The Farmer’s Market

This time I’m reporting from another new discovery here in Charlottesville, the Farmer’s Market. I had some early bird friends always urge me to tag along, but I was always reluctant to wake up at 8am on a Saturday morning. Well, I did it this time around.

What really got me out of bed this time around was the notion that I would have spent four years here at UVa without visiting the Farmer’s Market. There are many Charlottesvillian traditions that I have missed out on, but I wouldn’t let this one go by without me paying it due attention. Besides, rumor had it that this would be the last Farmer’s Market of the year.

To get me out of bed, I connected my iPod to some lounge music to get me in the mood for a new day. Finally, I threw the cover to the side and jumped out of bed: enough laziness! I searched through the pile of clothes for a shirt and decent pair or jeans that weren’t to crumple up. I really need to do my laundry sometime soon. Check my three pockets: keys, phone, wallet, check…I’m ready to head out. Oh, wait, I almost forgot my camera and laptop! How else would I document this historic moment?! So I swung my messenger bag on my shoulder and rushed out.

I then hopped on my road bike and hit the road. The ride down here was a bit windy. I almost imagined myself in the Windy City of Chicago. Well, I managed to make it promptly. I’d always heard about the Market’s renowned bagles, so I guess my hunger was what really drove me on.

Upon arriving, I locked the bike to a “No Parking” sign pole, got my camera ready and ventured into the Farmer’s Market. Essentially, the Market the a gathering of local Virginian farmers who come to market their locally grown, organic produce…be it vegetables, jams, flowers, cookies, clothes, you name it… The theme is natural, green, and organic. Definitely sounds like a good deal to me!

Upon entering, I found some of beautiful white and purple flowers for $3.00. I would have bought them in no time, but on second thought there would have been no way biking back with them. Ahh… I can’t wait till I grow and cultivate my own garden!

I also really liked the scene of people here. There was a farmer’s culture. People were dressed in muddy slacks and shirts, grown beards, and funky vintage glasses. I don’t know if these locals meant it, but damn they had style. But you could also tell that they have this spiritual connection because of working the land for so long. They just look so content with life.

What the market really reminded me of was the Manhattan Flea Market that Mom would always take me to. I especially remember the lemonade and corn we’d eat there. Also, I remember following mom from stand to stand as she hunted for European antiques. I miss those days. So I was glad that I was keeping the tradition alive by visiting Charlottesville’s own flea market. Overall, the content of the merchandise was no different than that of the New York market: jewelry, clothes, art pieces, etc… but everything here was hand/home made. I liked that it really had a genuine feel to it.

What really pleased me was that everyone here was so blissful, everyone from the urban out-of-towners to the Amish families strolling around. At the end of it all, I snapped a couple shots, which I show below:

The Balloon Man making a child a "spider sword"

Some musician

The white & purple Flowers

My highly anticipated bagels

A dog dressed up as lobster for Halloween

Pavilion VIII: The Prayer Room

I have recently discovered this jewel on the Lawn. There's not much too it. Three simple candle holder-shaped lamps, a creaky wooden floor, a beige colonial style fireplace mantle that contrasts sharply with the burgundy lining at the bottom of the walls. At first glance, its very difficult to attribute any functionality to this room. Its very minimalist with absolutely no decor, no indicator of a purpose.

Yet, there is so much spirit and serenity just by being here. The first time I passed by this room, I found a 1st year sitting in one of its corners reading a novel. I wasn't quite sure if I'd come to the right place at first, but after inquiring, she answered, "Yes, this is the Prayer room. I just come here in between classes because its quite."

The rustling shadows of the trees outside were slowly caressing the whole room. There was something so peaceful about being here that made me come back more and more. Between classes, I would look forward to escaping into this new world, where I could simply sit and meditate. I try to make the trip at least twice here. Its 9:28 and I feel like I've accomplished a feat getting through my daily prayers, so I decided to dedicate an entry to this room. This room that brings me so much comfort despite its simplicity.

I once wrote an entry titled Where Does God Live? and this room reminded me of it. In this case, I believe that God's presence is everywhere. Yes, even in a 19th Century colonial room at the University of Virginia. I think they keep the room undecorated because of UVa's secular tradition, but I actually like it that way. It expresses the true essence of Islam, i.e. its not by superficial appearances and rituals that one sincerely believes in God, but rather in the subliminal and profound intentions behind his thoughts and actions.

I have come to admire this room. At first, it deceived me for being another Lawn room, but now I understand that it is so much more. Never be judgmental. As a matter of fact, I would like to keep this room unadorned and minimalist. With no visual indicators, it enlightens one about religion and how it should really work...

I look forward to coming back to this room more often. Hopefully, merely sitting and meditating here can teach me more secrets of life.

Halloween On The Lawn

Every seen a thousand kids running all over the place all at once? Well, I would consider myself lucky enough to have witnessed that earlier today. Today is the day before Halloween, and UVa holds its annual "trick or treat" on the Lawn. I'd always heard of this event but had never actually bothered to go out and see it for myself.

Its Friday evening and I'm bunking in Alderman Library for the rest of the day catching up on some reading. But I don't mind because what I'm reading is absolutely thrilling, 1948: A Soldier's Tale. After reading fifty pages or so, I realize that my attention span is waning. I start to count the checkered tiles on the floor, wondering if the designers of the "Quiet Room" intended to have these black and white checkers model a chess set or an Escher optical illusion. I'm in another world. Man, I need a study break. I look out the window and see a rainbow of colored costumes running all over the place. That's right, today they're celebrating Halloween on the Lawn.

Perfect, I find myself an excuse to escape the gory war scenes of 1948 to go grab a cup of tea from the corner and pass by the Lawn. On the way there, I am amazed by the spirit in the air. Both the kids and parents are dressed up in what seems to be an ocean of ghosts, monsters, vampires, princesses, and every other creative costume you could think of. I even ran into a banana on the way to Starbucks. I had never seen kids so ecstatic in my life. It seemed as if they'd waited all year for this event. Was it so they could dress up like creepy creatures? No, there was another motive behind it that I can attest to.

Omar and change into a new set of costumes. This is round two. We start on the apartments on the 25th floor and climb all the way down. We know our neighbors are creepy with or without Halloween, but we have a special mission, to pay everyone of them a visit and tax them with...that's right: CANDY! Isn't that what kids live for. As I walked down the Lawn, I realized how kids were running from one Lawn room to the next striving to collect as much candy as they can before the sun set. These kids were modest. Each had a little pumpkin-looking basket where they politely collected candy. I remember how Omar and I would go all-out when it came to candy. He and I would go around with those huge black trash bags, lug them around for floor to floor. We wouldn't return to the apartment until we'd filled them to the brim. I also remember how we'd go over to our friends' apartment buildings in New York City to candy tax the other tenets there. At the end of the 10/31 of the first three years of Halloween in NYC we'd collect enough candy to last us a decade. It was on my fourth year in NYC, when I was about 14 that I decided I'm over Halloween, I'm over my childhood. Since then I haven't worn a costume.

I kind of miss celebrating Halloween actually. The atmosphere at here at UVA is quite festive. People are really creative with their costumes. I've seen everything from Pirates to Wonder Woman. I think that I am above these childish games to myself, but really I have just lost another part of my childhood. I don't know if I'll dress up, but I want to celebrate Halloween this time around. I think I'll just spoil my Sunday school pupils with candy this time around.

I'm glad I got a glimpse of Halloween as it may possibly be my last time witnessing this great American tradition. Besides the tradition, it was absolutely endearing seeing every kid smile from ear to ear whenever he'd collect a new piece of candy to add to his appetizing collection. Moreover, Halloween brought back so many blissful memories of my childhood in New York and New Delhi where I'd been an ardent Halloweener.

Anyways, its back to the 1948 for now...

Midnight Cruise

Its been a long week, and I'm dog tired. After spending nearly the whole day out, I got back to the apartment around 11:30pm. There was something different about this time. Instead of walking into my tranquil den to unwind, I noticed that the most irritating mainstream music was playing over my head. Apparently my neighbors were throwing a pre-Halloween party. Usually, I'd stand on my chair and knock to mark my presence, but this time around I didn't want to ruin the party, so I decided I'd do something recreational to clear my mind.

One thing was sure, I had to get out of this place ASAP before I'd go crazy from the music hammering down from my ceiling. Perfect, I'd hop on my bike and see where it takes me.

My bike is one of those simple things in life that brings me so much joy. There's something so liberating about bicycling that I can't quite seem to find the words to explain. Is it the feeling that you and the bike are one machine that work in synchronization? Or is it the wind that gently caresses your face as you speed down a hill? Or maybe that you become a different entity altogether? The bike empowers one to move and experience the world from another experience.

I decided to bike to the Downtown. There were several parties here and there, but nothing classy. It was nice riding by people in their Halloween costumes already, but I could shake the thought: some people just never grow out of their youth! Usually its not allowed to drive down the main avenue of the Downtown because the police tend to be on the lookout and its usually too crowded, but tonight the Downtown was mine! I biked back and forth with the petite stores flickering past me like the film roll of a vintage movie. I would reminisce what memories I experienced in each of these venues that cultivated me into who I am today: the Mudhouse, Cafe Cubano, Vinegar Hill, Bashir's Taverna, The Tea Bazaar, the Vintage Store, etc... I'd spend hours on the weekends strolling from one store to another.

Finally I got to the theater all of the way at the end of the avenue. It was a vast concrete surface that was totally empty. I imagined on behalf of Omar, "What a great skate spot!" Tonight it was for me and my bike. I zigzagged back and forth, feeling as if it were my first time ride a bike. I kept going in circles and circles, never wanting this ecstatic experience to end. Almost an hour had flown by. Time to head back home.

On the ride back, I was amazed to see several other road bikers on the street. We would glance at one another and embrace a silent comradeship that we bikers shared. I decided to take a detour to pass by the lively Corner. I remember when I used to be one of these 1st years hanging out near Lil John's for a midnight snack, but the scene looks too shady for me now..

I then hit JPA and passed another road biker. I'd drift past him, and a second later he'd over take me. JPA was my territory, so I passed him again. I slowed down as I got to my apartment. It was then he shouted a friendly, "Whats up?" I informed him this was my destination and wished him a good one.

So this was my midnight cruise. Its interesting how a simple bike ride can lead to a whole plethora of thoughts, memories, and feelings... It was almost as it was all a dream. At least it was worth penning it so I can look back at it after graduation and appreciate the good times.

The Pond

I couldn’t get myself to pen this entry without actually visiting the pond. So here I am, with the most tranquil and peaceful landscape before my eyes trying to explain why I consistently find myself back here to reflect and contemplate. I am a firm believer that the environment you surround yourself with affects you internally. As some would argue, there is a high level of Qi in natural scenery, but this pond is exceptional. I have yet to stumble upon a spot that brings together some of Virginia’s most colorful botany side by side as this Pond does. It brings together the diverse and colorful Virginian botany. I truly envy the inhabitants of this paradise; i.e. the same four ducks that encounter every visit.

I have found strolling around this pond for the past three sunsets. I sit and watch people come and go past the pond, but no one actually bothers to sit by the pond to meditate. They really are missing out on a lot. Especially during the sunsets…there tends to be some much serene energy in the atmosphere.

I am certain that the past three days have been the most ideal of the whole year. They are autumn’s goodbye gift to Virginia. The sky has been crystal clear blue, except for some ornamental clouds, and the trees have unveiled their true beauty, each with its own degree of red, orange, or yellow. I have to admit that I’m lucky to have returned to blogging to record these memories of my last autumn in Virginia.

Virginia is one of those few places which actually gives an equal share to each of the four seasons, but autumn is by far my favorite. You see Mother Nature in its purest form as it sheds its beauty from one layer to another. It's also the mildest season, neither to chilly nor humid… its ideal. The sun radiates its heat giving one that cozy warmth in an approaching winter. The birds seem to appreciate this time of the year the most, chirping and singing away. The pond is the one place that epitomizes Virginian nature and its sheer glory.

But really, what is it about this pond that keeps me coming back?

I have some emotional attachment to this place. I remember when I first received my camera in the mail, the first thing I did was tear it out of its box, charge the battery, adjust its photography settings, hop on my bike, and visit the pond. The pond and its ducks were one of those few safe havens that accepted me during times of absolute solitude. Here, I lost track of time and forgot the outside world. All my negative thoughts and feelings would dissipate in the air like the morning mist.... I would feel connected to nature on the most primitive level. My camera allowed me to take snapshots of these memories, which I would often go back to as a means of revisiting my pond memories.

At these times of solitariness, I would imagine myself to be Holden, the protagonist of J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye who would visit the Central Park Pond in New York City. Holden’s mission was introspective…Holden would revisit the pond to quench his curiosity about life. Holden wonders where the ducks emigrate to during the wintertime. His curiosity of this phenomenal mystery reveals something much more profound about life. The ducks disappear every winter, but return every spring. In my eyes, the ducks symbolize many aspects in life… Happiness, success, courage, integrity, faith, love, and conviction all come and go just like the ducks do… So when life challenges you by taking away what you hold dear to your heart, know that when the time is right, it will return it to you just like nature returns the ducks back to the pond when the time is right.

Twilight

Twilight is the time between sunset and dusk. It is when there is a clear divergence between the illuminations of the upper atmosphere and lower atmosphere. I had been fortunate enough to experience twilight on the pond. After deciding to get back to blogging, I decided that the pond was what deserved my attention first and foremost. So I packed my camera right after a rainy day to visit the pond right when the sun was about to set. Below are some photos I shot at twilight:

My road bike and the pond

The sky at twilight

The pond and me

The pond's reflection of the landscape around it

There is no doubt that the pond has been one of the highlights of my experiences here in Virginia hitherto. Unfortunately, I will have to bid farewell to the pond as winter approaches, but like the ducks, I shall return during the spring.

The Vinegar Hill

The Vinegar Hill has just become my new sanctuary. I've found myself tracing my steps every Friday back to it. The Hill is a local theater Downtown that views Indie movies. Its the kind of vintage theater with creaky doors, salient popcorn-butter stench, and an old-school tickets counter... just what I'd been looking for!

Lately, I've realized that I can't stand mainstream movies, or mainstream anything for that matter. So this is been my haven when it comes to film-watching. Moreover, I like the ambiance there mostly because of the solitude. There's something about the theater being almost completely empty except for one or two viewers whom I always see there. Something about the dust particles circulating around the beam of light giving life to the screen in complete darkness makes it all so surreal...

I've come to love this cinematic environment. Its almost addictive. Especially when the film has a plot entailing the sequence of a Greek tragedy. What strikes me though is the existential nature of many of the film plots. At some points it frustrates me because its almost as if I know what's going to happen next. There's the introduction, the climax, and the conclusion. Its a pre-ordained script that the characters follow. They're fictitious. But this isn't representative of reality. We don't live life according to some script; or do we?

Unlike the characters in the films I watch, I believe that we are liberated creatures. Our actions define our identity. We can always break out of the script and improvise according to our own free-will. The possibilities are infinite!

So just last night I viewed a movie I'd been anticipating for quite some time. I caught the 9:45 pm showing of the movie, Bright Star. The movie is a romanticist rendition of John Keats' life story. I had only vaguely heard of Keats' poetry before, so I wanted to discover who this poet really was...

Watching the movie made me reminiscent of a the romanticist phase I had endured at one point in my life...well that point still preoccupies me sometimes. I still aspire to become a writer sometime. The movie was a case in point of the little appreciation people give to the creative and literary culture. Some eloquent phrases from the movie that truly struck me were:

-"Poetry needs understanding through the senses."

-"If the poem does not come as natural as the leaves of a tree, then it better not come at all."

Some of these ideas were truly moving... Keats hit the spot for me because I am a great admirer of Romanticist poetry, especially that of Wordsworth and Coleridge since I'd taken them in High School. Nowadays, I mostly indulge in mystical poetry, such as Rumi and Hafiz since they complement my quest for soul searching...

The rest of movie was tailored to those seeking a romantic/love story, which was fine but it was sort of a fantasy fairy tale, which detracted from the authenticity of the Keats' story...

Also, coming up next month is the Virginia Film Festival, which is due to take place in Charlottesville, so I'll definitely be looking forward to that..

What do you know, I've found myself a new Charlottesville tradition...

The Revival

It suddenly hit me one day; “Actions speak louder than words!” Ever since then, I’d stopped writing. That was the death of a writer. That was when I ceased to exist.

This is the revival.

I’ve realized that the time has come to begin exposing myself to the world. What actually happened to me in the past couple of months when I stopped writing was that I became enslaved to the rush of life. I gave up reading, writing, poetry, music, religion, etc…I gave up my passions; I gave up the things that define me. I had come to believe that these aspects of my life were no longer practical and would never factor into my future success.

Then, I came to realize that my soul was being depleted. I literally felt empty, worthless, colorless… What had happened to the glorious days of art and literature that had filled my life with so much ecstasy? I then came to realize that we only live this life once. There are essentials that must be entertained to make this a fruitful life.

One of them is writing.

Expressing myself contributes and enriches the many other dimensions of my life. Just as I realize that life is only lived once, I also realize that there are moments and phases of life that escape one’s life. It is therefore imperative to catch them, freeze them, and ingrain them in the eternal walls of life. This is a craft practiced since the dawn of civilization. Go to the temples of Egypt and you’ll see how divine writing was for the pioneers of civilization. Even the Prophet himself declared, “The ink of the scholar is more sacred than the blood of the martyr.” The subject in question is writing.

I needed this therapy to live a meaningful life. Writing is a very personal and private experience. Sometimes it torments me to imagine what the readers of my diaries will think when they open them. But I realize that when you write to an audience, it’s a different experience. You are not only enriching your life, but also theirs. You paint a picture for them, one that is rich with experiences from distant lands and times. This is why I return to blogging.

The diary is my true friend.

But I always felt that I could be more candid when writing to my diary. Every Friday, I’d bike alone to the Downtown, walk down the main avenue, absorb the ambiance of this haven, grab a slice of pizza from Vita Nova, go gallery hopping, and I’d always return like a dog to the Mudhouse, the café that defines my writing. I’d think of myself as Jean Paul Sartre in his Parisian cafes. At the end of the day, I’d sit and recap the week. I wouldn’t write of events, but rather emotions and ideas.

Writing in my diary was like talking to a friend. It would always listen to you when you needed an ear. And when you closed it shut, it would go away. Sometimes I would enjoy what I was writing. Sometimes I would hate it. But I always needed it. I’d hide from people that I kept a diary because I thought it was a sign of weakness. Writing in my diary meant solitude and melancholy. But I realized that this diary was selfish. It would keep all my expressions to itself. It would never share them. I then visited my abandoned blog… I realized that it was rich with photos and words that made others happy. It was opened to the world.

Back to blogging.

Snapping back to reality, I realize that this is my final year at the University of Virginia. I have lived here for the past four years and have yet to share my experiences with others. I have been as selfish as my diary, keeping everything to myself. It is now time that I share this precious experience with the world. As of this day, I promise to pack my camera, laptop, and blog with me wherever I go. I am on a mission to record this experience and share it with you. Yes, you patient reader who is courteous enough to acknowledge my presence. I shall visit the Art museum, the pond, the Downtwon, the Corner, and all the holes in the walls that I have discovered here in Charlottesville. I only ask one favor of you; that you become loyal to me and I will be loyal to you. From this day on, you can expect to hear a lot more from me. I look forward to reviving this relationship, dear reader.

Sincerely Yours,

Mostafa