Chapter 21 - "Rumsfeld's Shoes"

Gah!
I'll put a hold on this one for a while.
When I resume my brief hiatus, all the remaining chapters of Three Cups of Tea will be posted, and I will start a new book entitled It, by Stephen King. It's my first dive into horror, and I think I'll get insomnia as my punishment for even thinking about reading this—all the more tempting, 'eh? That's a small price to pay for an interesting book; am I right or am I right?

Happy reading,
Hornet

Chapter 20 - "Tea with Taliban"

Who's the Taliban, anyway? There's more than enough mentions of them ever since the chappie of the Ground Zero hit, so I might as well do some decent research. It turns out that they're the Islamic military. They're not all bad folks, I've realized, as I read the conversations between Mortenson and his Taliban allies. Most of them do not have the choice to decide what they want their occupation to be, growing up as boys who learn in the only school set in their villages for enforcing military codes, etcetera. Mortenson's approach to ceasing terrorism by building schools is understandable, because every time he implants a school of his own that does not encourage barbaric teachings, a group of students learn something that is not related to or pertaining to mass-murdering Americans. This is definitely an improvement that takes one step back from the traditional, uncivilized "solution" of wreaking havoc through childish bombs.

"The Taliban just closed Afghanistan to all foreign reporters."

Well, gee, isn't that a great thank you for all the years America has allowed foreigners, including the masked folks of Central Asia, permittance through its gates and past our Lady Liberty in the welcoming Battery Park? Just because ya'll feel a bit insecure after you bullied us (U.S., haha—okay, I'll stop pulling the puny jokes) with your threats and your attacks, afraid that we might retaliate, closing your airports to foreign reporters does nothing but harm your image. Yes, we're looking at a bunch of cowards, people.

"'I was on the phone with my editor in New York when the second plane hit the tower and filed a few stories before they 'escorted' me out.'"

You mean whupped your butt out? (Total Chocolat Meilleure influence right there.)

"Mortenson sat at the table for forty-five minutes, along with an American flag and a large portrait of the president who'd taken the oath of office ten months earlier, George W. Bush. 'I knew what they were trying to do,' Mortenson says."

D'oh! It's so obvious what they want you to do. To activate the secret portal behind the portrait, you must shout, 'You dog!' in an Iraq accent and throw a shoe at his face, just like Muntadar al-Zaidi. Scorch! :P

"And Faisal, who would spit on a picture of Osama Bin Laden any time he saw one, would shudder at the thought of what people under those bombs must be going through and raise his hands in dau, asking Allah to spare them any unnecessary suffering."

Aha! I knew what the interwebz had fed me were lies! All lies! I will now cry and detach my hair in fistfuls of agony! ....No, that was dramatized. But I knew that the girl from the apartment couldn't possibly be blessing me. She was damn right looking down on me. What? Was I missing the scraggly beard and "top hat"?

"'I wish some of our bombs had hit you because you're counterproductive to our military efforts.'"

Alright, let's pretend that I am the magical and mythical Wish Faerie (I refuse to spell it 'Fairy' because Disney abused that term with those giddy goody two-shoes). With my oh-so powerful wand, I can bonk you on the head with it and bada-boom, there's your granted wish. Oh, and what's that? A letter with the sender wishing a bomb had hit Mortenson? Bada-boom, ding, boop, and bam, you've got yourself a Mr. Greg Mortenson dead corpse with the option of sending the body to either your mailbox or porch, mister. Do you sincerely want a bomb to A) decapitate his body, B) dislodge his bones, and C) down-right murder him, and it'll all be all of your fault, from your one careless wish? Your guilt will eat you alive. And ah, let's end it with a chilling adage: Careful what you wish for.

"'Our Lord will see that you pay dearly for being a traitor,' it began, before warning Mortenson that 'soon you will suffer more excruciating pain than our brave soldiers.'"

By "excruciating pain," I infer that you mean that he'll roast like a marinated turkey in the pits of Tartarus. Wow; threatening with hell is so old school, you cross-waving geezer. I believe that God, at least, doesn't dump someone into those flames because you said so. I don't think you have a VIP pass hanging by your neck, missie. Oh, right, and is your lord the type that wants to torture men that do good deeds?

Chapter 19 - "A Village Called New York"

Read the chappy title. 'nuff said. Hehe.

"Motenson learned that Sarfraz had heard a broadcast in Uighur, one of the half dozen languages he spoke, on a Chinese channel saying two great towers had fallen."

Image from encefalus.com

Obviously it was the Twin Towers that were the "two great towers" that had collapsed. They were in the 2001 time period set in this chapter, and that dated the clearly non-accidental explosion of these two buildings. My, my. Isn't someone getting angsty? Why don't the terrorists run home and cry to their mommys on how proud they felt when they had dropped the kill? Oh, that's right. They're so stupid that they willingly gave in their own lives that could have acheived something with a bit more moral and wouldn't be glared upon, and so blind that they didn't realize that in the building they despised, there were real, actual people. A majority of the people had families to come home and take care of, their own goals to complete in life before succumbing to final peace and rest. I'm sorry; did someone dial a 1-800-Dumb-Muslims hotline? I don't recall us inviting them over. They can just barge in like that? We have a nice security system 'round here.

"'Your problem in New York Village comes from there,' he said, snarling at the border. 'From this Al Qaeda shetan,' he said spitting toward Afghanistan, 'Osama.'"

Holy shmokes! I might not be able to comprehend what shetan means, as whatever he's speaking is not one of my native tongues, but nothing good can come out of any mentioning of Osama. He's that evil dude with the turban and the bombing fetish. Remember him now?

"'We share in the sorrow as people weep and suffer in America today,' he said, pushing his thick glasses firmly into place, 'As we inaugurate this school. Those who have committed this evil act against the innocent, the women and children, to create thousands of widows and orphans do not do so in the name of Islam. By the grace of Allah the Almighty, may justice be served upon them.'"

Actually, there is no real "name of the Islam." Every religion, as stated in one of my previous posts, does not, in any text its book holds, harbor blatant and short, to-the-point writings on "Don't do this, do this, screw that." But to the dear readers of this obnoxious book blog, if I do say so myself, I am sorry if you think that through all the posts I have made on Three Cups of Tea are negative and directed towards you. They are most likely not if you do not fit the description of a typical douche bag, and well, a person that manipulates and dominates like a dog after its bitch. If you're a nice man, underneath all that layer of religion and faith and whatnot, and your heart is in its right place (not a remnant of the dissembled body parts of a suspect from the fall) I respect you as a human, all in all.

Chapter 18 - "Shrouded Figure"

Loss of internet connection prevented me from going online to update Hornet's Shelves, sadly. However, I got up to two chapters down, and I'm already halfway-through the third, so I caught up on some reading.

 "Reluctantly, Mortenson agreed to hire an assistant, Christine Slaughter, to work with him in a few hours each day organizing his basement, which even he could see was becoming an embarrassing mess."

Oh my gods. Christine Slaughter? I would immediately change my last name after I gain the legal right to, unless my dream profession was to become a ruthless butcher or a person that can navigate through Mortenson's basement and clean it up without having to worry about an avalanche of papers. About the wanting to become a "ruthless butcher" thing, around my neighborhood, eerily right by McDonald's and a Muslim day care, there's a slaughter shop ran by Arabians. It literally says in direct print as the store's banner: Hand Slaughtered. Nice advertising, eh? :/ Gives vegetarians a nice sign to look at. One day, I'll post a snapshot of it, 'kay?

"In a lot, he found seventy-eight-year old Vera Kurtz hunched over the wheel of her elderly Ford Fairlane. The trunk and rear seat were jammed with old newspapers and tin cans, so he climbed into the passenger seat and wedged his carry-on bag between the dashboard and his chest. 'She'd sent me on this goose chase so she could avoid paying a few dollars to park at the airport.'"

There are enough red flags to realize that Kurtz isn't going to pay a donation from her "rich savings", and that she just wants a companion to spend the night with. She may be a lonely elderly, and deserves some attention before her final days, but doing it through deceit and wasting Mortenson's precious time is pitiful.

"'I hope so, sweetie,' Mortenson said. 'I sure hope so.'"

This translates to, "The baby might grow up into a healthy child like yourself, but there's also the slim but possible chance that it will die of an unknown, unpreventable sickness." Mortenson doesn't want reality to hit the child hard, so he sugar-coated his words with Inshallah.

Chapter 17 - "Cherry Trees in the Sand" Part 2

(cont. from part 1)
Later on, I found out that spitting onto people or objects was a way that Muhammad blessed others. I still hold a grudge, though. In America, it's not customary to shoot germs at strangers for no apparent reason. It's illegal in fact, and immigrants should know their laws of the country they're moving to, incase of untended violation (I'm not sorry for sounding like a prick)! A better way is to verbally say, "bless you", but I should be labeled as a hypocrite if I said I approved of these uttered words (I am, actually, without you ever noticing it, but I blame my disorderly bi-polar side--in person, have you ever thought I had thoughts like these? You thought I was a really innocent sweet girl? You make me laugh. No, I'm not really laughing).

I used to be one those "niceties" that passed out "bless you" to anyone that has ever sneezed within my hearing rage, even people that sneezed as they walked past me in Main Street. But now, I think, "What is the point of blessing people when they're never going to bless you back in return?" It's rare to find people that I used to be like that say "bless you" to everyone. If I sneezed, and the person I blessed is right next to me, they ignore it and continue doing whatever it is that they're doing. Wow. I feel so loved. These back-stabbing bastards would just let some sick, twisted soul enter my body as my inner-self is sneezing out bad omens, and then in the spur of a moment, I become possessed by Lucifer! They couldn't spare two seconds of their life to bless me. This is the reason why I stopped saying "bless you", because I guarantee you you're never going to bless me.

"As Mortenson sat down with the men, he saw a pair of well-oiled AK-47s on the floor between their feet."

Image from armyrecognition.com

Can someone ever sit down without running into a Mr. Harvey pedophile or a plump man flaunting his greasy threat underneath his chair?

"'Big and powerful. We had Allah on our sides in Afghanistan,' Gul said, grinning. 'Also American Stinger missiles.'"

Despite some traditions that I don't particularly agree with the religion of Islam, it is remarkable how loyal these people are when it comes to their Qu'ran books with words lit by candle light. They beat me at this one. I have tried to become a Christian, but I'm struggling with this as my thoughts wonder off and I conclude the most Atheist things. I mean, isn't it a bit expected for a person like to me to doubt that there's this superior dude that can create the world off of his fingertips like magic? Isn't it reasonable to take up the possibility that maybe some random, excellently... delusional novelist wrote the Bible and threatened others to "join his religion" in a psycho-induced state, all the while shooting spurs on how they would all roast like turkey in the boiling pot of Hell and woeful eternity if they didn't put up crosses on their lawns. How do most people have the ability to latch onto the most ignorant fantasies of how the world came to be? I do stand by and respect some Christian morals, though.

"'Sweden says it is a peaceful country, but they they sell very deadly guns.'"

Oh, the irony! Hopefully the deadly guns have a neutralizer. Haha! Get it? Get it?

"'We have a great need for schools in my valley,' Gul said, 'Why don't you come back with us and build ten or twenty there? Even for girls, no problem.'"

It is humans' nature to be greedy, and they don't understand that Mortenson isn't Bill Gates. He doesn't have the money to spare for ten, twenty schools in Gul's valley when he was forty, sixty other schools to construct. If I was Mortenson, I wouldn't decline the asking, but I would gently let it off a bit by telling Gul that I was on a budget, and other villages need schools as well. But Gul's village can wait just a little more and maybe there can be more than one school built for them if the money can suffice.

"'I wish Westerners who misunderstand Muslims could have seen Syed Abbas in action that day,' Mortenson says. 'They would see that most people who practice the true teachings of Islam, even conservative mullahs like Syed Abbas, believe in peace and justice, not terror. Just as the Torah and Bible teach concern for those in distress, the Koran instructs all Muslims to make caring for widows, orphans, and refugees a priority.'"

The Bible, Torah, Qu'ran, and other religious readings are usually not direct on what it is trying to persuade the reader to do. I had a discussion with my seventh-grade English teacher, and we concluded that the actions of a person does not necessarily have to be from an impact of their religion. The information may be written, and it might have been filled to the brim with morality and good doing, but that does not mean the person will see it as so. It depends drastically on who is reading it and their opinion and thoughts that eventually intercepts on what they think their God or gods is trying to shoot the message towards them.

Chapter 17 - "Cherry Trees in the Sand" Part 1

It is incredibly hot and humid here, but at this weather that has been forced harshly upon New York City, I wonder what it feels like in the torturous Kashmir when bombs whirled down from the sky, described as a "whump" from India, as well as written as "shells." Poor victims like the two Batool sisters, Fatima and Aamina, suffered from the weapons of military combat.

"About the shell that landed then, just outside the mouth of the cave. Fatima has no memory at all. All she can say is that, after it exploded, her sister's hayaat, or spirit, was broken, and neither of their lives was ever the same."

I was never aware of the blood lust between Pakistan and India before reading this book. I mean, what's their beef? Then I started thinking about how close their territories are, and how the borders that separate them are hostile. What about the people that live, unluckily, where the LOC ran and the two fought? They were left with caves to hide under, but I'm guessing that was it.

Image from dismalworld.com

"A year earlier, Pakistan had stunned the world by conducting five successful tests of nuclear weapons."

Do you notice the subtle but clear word, stunned? There are two meanings that Relin might have been applying: stunned as in surprised at the murderous intents of the nuclear bombs Pakistan had, with much achievement, tested, or they were "stunned" when the tests were dropped onto sections of the world's lands--what a sadistic plan if so, with their bulging eyeballs traced with strained veins as they plunge into a pit of unexpected explosion! About the nuclear weapons, I faintly recall my sixth-grade history teacher informing us a bit on them; nothing much but an opinion-based morsel. This information may or may not be true, but she said how there was a pact made worldwide wherein nuclear weapons should not be used, and all sides that dotted along maps of our Earth had agreed to pull up their hands and drop--well, not literally--their nuclear capsules. She would mock this peace treaty, because "deep inside", she said, "every country knows that no one ever disposed their bombs, just incase the other hasn't." Everyone wants to sit firmly on the upper leverage! No one offers to be at the bottom of a see saw--well, maybe Sweden.

"Throughout the spring and summer of 1999, more than 250,000 Indian shells, bombs, and rockets rained down on Pakistan, according to GlobalSecurity.org. Such high rates of fire hadn't afflicted any place on Earth since World War II."

Seriously, what's their beef? Did a Pakistani "have a cow" (a quote from Bart Simpson) and the vegan Hindu was outraged by the offense?

"The answers weren't in the stacks of books piling ever higher against the walls and spilling off the shelves onto the floor."

Nuh uh, and Hermoine would agree with me on this one that books hold answers to everything; you name it, a librarian's going to find it!

"And to the west, the Rupal Face of Nanga Parbat, the greatest single unbroken pitch of rock on Earth, mesmerized Mortenson seen from this unfamiliar angle."

Wait 'til he views the world upside-down, or lay down on the rough cement of a vacant park, only to gaze up at the sky and feel like gravity is pushing you, diminishing your size until you realize you are only the googlelith creature alive, and of much insignificance behind the small eyes of your own world. It's amazing! The world looks so much better upside-down.

"'They must be in a big hurry,' he said, spitting a long stream of Copenhagen chewing tobacco Mortenson had brought him from Montana out the window, 'to become martyrs.'"

Alright, what is up with these Muslims and their fetish of spitting? It must be some form of a lower than low disrespect, because I have had horrible experiences with these saliva-spewing wanna-be badasses prowling the streets and chucking out a few feet of their personal matter. In example, when I was waiting for my best-friend (now former, because they never last) in her apartment streaming with Muslims and Indians from door to door, this young girl, who should really respect people who have the power to strike a crazy urge and sock her right in the nose (a.k.a. me, but I am civilized....) was leaning from the second floor over the fence that overlooked the lobby, and she gave a sneery look before narrowly missing the glob of her icky goo from where I stood. I mean, come on! Really? To a stranger?

Chapter 16 - "Red Velvet Box"

Aslam, to become the murmadhar right after he returns from his studies, is a bit surprising. Being the chief of a village is what I can imagine a lot of responsibility loaded onto his back, and this must have some impact on him from the news of his father's death, as well. Aslam is obviously a strong person, and I admire him for that. Despite this, I hope he mourned.

"I've learned the world is a very large place and so far, I've only seen a little of it."

Those words on pg. 208 spoken by Shakeela are very empowering. I feel brave enough to travel onto another spot on the globe, just for the thrill of exploring a twist in my life. However, Mortenson had already shown his sense of venturing into unknown land, especially in three chapters before when he traveled to Waziristan without a native accompanying him. I was angered when he was kidnapped and was forcefully pushed into a freakin' cage. My point is, when we spot a Muslim casually walking around New York City, tending to his own business, do we send a rough troop to capture him, blindfolding him in the process, and put him in our jail cells? No; or someone is slacking, because they make up a considerably large population percentage in America.

"'For these blessings, I thank Almighty Allah,' Aslam says, 'and Greg Mortenson.'"

To be grouped in the same sentence of a blessing with the superior Allah? That is such an honor.

"There was nothing conservative religious leaders could point to as 'anti-Islamic' in an effort to shut schools down."

Well, darn, the Muslim schools in America might have some (or, basically all) teachings non-Christian, or non-American all in all, but heck, do we go off on a rampage shutting them down because they don't suit our taste as true citizens? Islamic views on things should change if they want to have at least five tourists ... a year, without them being held captive.

After reading the last three paragraphs, this man gets his face plastered almost everywhere, now! Good deeds pay off. :)