Filed under: Struggle for My Soul | Tags: Eman, Fasting, hassaballa, islam, muslim, muslims, Ramadan, rant, sunset
Tonight is the 19th night of Ramadan, and I’ve fallen into the same slump that I fall into every year. I start off strong and then I get a short break (we’re all adults) or I just poop out. And then I’m coasting on very little until Eid.
I’ve been seeing people on Facebook talk about how awesome they feel and I feel a little bit jealous, because I don’t feel that. I’m actually counting down the days until Ramadan ends so I can stop feeling guilty for not taking advantage of it. Fasting is wiping me out and I wish I had somewhere to travel to, or a really bad cold, so I can have a small break. And all I hear is the supplication that I’ve been hearing for many years about hoping to blessed to see another Ramadan.
Ramadan was so much easier when I was in college. Firstly, Ramadan was in December and sunset was at 4:30. Secondly, I didn’t have a care in the world. My life consisted of hanging out at school and skipping class. I didn’t have a mortgage, a job, debt and all the other things that weigh our spirit down.
I miss being excited about Ramadan. This year I was dreading it. And the first week was tough. By 3:00 pm, my knuckles were dragging on the ground at work and I was moving at a snail’s pace. And this year Egyptians didn’t even turn back the clocks like they always did. I bet they miss Mubarak (joke).
My prayer to God is to give me the strength to make the most of this Ramadan, and although I didn’t earn it, I hope that I get to see many more Ramadans, so that I at least can get rewarded for sleeping while I’m fasting. And please, please forgive me for my shortcomings.
Now I need to go and do something useful.
Filed under: Struggle for My Soul | Tags: abdelnabi, asma khalid, bayan, Bayan Hassaballa, blogging, Eman, fat, headscarf, hijab, islam, kindness, koran, lifting the veil, metra, muslim, npr, rasmieyh, research, scarf, veil
So my original post responding to the NPR piece called Lifting the Veil, which talked about why women chose to remove the veil or dejab as I like to call it, garnered a lot of attention and a lot of comments. I’m still catching up on them as we speak.
Before I begin though, there are a few things I need to clear up. First of all it was inappropriate for me to Rasmieyh’s opinion BS. Even though I still don’t agree, that’s not best way to start a dialogue with someone. I’ve actually reached out to her and apologized privately, but also would like to apologize publicly as well. I am sorry for using language as such, and should have used more appropriate words to express my disagreement.
Secondly, reducing her research to a Google search was also unfair and untrue. I’m actually very interested to see her research, so I can be better schooled in the subject.
That does not change how I feel about the piece or that I disagree with the opinion. If there is a minority opinion in Islam that says that hijab is not required, than that’s what it is, a minority opinion. But it cannot over shadow the majority opinion that says it is required. But I really need to research the matter more deeply myself.
My beloved teacher, Dr. Umar Faruq Abd-Allah says very beautifully and eloquently in this four-part (this is the fourth part, but the first three are linked at the top) piece on altmuslima, “The scarf must be nothing but an item of clothing. We cannot blow it up and conflate into the scarf issue all these other things.” This was the point I was trying to make. Someone objected to my shoe analogy, but I stand by it because we never talk about whether or not to wear a shoe (or clothes for that matter) but the discussion centers around how. But we still need to be wearing them.
Dr. Umar also said that the four schools all require the headscarf. He also cautioned against using the word hijab because it means something so different than that thing I wear on my head. Please read his interview.
One comment on the earlier piece said that I should be for justice for all, and never did I say I wasn’t, but what I didn’t want to defend against was my right to cover because of my belief that God said I have to.
The reason that I used to the word sympathize rather than empathize, is because honestly, that’s not something I struggle with. My struggles are internal and they are just as difficult as the struggle that someone has with the headscarf, but my struggles aren’t as public as the struggle with whether to cover or not.
I have had moments when I’ve been sick of wearing a scarf, like when I used to take Metra. I would be on a packed train, and had gotten there early enough to get a seat alone. I never sat upstairs because I’m also an overweight person and those chairs were not comfy for a big girl like me, and I never took more than my half of the seat. Countless people (mostly white) would walk right past my seat even though there were no other seats on the train or they would opt to sit on the stairs. That hurt. Let’s say I decided to take off my hijab. What does that change? I’m still fat, brown and likely not going to have people sit next to me, because I decided why they didn’t sit next to me. That may not have been the truth, even though it was my truth.
I didn’t write this response to my response to defend myself; I don’t need to, but I just want to make sure that it was clear that I did not mean to single out Rasmieyh, and I wanted to clarify a few more points.
This is an issue that needs more voices from both sides of the veil, and we need to be able to have an honest and respectful dialogue about it. I definitely will be writing more about it, since no one cares why Taylor Swift makes me cry. :)
Filed under: Struggle for My Soul | Tags: headscarf, hijab, islam, lifting the veil, muslim, npr, scarf, women
I just recently celebrated my 20th year wearing hijab. I started wearing hijab when I was in sixth grade. It was Friday, April 5th, 1991. My mom was trying to convince us to go to Islamic School so we visited Universal for the day. To attend the school, we had to cover. I had no plans of wearing hijab; I always wanted to start after high school. I used to say that I wanted to have my chance of doing my hair and wearing make-up before I started hijab. But after we left the school for the day, it felt so comfortable that I told my mom that I wanted to keep wearing it, just to try it out. Like I said, it felt so comfortable, that I forgot I was wearing it, until I saw myself in the glass of a shop. I startled myself because I didn’t realize it was me in the window. Later that evening, I told my mom that I had decided to wear it full time. My mom worried that it might be too much, and told me that if I wanted to just wear it in and around the community I could, but I didn’t have to wear it to school. I told her that if that was the case, then there was no point in wearing it. It was all or nothing for me.
I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. This was right smack in the middle of the school year and it was by far one of the toughest school years to date. I had a hard time making friends, and the friends that I did have weren’t in my class, so the only time I saw them was during recess. That meant that the prospects for partners on projects were very low, and I was usually paired up with the person who couldn’t secure a partner, and maybe our class was an odd number, so the teacher would shop me around to other groups to make a group of three. So you’d think I’d think about my decision and its effect on my already low social status. But I went ahead and started wearing hijab, and the reaction wasn’t so bad. It didn’t help or hurt my social status, but it lead me in a new direction in my life.
Jump about ten and a half years later to September 11, 2001 and Islam was on the forefront and not in a good way. We all remember what it was it was like. I remember gathering all my cousins that day from UIC and heading home, and at that time we all were in hijab. My cousin’s grandmother, a white Christian, left her a message telling her to take off her bonnet because it was too dangerous. Thankfully, we were able to laugh it off because our lives were not in danger. We went to a school that was diverse and reached out to us, asking us if the MSA needed anything. The MSA set up a plan of action to make sure people were escorted when needed and we never felt like we were in any sort of danger. And this is when it started.
Just as the sentiments of Grandma Betty, lots of girls started taking off their “bonnets”. We started hearing that religious scholars were permitting it. There was a lot of confusion, fear and knee-jerk reactions to what was happening.
As I said confusion was everywhere, and I remember the sense of relief when Shaykh Abdullah bin Bayyah issued this fatwa that basically said if one fears for their life, they should stay home and not go out and if they must then they should cover in the most inconspicuous way possible, by way of a cap or hat, never did he say it was okay to stop wearing the hijab. We’ll come back to that later…but think about what that means.
Jump another 10 years to this week and I’m on Facebook. I see this link and it’s been shared several times. It’s starting to go viral on FB. So I give it a listen and then I was glad I was delayed in writing my hijab post. So here goes nothing or everything.
I have always thought that hijab was given too much emphasis. And I think this is what messed things up for us with respect to hijab. But before I get into this, I’d really like to address the NPR piece.
The first person they talked about is Rasmieyh Abdelnabi who mentioned that she “had done [her] research” and realized that hijab is an expression of Arab culture. I have two letters for that: BS. I’m sorry, I respect your decision to unveil for whatever reason you had, but please don’t malign my religion along with your decision. If it was Arab culture, then as one of my heroes said, paraphrasing, if hijab wasn’t required why is there an iteration of it in every Muslim culture throughout history. Whether it’s in West Africa, Indonesia, Muslim Spain or South East Asia, there was ALWAYS some expression of hijab, even if it didn’t resemble what we know today. Remember what I said about Shaykh bin Bayyah, even when safety is an issue, stay inside or wear a baseball cap, but dejabbing, as I call it, is never made halal. But that doesn’t mean you can’t dejab. That’s between you and God, and it’s not for us to meddle in what personal decisions you make, but you can’t say it’s not a part of the religion. I’m saying that for your own sake. In the same way we tell people to not make haram what was made halal; don’t make halal what God made haram. It’s not that you’re questioning God’s will, as you said, actually you’re going against 1400 plus years of scholarship that you undid with a simple Google search (Post Script Correction: Rasmieyh had written a paper in her master’s program). Because had you properly researched you would not have come to that conclusion. I have more respect for someone who says that it was a burden they couldn’t bear, rather than they shed their responsibility and try to say that it’s not a part of Islam.
Speaking to the point of representing the community when you’re in hijab, I agree that it feels that way, but that’s an internal feeling that has been turned into an external reality. That is where I think people who think that way are dead wrong. Yes the way I look communicates a lot about who I am. But it’s UBER important for me to take control over that communication to make sure that I communicate who I am. I was just complaining to someone that I feel like my hijab communicates something about me that I am not. I am not conservative, I am not religious, and I am not a prude. I’m just a regular girl who loves cheeseburgers and social media. For me the solution is to not take it off, but to redefine what my hijab looks like. It’s a stereotype like all the other stereotypes that are out there. How do we combat stereotypes? Not by taking the issue off the table altogether. I’m glad Rasmieyh stays silent, because honestly and with all due respect, when it comes to what the religion says about hijab, she’s got it all wrong. Although speaking to NPR isn’t really staying silent. Back to my other point about hijab in the first place.
I hear people say: when I’m ready, I’ll wear hijab. Ready? What the heck does that mean? No one told us, inshaAllah when you’re ready you’ll start praying or fasting, or not stealing, or not lying. I really think that’s what gave us a hijomplex (do I need to explain that?). People think well, I’m not religious enough to wear the headscarf. When I get there, then I’ll wear it. Get where exactly ya mama? This isn’t Mario Bros, and when you get to level 8, you’re a good enough Muslim to wear the hijab. It’s just any other obligation among the numerous other obligations that as a Muslim we choose to take on. Oh and about it being a choice.
Yes America, it is a choice. I made a conscious decision to cover and if I were to dejab it would also be a conscious decision. But the choice is in whether or not I choose to observe a part of my religion or not. It’s really very simple.
So thinking that one has to reach a certain level to wear hijab creates a problem. I’m not good enough, or I’m a horrible person and I don’t want to make Islam look bad, so I’ll just dejab. We all think we are horrible people, but that doesn’t mean we are. If we thought we were spectacular, then we’d have a bigger issue on our hands. So one of the things that we have to do is change the way we look at hijab. I wish we’d give prayer the same emphasis that we give to hijab. I think our community would be in a better place if we did. Bring hijab down a couple of notches people. To me wearing hijab is like wearing shoes, it’s something I have to do. I can wear heels , sandals, flip-flops or loafers, but I just gotta do it, because walking barefoot could be an option but it will hurt me and society.
I do want to say this: I, by no means, am judging people for dejabbing, nor am I looking down on anyone who decides to make that decision. On the contrary, I have the utmost sympathy for anyone who has to make that decision, as the NPR piece said, “the choice to unveil is highly private, emotional and religious.” I agree with that and I’m so thankful that’s not an issue for me . And I think it should be portrayed that way. But what’s happening is some people, not all, are taking their own feelings about their decision and projecting it back on Islam, or as a defense mechanism saying in essence I did nothing wrong by dejabbing, actually there’s no proof hijab is required in Islam. Why?
Because when you take your scarf off, it only makes it so much harder for us to step out into the world with hijab on, not only do I have to defend my right to practice my religion the way that I want, but now I have to defend your right too. It’s a disservice to the religion when you don’t take ownership of your actions. And that’s a burden I should not have to bear.
Thanks to @angie_em, Asad Jaleel and Maie Seif for your feedback and critique.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: alive in egypt, egypt, facebook, funny, hosni mubarak, internet meme, man behind omar suleiman, omar suleiman, revolution, speak2tweet, twitter
I really should be writing about a lot of things like the Egyptian Revolution, my work with Alive In Egypt and Speak2Tweet, or more tragic events like the death of Bilal Mallick (which I will definitely write about later). But alas I’m not.
One of the most unexpected and maybe unfortunate events that occurred when Omar Suleiman announced the resignation of Hosni Mubarak was the man who was standing behind him. His name is Hussein Sharif, and he’s been the focus of a lot of joking and a facebook group that was later deleted, and there is a group of people that love him and are apologizing via a Facebook group. But this video was the topper for me. I went ahead and translated it, because I thought it was so funny. Ustaz Hussein, I’m really sorry for doing this and I hope you have a sense of humor, and I have a feeling I might have to take this down later. But enjoy this for now.
Tahya Masr!!! (Long live Egypt)
Update: I don’t know how to embed videos, so here’s the link to the translated video. Enjoy 
And I’m so so sorry!
Filed under: Uncategorized
I wrote a post on the 30th of December to commemorate my niece Bayan’s birthday, but my computer crashed and I’ve been afraid to open Word and see if it’s in the recovery thing, because I didn’t save it. You’d think I’d learn from all the other times I’ve lost stuff, but no. Which brings to the subject I want to talk about today.
I am the third of four children in my family, and the fifth grandchild on my paternal side, the fourth grandchild on my maternal side and I’m the first granddaughter on both sides. Out of 30 plus grandchildren that should put me in a leadership position within my family, but it’s mostly made a bit bossy and a little bit of a bully. But, as usual, I digress. What prompted this post is a conversation I had a work with a friend about subject a tad bit too personal for this post, but God knows I’ll write about it later. But in the course of the conversation, I was told, “You’ll see,” and “You’ll regret that decision.” And I think that blew a fuse in me, because I fought back and hard. In my apology email to my friend, I said this, “…I am a little tired of trying to forge my own path in life and being told that I’ll regret my decisions later on. I have faith that God will direct me in the path that is meant for me and it will be the best for me, even if it’s bad.” And I truly believe every word of that!!
I am tired. I am tired of being told what to do when it comes to MY life. I’ve always been different than the people around me, and I have always loved that I was different. We are all unique in our own special way, but I never quite fit in with my peers, my gender, my family and my society. If I was amongst my family in Egypt, I always felt like an outsider because I was American. Here in America, being amongst fellow Americans, I feel a little left out, because I can’t share in all American experiences due to limitations set by my faith, culture and other things. I’m neither here nor there. I’m always juggling different identities trying to make them work together. My point is I am not like anyone else. I am me.
That “me” that I am, should be able to do what me likes, right? Wrong! I’m always told, “If you do X, Y will happen, and you’ll regret you never did W.” This is the general equation:
E = Me
W = What other people think you should do
X = What I want to do
Y = What will happen if I don’t follow their advice
Z = God’s Will
E – W = Y ≥ Regret (According to others)
E + W = Z (sarcastically, because their advice is best)
E + X = X (What I should have done in the first place)
E – X = Real Regret (I will always wonder what would have been)
Z = all of the above
I was never very good at math, but here’s how I see the whole thing: If I don’t do what you say, I will regret it. If I do what you say, I’ll be implementing God’s will (as you see it). If I don’t do what I want to do, then I truly will regret not taking all the chances I could have/should have taken. The way I see it, I should just things the way I want, so I don’t regret not taking any chances I had before me. At the end of the day, all that happens is God’s will. And we plan, but His plan is the plan that ultimately gets implemented, and He is the best of planners. And our job is to be content with His plan. Sometime it’s congruent with our plans, and sometimes it is not. It’s about being okay with it when it’s not.
Can you imagine if God granted all of our prayers? I’d would have had 12 children by now and maybe married three or four times. Speaking of marriage, I remember being told that I will understand when I get married, or I got a “you’ll see” when I get married. Then I got married, and guess what? I couldn’t see a damn thing. While a lot changed for me when I got married, I didn’t get a magical understanding of the world I didn’t have before. And I’d like to find those people and smack them upside the head. (Hopefully, I’ll be writing about marriage more in the future.)
I’ve always taken people’s advice to heart and always felt like I HAD to follow it whenever it was given to me. I didn’t always seek it out, but a lot of times it’s given freely. I am sure I’m guilty of giving out advice without being asked for it, but I’m a social worker and that’s my job (haha, now I’m off the hook). But advice to all that give it out: Give your advice without the expectation that it will be followed. And to all the recipients of advice: You don’t always have to follow all the advice given to you.
Filed under: The Journey | Tags: d-bags, forgiveness, grief, letters, loss, moving on, people
We have all been hurt by people, and we have all hurt people. But we don’t always get to redress the wrongs. This is my attempt, although it’s more for me (in a public kind of way).
It’s for me to feel better.
This is a modified letter I had to write to someone who had hurt me deeply. I’m sharing it because it’s a part of the healing process, but also because it really can be applied to a lot of other situations. I have modified it as an open letter to all that have wronged me in my life.
–
Dear those who have wronged me,
I actually have a hard time even addressing you. Because people don’t do to people what you’ve done. I have spent a lot of time trying to avoid facing how you have wronged me. But I have finally faced it, and I’m working to put it behind me. I’m also putting you behind me.
But I don’t think that you would ever acknowledge that you did anything wrong, because that’s how people like you conduct their lives (that’s how you roll, son). You abuse people in so many ways and never acknowledge what you’ve done wrong. In fact you walk around acting like the victim, when you’ve made too many people into victims.
I don’t know if I can forgive you. But I can move on without you.
I don’t think I have much more to say. But know you reap what you sow.
I’m leaving it up to God. He’ll take care of me, as He has.
Eman
P. S. This isn’t directed at anyone in particular, but a few sentences were written with specific people in mind. Don’t ask, cause I ain’t telling.
Filed under: Bayan, The Journey | Tags: Bayan Hassaballa, blogging, grief, Insomaniacal, insominia, loss, quran, spirituality
I’m not really sure where this post is going, but here goes everything. I got up from bed, not being able to sleep. I’ve learned, the hard way, not to try to read myself to sleep because if it’s a good book, I’ll be up all night reading as the night melts away into morning. My brother is a sleep specialist and he’s told me about the reading and I didn’t listen. That’s how I read my guilty pleasure in about 24 hours. I think he’s the one who advised me to just get up and do something until I’m tired and can fall asleep. After lying in bed for four hours, praying to God to just fall asleep, I’ve become afraid.
I’m afraid of tossing and turning in bed. I’m afraid of watching the minutes moving on, not regarding me one bit, as I stare in disbelief as another hour passes by carelessly not taking my feelings into account. I sit in bed, rerunning through my day, trying to remember when I had my last cup of coffee. Today, I think I had my last sip close to five (big mistake). And that might be (probably is) why I’m still up. But it could be so many other things. And now, because of this fear, I usually find myself sitting on a chair in front of either a computer or television screen waiting until I can’t keep my eyes open, so I can easily slip into sleep. But I digress.
My husband called me at work this morning and told me my great aunt had passed away. It was very sad, because she had suffered from cancer and probably died from its complications. I totally missed the pleas from her daughter to our family to pray for her. It was only after the fact when I started wall-snooping. I stumbled through the Arabic of her writing on my other cousin’s wall. On Tuesday at 10 am she wrote, “Sherif, Don’t forget Mama in your dua (supplication), she’s not feeling well. And honestly, God Forbid (Yustur), she went into the intensive care unit for 24 hours now. They discharged her, but she’s still not doing well at all. Please remember her in your prayers.” And she wrote on my other cousin’s wall, “Please tell your mom and (my grandmother, who is her sister in law) to pray for Mama. She’s really sick, and God Protect her, please don’t forget.” And then it was silent for a couple of days, and another cousin posted on his profile RIP Tant Zeinab Khalifa at 4:57 a.m. on Thursday.
I can’t imagine what the last few days have been like, nor can I imagine what the next year is going to be like. I’ve experienced loss before, but this is different. In reflecting upon today’s events, I imagined having lost both my parents (God bless and keep them safe from harm), because my great aunt is only survived by her children. My uncle passed away years ago. I imagined how alone I would feel without them. Naturally, I think about how I take my parents for granted and how I am going to regret it when they’re gone. Sad fact is things most likely won’t really change, and my inaction will turn into regret. I can see myself now sitting on a therapists couch saying through tears, “I wish I had done more,” and the therapist telling me, “Don’t beat yourself up, you were a good daughter.”
But this post isn’t about making sure we take advantage of the time we have with our loved ones. The lump in my throat is getting big now, and I’m trying to swallow it away. I still don’t really know where this is going. But I’ll continue.
I’m thinking now of the all the loss I’ve experienced in my life (mainly losing Bayan) and the loss and grief I will experience in the future and my heart is filled with sadness.
But I find comfort in the temporal nature of this life (I hope I’m using that word right). But ya’ni that life is short, and temporary or brief. In looking to next life, I’m hoping for good in that life. And I think of all the reunions that will occur in Jannah. (I’m trying not to think of the Day of Judgment, I’m hoping for an exemption from that day). I promised myself, at some point, that Bayan would be the first person I’d look for (darn, now I’m crying). Actually, I’m hoping she’ll be the one looking for me. One of the best dreams I’ve had of her, is when I asked her if she would intercede on my behalf and take me with her to Jannah. She nodded.
That’s what I’m looking forward to, and I hope I get there in spite of who I really am. I’m really hoping for al-Raheem, the same mercy that a mother has for her child1.
Alright, I’m done. Go now, do something useful.
Filed under: The Journey | Tags: america, burn, clevon, islam, kindness, koran, muhammad, quran
Someone may change your life or your perspective on life and you may never know their name or even meet them for that matter. There was a woman who used to sweep the mosque of the Prophet, peace be upon him. When she died, the Prophet wasn’t informed of her death and she was buried. When he, peace be upon him, inquired about her, he was told that she had passed away. The Prophet said, “Why did you not inform me?” He asked to be shown her grave and he offered a funeral prayer. (for the daleely folks: (Translation of Sahih Bukhari, Volume 1, Book 8, Number 448). Whoever buried her, thought her not to be significant enough to mention to the Prophet that she has passed, but the Prophet noticed her absence, and he made a point to offer the funeral prayer on her. There are two amazing things about this story. One, we don’t even know her name. And two we don’t even know what she did that made the Prophet notice her, but she is recorded in the Islamic tradition as a person of noteworthiness.
Which brings me to my point, finally, so I was perusing (loosely used) Facebook, I came across someone’s status:
So this guy walks up to the mosque in Chicago – no one knows who he is – and hands the security guard some $50 worth of Qur’ans. Says he bought them from a local bookstore because he doesn’t want anyone else buying them and burning them, essentially wants them to be protected in the…masjid. He is not believed to be a Muslim. Left without leaving his name or contact info. May Allah reward him.
It’s amazing what mankind is capable of in a good way and in a bad way. The unintended consequences that came out of Terry Jones’s shenanigans are many and amazing. The Qur’an (translated by Yusuf Ali) has stayed in Amazon’s Top 100 (Religion and Spirituality) for 56 days. It’s at spot 28 now (as of 9/17/10). The Qur’an (Translated by M.A.S. Abdel Haleem) is at spot 37 and has been in the top 100 for 45 days. (Taken from here). I doubt that people are buying them to burn them, but people might be wondering what all the hullabaloo (I love that word) is all about. And it also prompted this hilarious video that went viral amongst the Muslim community about how to get free Qurans to burn. And this is just to mention a few.
So I stole this post from Aijaz and posted it as a status, and in less than an hour, three people have already posted it on their walls and most everyone is praying for him. It inspired me to write this, and reflect on my own life and actions. Have I done something like this? Probably not.
This man has gotten the attention of so many people, but he’s also gotten the Attention of the One who matters most, the One who’s Attention we’re all vying for. He is the One whom we ask to grant mercy upon our souls. Let’s all pray for this nameless man who in my opinion deserves paradise for this anonymous act of kindness.
Hello Everyone,
I hope this finds you well. I’ve been working an a few posts, and I’ve also been reflecting upon a lot of things including in which direction I want this blog to go. In the meantime, someone shared this beautiful poem. And I found so much comfort in it. I also found a website which talks about the origin. I hope that those who have lost loved ones, recently or not so recently, find comfort in it.
I know the next time the next time the breeze passes over me, I will think of this poem.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
Taken from: http://www.businessballs.com/donotstandatmygraveandweep.htm
