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Wednesday, February 21, 2007
my id and music
I do not know exactly why, but I know I do not like to be called "Maria". it simply is not me when I hear or read it, so it sounds strange.
I should like it I suppose since it is related to beautiful women such as in Carlos Santana's music. However, for me, I know I don't like to be called Maria.
Some may wonder about my id. well, it has a story and history linked to it as I suppose yours has to. My id can be read in many ways though the last thing in mind was to put it as maria music. considering the "music" part of my id, I thought to leave an extra "m" out. :-)
I hope you enjoy the following music anyway. and do not call me Maria. :-)
{Sorry David, I remember your computer isn't much friendly with youtube vidoes. I sure hope you know or have the music.}
Tile :Santana - Maria Maria
This is lyrics from www.lyrics007.com
Ladies and gents
turn up your sound system to the
sound of carlos santana and the GMB
(Surprada)
Ghetto people- from the Refugee Gang
oh Maria Maria
She reminds me of a west side story
Growing up in Spanish Harlem
She's living the life just like a movie star
oh Maria Maria
She fell in love in East L.A.
To the sounds of the guitar, yeah, yeah
Played by Carlos Santana
Stop the looting, stop the shooting
Pick pocking on the corner
See as the rich is getting richer
The poorer is getting poorer
See mi y Maria on the corner
Thinking of ways to make it better
In my mailbox there's an eviction letter
Somebody just said see you later
Ahora vengo mama chula mama chula
Ahora vengo mama chula (east coast)
Ahora vengo mama chula mama chula
Ahora vengo mama chula (west coast )
oh Maria Maria
She reminds me of a west side story
Growing up in Spanish Harlem
She's living the life just like a movie star
oh Maria Maria
She fell in love in East L.A.
To the sounds of the guitar, yeah, yeah
Played by Carlos Santana
I said a la fella los colores
The streets are getting hotter
There is no water to put out the fire
Mi cosa la esperanza
Se mira Maria on the corner
Thinking of ways to make it better
Then I looked up in the sky
Hoping of days of paradise
Ahora vengo mama chula mama chula
Ahora vengo mama chula (north side)
Ahora vengo mama chula mama chula
Ahora vengo mama chula
(south side)
Ahora vengo mama chula mama chula
Ahora vengo mama chula ( world wide)
Ahora vengo mama chula mama chula
Ahora vengo mama chula ( open up ur eyes )
Maria you know you're my lover
When the wind blows I can feel you
Through the weather and even when we're apart
It feels like we're together maria
She reminds me of a west side story
Growing up in Spanish Harlem
She's living the life just like a movie star
oh Maria Maria
She fell in love in East L.A.
To the sounds of the guitar, yeah, yeah
Played by Carlos Santana
Puttin them up yo
Carlors Santana with the refugge gang
wite clef jerry my dog Mr santana GMB
yo carlos u play that guitar proud
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Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Slavery in Early American Colonies
Although in 1680 there are more free Africans than slave ones in American’s colonies, in 1700 the free Africans almost disappear. This dramatic decrease in free black population, as a result of evolving slavery, was caused by many factors. In this paper, I focus on the reasons why white Americans used the blacks as a source of labor, the validations white people brought into play for using African slavery, and the ways, on the other side, slaves used to resist slavery in Southern colonies.
While the contribution of British and European indentured servants weakened, the demand for labor yet was growing in Southern colonies. The tales of mistreatment of obligated servants in New World, and the less criticizes from English officers in mother land caused the lessening of white immigrants in 1680.Considering the demand for labor was continuing in colonies and even growing rapidly, slavery took place of indentured servants as a source of labor. Slavery provided labors that European immigrants would not carry, enforced a formal and legal silence upon rights such as shelter, clothing and education, and offered life time services for agriculture, to produce invaluable crops such as rice. Nevertheless, the American chose African slaves to Indian ones because Indians resisted slavery and would escape into the land they knew intimately in contrast with Africans who were brought to a land they knew nothing about. Such convenient conditions made the African slavery as a source of labor in Southern colonies.
The main intend which brought the migrants to America was benefit, so by realizing slaveholding was making them rich, they justified their behavior regardless of the dreadful miseries black went through. White people thought it was convenient to purchase black captives of Africans’ wars from Africa and bring them to the New World colonies to sell as slaves. They were captives anyway, so the ever growing demand for slaves in colonies hurried the traders to rush back to Africa to purchase more prisoners. In addition, black people’s culture was unknown to white people. Indeed white people labeled Africans as unreligious, aliens, savages, and not white, also, African government was chaotic. Black people were human, but not accepted by white people ideals, so without a doubt they were for enslavement. In some instances, even, they rationalized their horrifying punishments for slavery resistant by mentioning them to be necessary.
However, black slaves didn’t want to be treated as slaves, so they found out manners to resist it. They were captured in wars in Africa and shipped to America to be sold. They were owned by another person, and they were just wanted for labor. They were working for and with others whom with they could share almost nothing. Therefore, although punished extremely when they refused to give in to slavery by their owners, slaves resisted slavery mostly by breaking the tools, work resistance, getting sick, and running away. Some slaves were lucky enough to make permanent escapes but no revolution in Southern colonies.
reference:
Binder Fredrick M. , Reimers David M.
"The Way We Lived" , Volume (I) 1492_1877
2004 by Houghton Mifflin Company : Boston, USA
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Monday, February 12, 2007
A Road less People Have Traveled
Broken heart, Narjes walks away from the window while she knows her daughter is in the room. It was her fifth attempt that week to meet her daughter, Sara, but her daughter didn’t respond or open the door for her. She hasn’t seen her daughter, Sara, for three weeks in a row and she missed Sara so much that her heart wrenched anytime she thought about her. “What was going on?” Narjes wondered,” her father promised me I could see my children any time I wished.” Those were her ex-husband guarantees in the court when they were getting their divorce.
In Iran, an Islamic country, when parents divorce, the children by law are in the custody of their father. Narjes knew that, so she asked for his permissions to visit her off spring without restrictions even though he verbally agreed, that wasn’t happening.
The nine year old Sara was shivering from fear in her room. Frozen like a scared little mouse, she is hiding under her bed while she thinks if she ever opens the door for her mother, her father will get angry like a wild cat. After all, her Auntie Nina has said that mom was a bad woman, a bad mother, and they should be happy she was out of their lives.
Two days ago, on Tuesday, Sara saw Narjes the very last time. She was walking home from school when she saw a familiar figure at her left side going to the street she was ascending. It was her mom suddenly she realized, hence her heart started beating up fast. Hoping her mom hasn’t seen her, she sped up. There wasn’t much left to arrive, perhaps 300 meters, but the twenty minutes left walking seemed forever. As if she was marching on a spot, home appeared kilometers away.
On the other hand, tears were appearing in her eyes because she missed her mother naturally. She wanted to run to her mom to be held by her. Kept safe and felt warm in her mother’s arms, she wanted to hear her mother’s heart beat just like she always used to do. Sara wanted to encourage her mom either to come back home since home was cold and dark, or to take Sara with her since Sara felt lonely.
Her aunt’s voice, however, was altering her thoughts making it hard for her to decide,” Your mom is a bad woman.” There was a dispute going on in her mind; what kind of a daughter she would be if she liked her bad mother? A bad girl was the answer in her mind. What was the punishment for being a bad girl? Going to hell was her lesson. Although missing Narjes, “I should behave, I should not get close to my mom,” Sara thought over,” I should show my dad I’m not bad”.
She was struggling with those thoughts that she heard a voice calling her name, “Sara.” As her normal reflection, she turned her face toward the voice. It was mom; her mother was getting close to her. Doubtless, by thinking and wondering her speed had reduced, probably she was just drifting instead of rushing home. No, she shouldn’t answer; she shouldn’t stop, and what if one of her cousins saw her? What if some one reported she talked with her mom? She then would go to hell for that. She started to run, but her legs weren’t helping her much since they felt like 20 kilograms heavier than usual, and her knees felt as if swollen. Her inhalation was getting too fast to breath easily. She began to choke for the gum she was chewing was getting trapped in her throat. Trying to free the gum, she stopped for a moment; at that time, she heard her mom again, “Sara, wait! It’s me, mommy”.
She didn’t want to hear her mom’s voice, she didn’t want to change her mind, and she didn’t want to be a bad woman when she grew up. She made a right turn to the next street, now home was getting closer. She knew, next, home would be only a few steps away. She had to have enough time to open the door though, “Damn keys; where are the keys?” Sara whispered, “Oh!” In her backpack’s pocket they were. Reaching for the keys, she stood at the door; although her hands were shaking from agitation, she found them. She opened the door and went in; moreover, she locked the door and to be daddy’s good girl forever, she decided to never open the door for mom ever again.
mariam.
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Thursday, February 08, 2007
resolutions
I was wondering how many resolutions we as humans can come up with?
I remember when I was going to school in Tehran, Iran, the first day of school we had to stand in lines listenning to our principle preaches, and I would always think," this year I'm going to do my homeworks regularly, keep clean notes and study properly," but I never did. For some reason all the motivations would fade away. How did I pass my exams with accepted grades? I have no clue now that I am typing this posting. All I remember is I did.
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Monday, February 05, 2007
One hundred posts
Congratualtions to myself since this is my 101 blog's posting. I never thought I would make 100 posts on my blog in less than an year as I was not much of a blogger as some were.
I'm still not much of a blogger, but I meet people and make good friends through this weblog. I ,also, am grateful for this blog since I'm meeting other Irani fellows. I hope my blog is like a bridge for my Western friends to become familiar with their MiddleEastern (specially persian) fellow Earthmates.
Mariam.
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Sunday, February 04, 2007
How do you see me!!?
I was having my neighbor as a guest when he mentioned some interesting statements about me or my behavior.
He said I was an independent, hard cored woman because once he offerred his help to carry my shopping bags for me,but I refused to accept it.
I'm not a person to refuse or reject help when I need it.
I'm thinking most probably that particular day I had lots of things in my hand that letting a go of one of them would create more troubles from just carrying them to my apt. door, so that was why I said "no" .
that was how you see me,(he saw me)
but, this how I am.
oh well, if well put in words.
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Night Owl
No need to remind me, I know,
I have this tendency to stay up till late at nights.
I like it's silence.
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Thursday, February 01, 2007
oh my!!!
such a thing happens when you mix hendi (Indian) dance with Rashti music.
quite speachless!!!
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