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Entries in facebook (4)


If We're Not Friends of Facebook, You're Totally Missing Out...

If you are not friends with me on Facebook, you will miss out on my lack of humility and ability to weave post colonial rhetoric into any conversation:



You will also miss out on some harmless Jewish condoned anti-semitism, anti-Canadian rhetoric and for good measure, a dose of self deprecating Islamaphobia.


And the wrap up...



Friend me if you haven't already. 

(I dedicate this post to Dave2 for allowing me to hijack his FB wall post in the spirit of entertaining myself.)



An Old Box of Photos #throwbackThursday

I have a box of old photos that goes back almost seventy years. They are all so intentionally… intentional. Today, the intention is to not look intentional.

Don’t want to look like I care too much about what you think. But want to look like I care. See me in a way that makes you feel like I’m not hiding anything from you, but do hide enough to be interesting. Feel like you know me, but don’t know me too well.

The dance of the twenty first century photo swims in the struggle to appear vulnerable without actually being too vulnerable.  For some, that’s also flavored with little specks of intention that seek to elicit envy, as well. Don't like the photo? Simply delete and snap again. Life is one big Mulligan in the digital photo age. 

I have a box of old photos that were taken without the knowledge of how they would turn out. Isn’t this the ultimate act of hope? Stand here! You over there! Click. Wait until the roll finishes. Drop off the film. Wait a week. Pay for the photos. Sit together as a family and look at them. Did it work? Are we believable? Do you think the world really thinks we’re the people we look like in this photo? Yes. The photo turned out nice. This is how we will remember who we are. 

I cannot bear to look at old photos anymore. Our story was not that story. The truth lived behind layers of grown up lies so complex that the grown ups didn’t know they were lies. In the sepia toned grains of the photo live subtle warnings to the children in the photos to never expose those lies. Don’t ruin the picture. All will be lost. These photos were the stories of people that stood where they were supposed to while someone clicked.

In the moments between the clicks and the moment in the living room when we all looked at them together lived the belief that we children would look at those photos years from now and forget those secrets. Didn't they know, though, that secrets are unforgettable because they are secrets. Secrets must be held close to the heart and this ensures their eternal life. As long as the heart beats, the secrets it holds will live. Illusions require the utmost attention and care to be maintained, too. You cannot forget a secret until it is revealed. You cannot recognize an illusion until you let it go.

Our secrets may not have been as dark as the secrets that others have kept, but they were secret enough to destroy the realization of any hopes that our illusions would prevail.

I have a box full of old photos.

Point. Click. Forget.

Faiqa, Age 6



Just Another Facebook Rant

I've been on Facebook for a little over a year.

Besides being a major time suck and an adult version of a high school drama cluster, it's generally fun.

There are a few things that irritate me about the way people use Facebook, though.  And by a few things, I mean 3,465,234,128 things.

Here are just two of them:

1. All Status Updates are not created equal.  Make them Interesting.  For the love of God and all things holy.

Going to the bathroom?  Don't care.  At mom's house?  Don't care.  At the grocery store?  Oh my God, do not care.


I might care more if...

Instead of writing "I'm going to the bathroom," a person wrote, "Methinks His Highness wishes to retire to the throne for a spell."

Instead of "Going to visit the family in Podunk," a person wrote, "Let's see how long it takes my mom to emasculate my dad before dinner."

Instead of "Going to the grocery store," a person wrote "Aliens just landed in my driveway, they say they're going to scour the planet for losers AND they've decided to make me their queen!!"

Incidentally, that last one would be particularly funny if you were a guy.

2. Don't Forget that Facebook isThat Girl.

If Sally, Jenny and I are friends, we can see each other's updates.

If Sally and Jenny start talking to each other on their Facebook walls, I can see it.

And that's fiiiine.

But when Sally and Jenny start talking about how Sally was late for her time of the month, I am now privy to that information.  Or worse, when Jenny invites Sally to a super special get together where only the cool girls are invited and I am not one of the supposed cool girls (I know, but let's pretend we're in an alternate universe, shall we?) ...hello, I can see it.

People.  This is rude. It is rude to make plans in front of someone who is not invited to said plans.  There is a feature in Facebook that can make your conversation private. It's called an "Inbox."

One could, at least, attempt to be cryptic.

Instead of writing "We're still going to lunch at Bahama Breeze tomorrow with everyone except for Faiqa, right?", one might consider, "You know, that thing that we were talking about from the other day that we didn't invite the coolest person in the universe to?  Just wanted to throw it out there that it's most likely going down sometime in the near future. "

Or, I know this is going to sound crazy, but a person could pick up the phone.  I know.  That's just... insane.

Facebook is that girl.  You know, the one who you had to whisper around because if she heard you, even the janitor's sister would be privy to every detail of your life.  So, to keep that girl from making you potentially look like a jerk, you might want to metaphorically lower your voice.



Oh my.

That was ranty.

(First person to mention pregnancy hormones in my comment section dies a horrible death.)

I just wanted to put this out there because I've noticed that for all the greatness of the Internet, it seems people forget basic rules of etiquette in certain areas.

Like, be considerate.

And be interesting.

Or, at the very least, consider being interesting.  :)

But I love Facebook, I do.  It's enriched my life in ways you cannot imagine.

Prior to using Facebook, for example, I did not know the following:

If I were a Great Book, I’d be Lord of the Rings.
If I were a celebrity, I’d be Angelina Jolie.
If I were a crazy bitch, I’d be Sylvia Plath.
If I were a decade, I’d be a 20s Flapper.
If I were a Golden Girl, I’d be Dorothy.
If I were one of Jesus’ disciples, I’d be Thomas.
If I were a Marvel Superhero, I’d be Jean Grey.

Who needs self help books or religion when a Facebook Quiz will give you all the insight into your soul that a person might possibly need?

P.S. Are we friends on Facebook, yet?  Promise not to lecture you about Facebook etiquette.  Much.

P.P. S.  You can look me up, but be advised that there are about twenty "Faiqa Khan's" on Facebook.  I know, right?  I'm the breathtakingly awesome one with the most non-Arabic named people in my friend list.

P.P.P.S. Who else thinks it's ironic that the Muslim chick got Thomas?!  Heh.

For My Facebook Friend Who Is Not Creepy*

I have one friend request.

I open the request.

I look at the name.  It's vaguely familiar.


You went to high school with me.  Or elementary school.  Or University.  Or something.

We barely talked.  You were just this person in a blur of faces.  A name in salad bar of names.

Why did you send me this request?  I'm just a name to you.

It's a little annoying, you know?

We weren't really friends, then.  Why should we be friends, now

After all this time?

But I click "accept" to your request.  I ask myself, "Why not?"

Because I know that I'm not the same person I was so many years ago.

I'm better.  And you could be, too.

And because we're both better, maybe this time you might have something more to offer.

And I might just see more this time.

You might be someone who takes a moment to look through my profile.

You might find out that I have a blog.  You might visit that blog.

You might leave a quick comment, "Hey, Faiqa, I didn't know you had a blog.  Wow, good job."

And you might not know that at that very moment as you write that comment, I might be asking myself, "Why am I bothering?  Nobody reads this crap.  Nobody really cares.  I have nothing important to say."

But, I write another post, anyway.

And you comment again.  And again. And almost every time I write a post.

I realize, somebody out there is actually reading this.  Somebody is listening.  Somebody actually cares about what I have to say.

So, I write more.  I get better at it, too.  I get braver about expressing myself honestly because I know someone is listening.

And, then, I visit your blog.  And you teach me that being yourself on your blog is an important part of writing your blog.

It draws people to you.  Your outlandishness.  Your snarkiness.  Your sarcasm.  Your goodness.  Your honesty.

And I learn that I can be honest, too.  I can be sarcastic, opinionated, vulnerable, even angry.  I can be myself.

And people might just like me, anyway.  Or they might not.

But you taught me that fear has no place in the art of writing.  So, I push the fear down, and I try to be honest.  I try to be myself.

So I write.  And write.  And write a little more.  And then it stops being about people liking me.

It starts being about me liking me.

It starts being about understanding that I should write openly about what's on my mind because that could make a real difference.

Not just to other people, but to me.

I realize something.  It doesn't matter if we weren't good friends all those years ago when we barely knew each other.  We can be friends, now.

Because the politics of socialization, of what you wore, what you looked like, how smart you were, or how popular you were (or not) is gone.  It's the past.  It doesn't matter anymore.

On the Internet, it's just me and it's just you.  It's just this moment.

We're two people who have room in our hearts for another friendship.

And there is a friendship there because we have more in common than we don't.  We care what happens to each other.  We support one another in small, yet important ways.

I know there's a difference between who you are on your blog and who you are in real life.

But I also know that what you write on your blog reflects some of the essence of you.  It's what you want the world to know about you.  It's what you want to believe about yourself.  And, generally, what you believe is good.  Good enough for me, anyway.

When you read what I have to write on my blog, you see what I want you to know about me.

The essence of who I am.

You become a friend that is unencumbered by the baggage of who I have been over the past fifteen years.  Or the past ten years.  Or even last week.

You see me as I want to be seen.  Your friendship supports my belief that I am the person that I think I am.

I trust that you are who you say you are.  And you trust that I am who I say I am.

And that is the heart of a friendship.  A real life one.

So, I'm glad that you sent me a friend request.  I'm glad that I said, "Why not?"

I'm glad that, albeit unknowingly, I opened myself to a connection that feels important in some small way.

I'm glad that by opening myself up to the possibility of your friendship, I opened myself up to the reality of dozens of friendships with extraordinary and amazing people.

Because, in this world that can seem so lonely at times, what do human beings really have if we do not have each other? We serve as reminders to one another of the untouchable things: hope, inspiration, laughter, and, yes, friendship.

The truth is that,  real friendship is the prize reserved solely for the humble few who exhibit the courage and openness to accept it in whatever forms it might possibly arrive.*


I see a name in my Facebook sidebar of someone I knew a long time ago.

I send them a request.

They open the request. The knew me.  Vaguely.

We weren't even very good friends.  We barely spoke.

How annoying for them.

But they think, "Why not?" They accept.

Because they're better, now.  And maybe I am, too.

And maybe I might have something to offer them.

And they might be able to see... more.

*Inspired by this past Wednesday's episode of Clearly, You're Retarded, hosted by the extraordinary Miss Britt and My Facebook Friend Who Is Not Creepy. Well, most of the time.  Truth is, he can be extraordinarily creepy.

** Unless the guy has been keeping track of you since the third grade and shows up in your college dorm room.  That's just damned creepy.