Now Why (ny) to Love Allah (la)
Melanie told me to pull up to her job, it’s only fourteen minutes away from where I’m staying by automobile. Yarden was putting on her make up in a mirror in the kitchen, wearing a see through yellow top and dad/mom jeans, her hair flowing like an Israeli pagan goddess who only showers in the streams of water hidden in the mountains that do not exist on maps.
It was our kitchen now. I’m her new room mate. We both slept very well last night, over joyed to be sharing this beautiful living space in Mar Vista, Los Angeles.
I passed out on my mattress and only woke up this morning to the sound of Yarden making her breakfast smoothie. I was dehydrated from my sixty eight hour journey from the New York City Port Authority bus terminal to the East 7th Greyhound bus station in downtown Los Angeles.
Normally on a trip like that, I maintain a good level of water intake, but I decided to drink Coca Cola all along the way instead, which spiked my endorphin levels and drained my body of the liquids I truly needed to thrive. Caffeine makes for great writing fuel though and I knew that every sip would spark a new idea in my brain along my journey.
Yarden left work and I had our apartment to yourself. I took my second shower of the last 24 hours. I contemplated jerking off in the shower, but after standing in the running water considering if I should release sixty eight hours of sexual tension, I decided I’m better off holding onto this.
I hopped out the shower, did some pull ups and ordered a Lyft to take me to Cognoscenti Coffee.
In my time sitting in the coffee shop on Washington Boulevard, I’ve met a fellow Muslim and Melanie is trying to introduce me to a customer who just arrived to LA two weeks ago from NYC.
I’m slowly sipping a black coffee, in and out of conversation with Melanie and her fellow barista.
My trip to Los Angeles was a mix of hellish dreams, scenic routes, stories of kidnappings, light drug use, and self reflection.
I left my air conditioned hostel room in Long Island City at 7:18 AM on Thursday morning to embark on my cross country hajj, I needed to be at the Port Authority bus terminal at 8 am.
I was already running on LA time clearly.
The night before I drank two beers and a shot of Jameson whiskey across the span of four hours. One was 6.5% alcohol content and the other was 7.5%. I drank a Becks the day prior, my first beer in almost several years. I was straight edge in that time, mash’Allah, it was a blessing to take a break from my old lifestyle.
Needless to say, it coursed through my blood heavily. I felt like my arms and legs entered a galaxy of jelly while my mind struggled to focus on the task at hand. Writing.
It felt great to write drunk, high, and/or sober. It felt great to express myself with complete honesty. When I write, I don’t worry about what the other person may think, something I struggle with in person. My writing is meant for me, with the intent of sharing my most inner thoughts and emotions with people who may care. Allah blessed me with a gift, and it would be silly if I didn’t use it.
I sat in the bar area downstairs of the hostel, admiring the drunken folks around me, engaging in all kinds of conversation. I was a little too mentally drained to engage with people, but smiles were exchanged all across the room and that felt nice.
There was a beautiful woman who could have been Bengali, I could never be too sure nor would I want to assume. She had short cropped hair, with a very tiny black drop top and baggy jeans that cut off at the ankles to show case her slip on’s.
We kept making eye contact and smiling, I didn’t have it in me to go up and say hello. I would have only began talking about Islam or blurting out “This is my 2nd drink in several years!” with no control over my tone.
There was a gentleman playing guitar and singing into a microphone and it felt as though we were all friends. It reminded me of my old bar days, I didn’t feel isolated.
I downloaded the Kindle app that night and purchased Michael Muhammad Knight’s american IslamoGonzo road odessy, Blue Eyed Devil and Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
It’d been a while since I truly dug into books, I spent the last few weeks of my life in a time warp. Lots of weed smoke, sleeping on a dirty floor in a room with mold build up and rancid kitty litter.
Work was brain dead and mind numbing so it provided no escape whatsoever.
I spent as much free time as I could in my Mecca, Rockaway Beach. The clean air, the hot sand, warm water, and freshly picked vegetable packed vegan food options provided a means of escape into another realm of reality, a reality where I felt human, I felt comfortable, I felt connected.
The E train pulled up at the 23rd Street Court Square subway station, packed shoulder to shoulder, breath on neck, unwanted human physical interaction of strangers. Humans on their way to work.
I had other plans. I was on my way to my escape to Los Angeles, or Love Allah in the Gods and Earths circle.
I was leaving behind a city of capitalistic mentality and close to no friends. The friends I did have were too busy with work and the free time they did have was spent quietly amongst themselves or dedicated to their partners.
I arrived to the Port Authority bus terminal with no stress, I knew even if I missed this bus, I was still on my way, inshaAllah.
After printing out my tickets and speed walking to the bus, I made it on as the driver was packing the very last bag into the under of the bus.
Mash’Allah, I made it out.