food, drink, or sexual activity from sunrise to sunset - and then take it from there. Baby steps. But strict baby steps. Let’s commence.

Mighty Healthy

Experiences with the universal health care system have been hot and cold. Last year, the wife had a virus that went undiagnosed for a dangerously long time, to the point that she felt like she couldn't find out what was wrong if she remained here. Further aggravating her situation were the cultural barriers, me not being able to accompany her to certain parts of the hospital, or her having long wait times because, apparently, she wasn't a V.I.P. But at least there is the option of going to another state-run hospital for free or nearly free service before deciding to take an expensive flight home to have a very expensive uninsured doctors visit. One just has to anticipate semi-crowded facilities (depending on day/time of day) and appointments that may be far in the future. Though the hospitals are calm and clean, and there seems to be an initiative to improve customer service (Hamad, the central hospital, now has people in "Can I help you?" shirts floating around), one may still seek service at a private hospital to either have a more familiar experience (i.e. husbands allowed in all facilities) or to be seen sooner. However, we've had long wait times and crowded facilities at private hospitals and easy, comfortable experiences at public hospitals, so by no means is any of this a general guide to health services in Doha. These are just some of our experiences. 

Your health is one of the hardest things to trust someone else to take care of, but it's an area that, even though we should be more intuitive about, the average person seems to know very little of. So you can imagine how nerve-wracking it can be to seek care in an Arab country when you're from New York. In my opinion, the health care system is quite good here. We've had a baby and survived a major health scare, and although the system isn't without it's glaring flaws, I can't see how the average person who has to put up with the (to put it nicely) convoluted system back home, wouldn't prefer it. 

Still, the difficulties can turn your day, and smile, upside down pretty quickly. Sometimes it's neither your fault, nor the system's. When my wife was going through her health scare, eventually she received a diagnosis, but it was after so long, and seemed so unhelpful, that it was hard to trust. It took so long because they were eliminating all possibilities since it was hard to figure out. This isn't a typical experience for us, and it was just pretty scary. The doctors were doing their jobs, but language barriers and rude customer service made it all harder to deal with. The good thing was having the option to try another place. The Cuban Hospital is 45 minutes across the desert, but that wasn't far to go to have a completely different experience. Being from New York, the Latin influence of the hospital was very welcoming. But the diagnosis was the same. It's just that the comfort level made a difference concerning how much trust we put into each set of professionals.

That's not the whole hospital, trust me.

Then there are the times when we are caught up in a system that is still in the process of updating and modernizing. Since the building of capable facilities can't keep up with population growth, which is the fastest on the planet, clinics are backing up in the city, and residents are being sent to be treated on the outskirts. After recently discovering what our assigned clinic is, we went there to get shots for the baby. But we were told that appointments were full and we'd have to take Sage to a hospital in a municipality we weren't familiar with, a good ways from home. This is the map and instructions we were given:

I wish I was making this up.

Right, they're gonna have to do better than this. They might as well have given us this map:

"Keep going past Africa, stop before you get to Iran. Can't miss it."

This is a city that is still being mapped, and GPS can't get you to a lot of places. Getting lost is the best way to find your way around. It's a very small city and all roads lead back to the city centre so there's never much need to worry. Even still, I'd much rather go to a hospital across town than one across the desert. But beggars can't be choosers and the sick must often be highly accommodating. All in all, as long as the apple a day we get for being teachers offsets the germs we're exposed to by...being teachers, we shouldn't have to become too cozy with any of the medical facilities. ¡Salud! 

Do(g)ha

As I approached the house I tutor at today, I heard the barking of what sounded like a large dog, which is unusual because dogs are rarely kept as pets in Muslim households for cultural reasons. My hope was that the dog was actually in the yard next door because the house I tutor at is pretty lawless and not the place you'd want to see a large dog with free reign. 

Also, no house is a place I'd like to see a large dog with free reign. 

To my dismay, and fear, more fear than dismay, the dog belonged to them, and I was rerouted from my normal path as I walked through the entrance gate, but not rerouted enough to feel safe. 

My student told me that the dog was returned to them after being stolen, possibly sold back to them by the person who stole it. Yea I know that sounds pretty weird but that was my best guess through the language barrier, which is more problematic at certain times than others. He also told me that the dog hadn't eaten since being taken, which is hard to believe because the dog was gone for well over a month, possibly multiple months, but not THAT hard to believe as I watched the dog ravenously chew on a piece of meat I hoped it would continue to focus on as I slid past it. 

Because of the alleged time that elapsed since the dog's last meal, I was told during our session that I had to avoid it because if not, it would probably jump on my back and kill me by attacking my neck. 

That's not something I'd want to happen. 

I'd want that to not happen to me.

And because I'd want that to not happen to me, I tutored with one eye and ear towards the door, just in case the dog made it inside the room and I had to make a split-second decision that involved one of us being fed to the dog, and me escaping as that happened. Thankfully, no one was eaten, polygons were studied, and the dog wasn't outside when I exited an hour later. Because you KNOW that was the final obstacle that ran through my head as the session wound down. Hopefully, the dog isn't stolen again, but if so, I hope the thief feeds it this time.

The threat of unexpected violence, or being hurt, isn't without purpose in everyday life. 

Such a threat had to have compelled our ancestors to build shelters that protected them from animals or each other. In many cases, the threat of harm makes sure people act a little better than they would like to, as in the concept of MAD (no, not a buncha angry people - MUTUALLY ASSURED DESTRUCTION). And of course, there's the most relatable example, childhood, which most of us would've never escaped alive without the constant possible repercussion of having our "head gon' upside of." ("Go upside your head" is blackparentese for physical discipline.) 

I don't condone violence, but living in Qatar proves to me that at the very least, people have to feel like they MIGHT suffer physical repercussions for the nonsense they wish to inflict on others. Because the level of passive-aggression, mostly but not exclusively, expressed through car culture is nearly intolerable. 

Knowing that most people, especially ex-pats, won't respond with violence when someone tries to blind you with their lights, cut in front of you on line or speaks to you like you're beneath them, predictably makes the people here behave very boldly. I've found that a little threat of menace goes a long way - crowding the space of someone I feel is being rude to me, leaning far forward on the desk of someone who's providing me customer service, giving a hip/elbow/shoulder bump to someone who wants to stand in my way, glaring at people or way longer than they've ever been glared at, pulling out my phone and taking video of people who do stupid things, etc. This is me losing it on Instagram lol:

"This is how it sometimes is with herbs out here. (Yes I called him a herb like its NY in 1993.) Flashes me with his high beams over and over, then changes lanes so he can speed around and then in front of me like a jerk, only to end up parallel to me at the light. So I slowed down to see what's on this punk's mind. He gets a look at my face and things change. He won't move up behind the car in front of him and keeps a huge space just so he doesn't have to be right on the side of me. Because he's scared I'm going to say or do something. What a vagina. In these parts, my car tells him that I'm probably an indentured laborer, and guys in his type of car think that they can treat guys who usually drive my type of car any way they want to. It's always interesting to see how things change up once my window goes down and they see a dude like me driving and hear some French Montana coming at them. All of that luxury SUV-gangsta somehow disappears."

This isn't the better version of me, I know. And this isn't my complete existence here. My experience here has been way more good than bad, but this post comes from a place of frustration. I've been better, I am better, I will be better. For the most part. Deportation isn't on my to-do list. But it it happens, well...I may have given you a heads up haha.

Power vs Influence?

The lasting effects of British colonization is crazy. Makes me reflect on a conversation I had with Malcolm. America might be the world's sole superpower by definition, but British culture is ingrained in more societies than America could ever dream of.

It's crazy how in all of my travels I see countries valuing the British way as the correct and best way to do things. I made a similar observation years back regarding Caribbeans I knew in America who'd always talk about their superior British education and other non-indigenous aspects of the culture (I understand this ideology more now; at the time I was just annoyed). But when you travel, particularly in the east, you really feel the extent to which Britain has a stranglehold on societies in seemingly half the world. This seems to be done mostly, and most effectively, through compulsory education.

America still gets love and American practices are still valued, but my impression travelling abroad is that the British way is the established, proper way and the American way is the exciting, trendy way. I guess this makes perfect sense considering America is Britain's younger, roided-up, rebellious younger sibling.

This is how it feels to me:

A foreigner is inviting Britain and America to his home. He sees Britain, politely smiles, looks around to makes sure everything is acceptable, gets on his best behavior, says "Welcome. I hope you like my home. I'm honored you've come to visit; I have so much respect for your country. May I offer you a beverage?" He sees the American, he smiles big, assumes a relaxed posture, tells him what kinda alcohol he has and says, "How are you? Good to see you! I love you crazy Americans; you guys are so much fun with your electing black presidents and giving important music awards to Macklemore - it's great!"

MRI, PTC, BL.A.M.s (The Week In Letters)

Last week was a bit crazy, in a good way. It provided the kind of stimulation I’ve been so used to the past few years, minus much of the stress that made me leave New York. A routine haircut become something a bit more as I sat in the barber’s chair and saw something odd reflected in the mirror (I was about to write “through the mirror,” but for the first time, I realized how incorrect and creepy that sounds).

This is what my family imagines
my barbershop looking like, I bet

Anytime a black dude comes into the barbershop I take notice, for obvious reasons. But this time was different – this guy had the markings of a blamerican (read back through the blog to my post on black American males to understand what those markings are, and how a bl.a.m. is distinguishable from an African). Once I heard him speak on his cell I was 99% sure that dude was American. Not wanting to let the opportunity to let him know that there are more of us here pass by (I know, it sounds like I’m making this out to be an alien planet, but sometimes that’s what it feels like), I decided I’d holla at him. Only, my barber then decided to do a long, drawn-out manscaping of my chin and ‘stace area, which is of course, ironic because I barely have facial hair. This made it uncomfortable to speak so I just waited until he was finished. The dude ended up sitting in the chair next to me, and at the first chance I got I said “You from the States?” He replied in a kind of disinterested, curt manner, which only let me know for sure that I was talking to a brother from America. “Yea” he said, not really looking up from his phone. That was exciting news to me – finally I can say I met my first confirmed black American male in Qatar after living here for 17 months. I asked him what part, and then we exchanged some info about each other before settling into convo about (what else?) sports. 7,000 miles from home and barbershop talk is still the same, I guess. He’s working at a military base. We exchanged cell numbers, ‘cause like he said, “You never know” (interesting what just a few words can mean when you’re talking to someone who speaks your language - "You never know" as in "You never know when having another black person's contact will work out for you somehow, some way, some day"). The barbers, mostly Sri Lankan as far as I can tell, seemed pretty interested in this impromptu bl.a.m. meeting. I was grateful to have a cool convo with a cool cat from back home (even if Florida is nowhere near NY, it’s damn near in the neighborhood compared to Qatar), and maybe we’ll chill someday.

I got my life-hack on and made one of these because transporting my dock to the bathroom to hear my iPod is a hassle (y'all don't even know the struggle of needing an adapter for half of your electronics). 

I also made it because it looked fun, easy and I got a crapload (ha, get it? "crapload?") of tissue rolls laying around.

Another first was me attending parent teacher conference for the first time since 2008 as something other than a teacher (well, and a big brother). The child I tutor hasn’t been doing so hot (thus, the need for me), so I attended his conference to see what kind of support he needs.

 It was your typical conference, if not a bit tangential as the dad decided to tell us about the pressures of building a new house (dad is mad cool though), but the best part was going back and talking to my old colleagues. That kind of thing is always a lot more fun when you’re not in the trenches stressed out with them. I was asked if I’m thinking of coming back, and that answer is the same as it always was – no, because it’s not the right fit for me. However, there’s another opportunity that’s arisen, an opportunity that would take up the next coupla paragraphs…if only I could talk about it at this time. Sorry to be so secretive, but at the moment I have way too much incentive to NOT talk about it, even though I really really want to.

So I took an MRI on my shoulder, which is something I should have done 20 years ago. It was my first MRI – why didn’t anyone tell me what an MRI was like?? Sonuvagun, that thing was not pleasant. I mean, I didn’t expect it to feel like a massage, and it wasn’t painful. But I think I’d almost prefer pain to the boredom of lying very still inside of an empty toothpaste tube for 30 minutes, with only elevator music in headphones to keep me entertained. I wanted to be like, "I'd like the option that doesn't make me feel like I'm being euthanized." It was all to the good though, even with that 30 minutes feeling like 30 hours. (I did find myself freestyling over the sounds of the scanner. Nothing else to do in there besides trying not to pop off boners here and there.) I’m one step closer to getting this shoulder repaired, at which point I will be the bionic, supersonic, ironic, ionic, iconic, slightly moronic StarPower. The Indian technician walked up to me and started a conversation about Barack Obama, which happens about as much as you’d expect. He said that he’d like Barry to take a crack at India in 2 years, and I was like, “Barack is having a devil of a time with 300 million people; 1.3 billion people trying to figure out Obamacare might be slightly problematic.” 

I’m talking about Obamacare like I know ANYTHING about how it works. Social networking provides the bulk of my “what’s going on back home” info, the delivery of which can be anything from surprisingly sophisticated to hilariously inept. Kinda like me.

I had my first conference call for my health coaching program, and it was nice and painless. I’m horrible over the phone but having 6 people to share the load made things much easier. I set a goal this week of incorporating a new, unfamiliar green into my diet and using a new recipe. I’ve been a rock star in the kitchen lately, if I may say so myself (and I do), and although the food will humble you, I’m anxious to see what I can do with these leeks I bought. My health coaching class has affected my life positively thus far, particularly in the way of what we call “primary foods,” things like spirituality, relationships, joy, finances, creativity and social life. It’s made me really focus on becoming balanced in all areas of my life. Living here has provided me the understated luxury of peace. I’ve been able to become more grounded and strip away ego in places I didn’t think I had any. But it’s also enabled me to accept that I’m exceptional and start to not shrink from the brightness I give off.

We’re going to Oman this week, because the lady has a conference. This will be the 7th country we’ve visited in the 17 months we’ve been here, which is dope. Honestly, I don’t reaaally feel like going (plus we’re taking separate planes, grrr), but I know that I’ll be excited once we arrive. My next blog post’ll probably happen sometime around then, but if something fresh happens beforehand, then I’ll jump right back in. Otherwise, y’all be cool like how y’all be cool, and if you feel the blog, share it with your human friends. Peace.

Qatari Aggression, Repression and Expression

All of the students know my wife since she is pretty much in each class every week supporting and guiding the teachers. So my tutoring kids get tickled when I call "Ms. Selina" and ask a question about their instruction during a session. It's like I can see them thinking, "You be holdin it down Mr. Roderick, but I see you gotta check in with the big dog." 

And I want to be like, "Word but I'm hittin' that though."

I'm sorry Qatar, but the representatives of your country that I usually come into contact with compel me to stereotype your people as extremely entitled, rude, and shockingly self-absorbed. I see so many examples of this each day that it could strictly be the theme of this blog if I wanted it to be. But Qatar is more than that, and there is no need to dedicate my blog to your ugly side. But...This lady honked me very loudly today after I had to slow down in the fast lane because the car in front of me suddenly put on hazards, had to change speed and switch lanes. Meaning I also had to change speed or hit the car from behind. Me being annoyed with the way she honked at me, not caring WHY I had to slow down (it was obvious even from her POV), I threw my hand up at her a couple of times. Nothing profane, just a few flicks of the forearm to show my displeasure. Maybe she took it as an aggressive gesture (I know, I know, different cultural norms and body language and yada yada), because she then proceeded to drive up very closely on me, deliberately get in front of me even though she didn't need to be in that lane, and press her breaks a few times as to mess up my driving rhythm. I simply decided to let her wear herself out since I wasn't in a rush, and that happened pretty quickly. They seem to express all of their emotions through their cars in this repressed-ass country. 

Later on as I drove out of the mall parking lot, two Qatari males walked right into my driving path and looked at me as if daring me to keep driving. I stared them down, drove very close to them and honked as I passed. This is the kind of behavior I often see Qatari males engage in as their way of showing some sort of dominance. I get it, I'm getting used to it, but I'm from a different culture and I probably won't fully adapt. One step out of my car and things change very quickly. But the society here is built on the person in my position not getting out of the car. I'm usually the wild card though, because my music and dress often reveal that when confronted with me they are dealing with an element they aren't used to. Usually I let them rock because we meet in a fleeting moment that doesn't have to become more than that, or they back down after realizing I'm not an underclass worker scared to engage them. One day though, this will all come to a head, and I hope I remain cool. Knowing that any confrontation between me and a Qatari will undoubtedly lead to the Qatari's story being believed over mine, I assure you that if I'm in line for a flogging, the other party would have told their version of events through a feng shui-ed face.

I'm pretty sure that black Qatari women are intrigued by me. Maybe I'm looking too much into it, but there have been multiple instances in which black Qatari women have done enough to at least make me feel nervous about being on the other end of their attentions. First there were the women who very clearly flirted with me, surprised to see a brother like me in their office, smiling, joking and asking me personal questions while they processed my drivers license pictures. (You'd be right to assume Ms. Selina wasn't into it.) Then there was the lady who took my paid parking ticket as I drove out of the mall, all the while not taking her eyes off of me and giving me an enthusiastic "You too" after I told her to enjoy her evening. (I know this doesn't read like much, but understand that this is a Muslim country, liberal by their standards, but way conservative by western standards, and interactions like this are not the norm. At all. Especially with a black dude.) And today we had the two women in the Benz who wouldn't break their stares and seemed to purposely drive alongside me while I knocked my music loudly, arm hanging out of the window. I mean, yeah, OF COURSE I'm full of myself. We all know this. But that doesn't mean I'm wrong about this. I just think black Qatari women (and let's be honest, probably the others as well) think I'm the ish. Nothing disrespectful or anything, just the expression of recognizing "top flight" when they see it, haha. 

Y'all be cool like how y'all be cool, and share the blog if ya dig it. Peace.

My student brought home very low scores on his report card today. Not just in the subjects I teach, but in Arabic, Islamic and Qatar History as well. I assume this means that his parents understand that he has bad habits in general, and he's not just sucking in the subjects I tutor him in. But assumptions are often useless. It's hard to explain to his parents that his struggles are due to a collection of bad habits acquired over a long period of time, and that there is no progress for him unless this changes. There is an interesting dichotomy within the culture. They baby the kids and give them free reign to do what they want (like sit in the front seat w/o a seatbelt or run wild in the restaurant), but they expect that their kids learn everything if they are taught everything. There isn't much room for understanding a child's particular needs, and what must specifically be done to meet them. In defense of the parents, the schools don't do a good job of this either. My intervention more than anything, is supposed to lead to direct improvement, and improvement strictly means "better grades." This is the pressure-filled downside of tutoring for a living...

The Qatar Open concluded recently. Rafael Nadal won. I lost, because I missed it for the second straight year. This year I was out of town, last years was just sleeping. Grrr. Plan on catching it next year. Hopefully Serena plays. She didn't like how empty the stadium was last year. Somebody tell her I'm coming next year and I'm bringing the hood.

I got some beats from the boyfriend of a teacher here that I know. I'm expecting them to be good. If so, I already know my rhymes are good, and some good music can go down out here, finally.

They're out here interviewing for the position that I told them they needed, that I would've stayed at the school to do (for no more money than they were paying me), that I'm the most qualified to do, and that they told me they didn't need and weren't creating.

-_-

I know that leaving the school was the first step to me doing something much better in my life, something I really NEED to do, but it still stings, I can't front. I feel lied to and unappreciated. Still, I know that it's not important to focus on what I perceive was "done to me." They had their plans, I had mine, and God is laughing at all of it. 

And I tend to be alright when it's all said and done. And I'm well into a much more lucrative next move, so, you know.

Weather is nice and cool hear, my wife says a cold front is coming through, 40 Fahrenheit at night-type of stuff. Beats that 4 degrees back in New York that I narrowly escaped.

What if you measured yourself by how well you kept your New Years resolutions?

Reading w/my godson was fun and tiring practice.

My wife is a superheroine - HNIC at work, planned this amazing 3 country holiday, doesn't sleep well and still gives me love that helps me be a confident king among kings. She's fragile though, bc she's exquisitely designed. And I have to take great care of her. Better care.

In about 4 months, my body will be a machine again for the first time since about a year and a half ago.

I'm gonna have some difficult conversations when I return to Doha.

I had one in America. 

I lost all ties to New York as home this holiday, although it remains my favorite place and I want to return under circumstances I haven't figured out yet. 

2013 was my unsexiest year in a long time. I got my sexy back over the last week or so. It was fun. Gonna shed it during the plane ride and acquire a new element over 2014.

I lied - I DO have the answers. All of them. That's what makes me StarPo. I gotta stop acting like I don't so that I can shirk responsibility.

I'm getting my shoulders fixed this year, possibly braces as well. At which point, I'll be bionic.

I don't even wanna imagine what a me at peak health, with a parent's perspective and 2 consecutive years of clarity will be like. 

I do fear that moment though, when The Comedian is gunning down his pregnant mistress and I'm so detached that I don't turn the gun into goddamn snowflakes. Bc my disenchantment with people is becoming detachment.

There will be new gold chains and tattoos on me, more likely in '15.

No idea is original, but that just speaks to IDEAS. There are still many things that haven't gone from idea to conception. I may find my ideal medium this year. The art I have inside of me is too powerful to keep locked in there, only to be glimpsed on the occasional rap song.

I'm intimidated by the challenge of starting my own business. And that intimidation, a rare emotion for me, is the stimulation that is driving me.

Looking forward to "Adventure Time" on my couch. 

Unpacking sucks everything.

'Everybody changes. As long as you change for the better, I don't see how anybody can be mad atcha.'

More deep breaths, don't let the illusion of time distort your efforts, small and big. You know the phrase "Take your time?" Yes. YOUR time. Let's learn to control it better. We can make 2014 feel like 30 days or 30 months, depending on what we need out of it. 

All articles with plans for Knicks improvement make no sense if they don't involve a change in ownership, or how ownership thinks. It's about CULTURE, not PERSONNEL, sheesh. That's probably my biggest professional lesson of 2013.

Happy New Year folks.

Oh, and AGAIN, you owe almost no one your energy, it's not your fault that someone is dumb, save room for you, physically turn and stop engaging people at the point that they start to drain you, no relationship (besides child/spouse) obligates you to put up with ANY nonsense, a straight line is the shortest distance between 2 points so be as direct as possible, the more you are the real you, the more you'll see who else is real and that number of people will be 99% fewer than any number you can imagine, as well as shocking and hard to handle when you initially see who no longer should be in your life, YOU determine what LOVE and POSITIVITY looks/feels like, don't be pressured to accept some meme-ified idea of it. If I die this year, I would have lived enough for a book that rivals the greatest biographies, but the stuff I don't have the courage to share is much more vast, and has the deeper lessons. We mirror the universe, and the universe consists of a majority dark matter. Is it a black man thing to wonder if this will be your final year, even though you're in good health, young and stable?

Ok, that's that. Enjoy your day.

Flashin'...Lights

So they have something here never I've seen before. It's a traffic light that pretty much means "everybody can go." As in, from all directions, all at the same damn time. It's a flashing yellow, something I wasn't familiar with before moving to Doha. There's green, which of course means go, red, which should mean stop and this flashing yellow thing which apparently means "you crazy kids get in there and mix it the fuck up." This light only exists at the roundabouts, which is better than the intersections, I guess. You can just imagine the free-for-all induced by this.  With an impatient "me-first" culture, more cars on the road then necessary, and the horrendous driving that is so common here, the flashing yellow, which was probably meant to be a courteous agreement between drivers when the country was a bit more quaint, now seems like an experiment in "let's confuse, anger and injure the ex-pat." The best strategy when approaching the flashing yellow? Fearlessness. Don't hesitate or overthink, just do as the Rom.., er, I mean the Qataris do, and eat that light the hell up. If you come out of the roundabout with you and your car intact, you've done a good job. Go have a sheesha and relax your nerves.

"Let It Rock" - How And When I Get Zen On That @ss

So, let me please share this with you. How my experience as a black male here is intertwined with aspects of my health journey. Health, right, is not just food, exercise, doctor visits, skin care, etc. It's also the relationships, time management, spiritual practices and such.

So, I notice that I never know how I'm going to be treated when it comes to customer service in the increasingly elitist Arab country I live in. I often see the person providing it (more often than not a Filipino, but sometimes African, south/southeast Asian or Arab) fall over themselves in submission to the white or Arab before me, then treat me with anything from curt indifference to terse politeness. Reasons can be many but this isn't about that. As a health practitioner, I look to stay in balance in all aspects of my life, so aside from eating and working out, I have to apply varying degrees of effort in dealing with social interactions. Unfortunately, as a black man, I have to expend much greater energy, than say, a white mom, when it comes to my everyday interactions. I may have to ask for service when they don't. I may have to hold back my anger or frustration and do something else with it so it doesn't become self-harming where a white man wouldn't have to ever worry about that. I may have to do more convincing and proving when explaining why I'm a good fit to tutor a kid, even in comparison to a way less experienced young white girl straight out of college. I may have to check on my maintenance request multiple times because building staff doesn't see my requests as pressing as they see the request that came from the Arab family.


Hopefully, like anything else in life, the energy I have to constantly devote to these things makes me stronger. This morning I made some requests that were answered, but not with the same attention to detail as the person before me (or the average person in my fancy schmancy building) received. Sometimes I think the staff wonders how I'm able to live here, particularly because I don't work during the day. I want to say "Hey, I live here, so obviously I'm living here under valid and legal circumstances. I'm not squatting."

I'm from New York, I'm used to customer device being a roll of the dice. It's different here though. The city runs on it, and many jobs depend on it because there is a seemingly inexhaustible supply of service workers who have the opportunity to make more money here, willing to step into another's position, even with the horrors that the jobs can entail. Is it right? Of course not. That's the society. The society is also rigidly stratified and I float somewhere on the outside. On any given day, my place depends on whether I'm perceived as American or African, professional or blue collar, young and single or a family man, can I be put into a neat stereotype or am I something unexpected.

So when I'm rushed along while being serviced, or given an attitude or not afforded the same level of service as one of the other groups I mentioned, I have to choose my reaction carefully. The angry and negative reactions I've chosen over time just build up negative energy within me. Instead, I have to go to a better place, spiritually. It's a work in progress. Trying to understand why a receptionist or store clerk thinks they can treat me like I'm at the bottom of the totem pole doesn't work all the time. I'm not always ok with having to "go in" or prove through my speech, credentials or extended interaction that I'm someone to be respected either. It's also not always enough to remember that "The black man is god, we are all powerful, they hate us because they love us, I have knowledge of self so nothing can phase me, yada yada."

Sometimes I want to lash out. But I don't. You can't let things in the world make you who you're not, force you to do something that isn't a good look for you. I'm a nice guy, I just am. I'm direct, clear and assertive, but I'm nice. Sometimes I'm a bit vengeful, admittedly. I don't want to intimidate and scare people into treating me correctly, even though doing so would be easy. That doesn't feel good. You can't let the world make you into a crappier version of yourself. If you're a good dude and the girls around you seem to want "bad boys," let it rock, it'll even out for you. But becoming a bad boy will be a bad look for your soul. If you're a reserved person, and it seems like the loud, obnoxious people are getting what they want, let them rock. You don't like those people, don't become one. Your way can work too.


When I'm faced with uneven treatment here, sometimes I just have to learn to let it rock. That's my zen statement. Letting it rock is not easily defined. It's not simply letting it go, overlooking it, or understanding what it is. It's more like "being like the water." Water is all-powerful and all-submissive at the same time. Water doesn't fight against, but it's also constantly imposing it's will and serving it's purpose in the most natural way it can. You may be able to manipulate and take advantage of it, but it reigns (rains) over you from the inside out. It's in control of itself, therefore in control of all around it. Those descriptions of water is what letting it rock feels like. It's not an easy thing, but it's a part of my health practice that is simultaneously unique to certain situations and applicable to any.

The 6'3", fit, blond white guy in the suit who checks all the "respectability" boxes doesn't have to ever be concerned with learning to let it rock within the same circumstances that I do. But he'll have his instances as well. It's just that, I have to devote myself to this spiritual practice in a different manner than most. No one said balancing a healthy body, mind and soul would be easy. If they did, they lie!