The past semester was my last one as an undergrad, and it flew by pretty quickly. While I only needed three more classes to graduate, I took four. One of them in particular caused me so much pain: intermediate social statistics. Although I knew it would be difficult after attending the first class, I didn’t think it would be that hard. I passed and got a decent grade, but do you have any idea how much work it took me to get that? No, you don’t. Hardest class I’ve ever taken.

Since I was in Argentina from February to December 2007, I spent much of my semester trying to get over the fact I was no longer in South America. I had such an amazing experience that words cannot describe, and I was honestly disappointed to be back on campus. I mean, I love being there, but it no longer seemed as big or exciting as it used to. When you live in a massive city like Buenos Aires, everything seems so small in comparison. I was always out and about, but on campus, I’m mostly in the library studying.

I tried to avoid talking about Argentina unnecessarily with my friends, but it always came up. How could I avoid it? I spent almost a year of my life there. I probably annoyed people with my Argentina stories. As much as it is true, I didn’t want give the impression that I had all these amazing experiences while they were just stuck in the Midwest taking classes or doing internships in some boring office. And it sucks that only people that have been to Argentina would truly understand my stories.

Cambio de tema.

I graduated from college almost three weeks ago! Yes, thank you. Fortunately, I was able to graduate in four years. Where did the time ago? I still remember the day I moved into my dorm back in August 2004, excited about moving on to the next phase of my life. If I could go back and redo my undergrad years (while, of course, avoiding the mistakes I made), I’d do it in a heartbeat.

So what lies ahead of me? Grad school. I’ll be at the same university, pursuing a master’s degree. Ultimately, I would like to get a doctorate in either sociology or anthropology. Academia is the way to go, yo.

That’s it for now, folks. Insha’Allah I’ll finish summarizing my South American journey within the next few days.

Oh, and I leave you with this:

I remember seeing this back when I was in elementary school. Thank you, YouTube, for helping me find videos I saw back in the day.

This happened less than a hundred meters away from my apartment building.

I didn’t hear any shots, but my host mom told me what had occurred after she returned from grocery shopping.

After watching the news coverage of the event, I was tempted to walk to the scene to see the hullabaloo and take pictures. I decided against that because I thought that was pretty low of me to even think of looking for the covered body so that I could have some interesting visuals for this post.

More than eight hours later, the streets are unblocked, and everything is back to normal.

While I’m still on the topic of death, a young man in his late 20s that lived next door passed away a few days ago after a long bout of testicular cancer. I never saw him, but my host mom told me how he lost 40 kilos over the past year and a half due to his illness and suffered greatly.

Hopefully he’s in a better place.

To reflect this rise of women in what has traditionally been a male-dominated region, several countries sent women to represent them at the inauguration ceremony in the Argentine capital, Buenos Aires.

Among them were the US Labour Secretary, Elaine Chao, Mexican Foreign Minister Patricia Espinosa Cantellano and the Governor General of Canada, Michaelle Jean.

The irony is that political analysts in Argentina say that the new president prefers working with men. (BBC)

I tried watching the ceremony on TV, but my elderly host mom kept drowning out Cristina’s speech by commenting how nasty the new president looks. I had to agree with her; why the frick does she put on so much eyeliner? Ewww. The combination of Botoxed wrinkly skin and makeup is not pleasant.

Once Friday hits, Insha’Allah, I’ll be totally done with my exams and papers for the semester. And after that? Grad school applications and hopefully a trip down to the Dirty South, which in this case means southern Argentina.

How weird is it to run into a pair of Pakistani Americans from California when waiting in line at an ice cream shop in Buenos Aires with another desi from the US? It’s so odd to run into your “own kind” in such a random place. I mean, I see plenty of white Americans around here, but I’m totally not used to meeting other brown people with American accents in Argentina. Ah, the joys of living in the South Asian diaspora.

I can’t get the following songs out of my head:

And one of the thousand Spanglish covers spawned by the original:

Okay, back to studying.

I like the song! It’s pretty catchy, especially if you understand the lyrics. I actually heard a guy whistling it on the subway two days ago. Go to the web site and click “Bajate el mp3″ to download it if you absolutely love it.

Based on their choice of cumbia, I’m guessing they’re aiming the campaign towards the lower classes, who are at a higher risk for HIV/AIDS than their more well-off counterparts. Cumbia, like hip hop back in 1980s America, is particularly popular among the poor and disenfranchised in Argentina, especially those that live in the massive slums surrounding the capital. Nonetheless, I’m sure the message does everyone some good.

Although the campaign has a funny name, it’s probably more effective than the dry, not-so-catchy ad campaigns in the US that attempt to raise awareness of the dangers of STDs.

I still think nothing can beat the Telugu condom song.

I’d like to hear Argentine songs and not American ones once in a while.

My eyes are tired.

Three weeks and four days left before I return to Illinois, home of Barack Obama, Chicago, and the Springfield Race Riot of 1908.

Argentina, te voy a extrañar. (Argentina, I’m gonna miss you.)

Yeah… Saying that to someone in the US could get you beaten up.

We ate a whole chicken, corn, stuffing, mashed potatoes, chicken tikka masala wings (prepared by Rashmee), bread, and pound cake. Unfortunately, there was a not a turkey in sight; we substituted it with chicken because there was no way a whole turkey could fit into the oven. The thought of eating chicken instead of turkey on Thanksgiving is blasphemous and almost haram, but we had no other choice. It was good, though. It’s the thought that counts.

We all had to draw Thanksgiving pictures like we did back in kindergarten. I traced my left hand and turned the outline into a turkey. A ver:

I wanna show it to my mommy when I get back home.

Good people, good times, and most importantly, chicken tikka masala wings.

Hey,

Ok, so I’m guessing we’re presenting on Thursday, so we need to get prepared. I***** hasn’t replied to my e-mail where I asked her when we’re presenting (I’ve sent her a total of three e-mails this semester, and she has yet to answer one). Can you e-mail her to confirm?

The Huntington reading is 38 pages long. I suggest we split it up into two parts: I’ll do 92-111, and you do 111-30 (or vice-versa, if you want). Both of us should definitely read everything, but this is just that so one of us can focus on a particular section.

Let’s meet Wednesday afternoon to get everything together. Does that work for you?

- Hasan

PS - Ugh, and we have that project. We definitely have to get started next weekend. Can you e-mail and ask her if our topic is okay and if we can write the paper in English? Explain to her that all the sources are in English and that we’re really busy and writing in English would be much easier for us. I would write to her, but she never responds.

He did what I asked and e-mailed the teacher with my questions. The thing is, he replied to my e-mail to contact her while BCCing it to me and forgot to delete what I said! Crap. You know how when you reply to e-mails it shows the past messages? We don’t know if she saw my comments about how she never responds to my e-mails and my lack of desire to do the project (”Ugh, and we have that project”). Maybe we’ll find out tomorrow in class.

The teacher responded to Dan’s e-mail in less than twenty minutes (and why did she not answer mine, even though I sent it six days ago?) and answered our questions: yes, we are presenting the Samuel P. Huntington reading tomorrow, and yes, we can write our paper in English. However, she CCed the e-mail to the twenty-four people in the class (wait, I thought there were only twenty—maybe the others dropped but still remain on the mailing list), which means everyone could have read it. And everyone, including the teacher, knows English, so they surely have the ability to read my words.

Oh well. Dan, the other two Americans in our class, and I had a good laugh over the fiasco over lunch today. It could be worse. All I said was that the teacher never responds to my e-mails. Nothing bad. At least I didn’t call her a bitch or anything.

We couldn’t figure out why she responded to our e-mail by sending it to the entire class when it doesn’t pertain to them. We theorized that she wanted to prove to everyone that she does indeed respond to e-mails.

I’m thinking about growing my hair out again. It was shaggy and almost down to my neck last December, but I had it trimmed to make it more manageable and then buzzed down to half an inch in January to make a fresh start. It’s been about the same length ever since. Because I’m a conflicted man with thin (no, not thinning; it’s always been relatively thin) hair, I often switch back from shaggy hair to buzzcuts. I know I look better with long hair, but it’s just so high maintenance, and it gets messed up easily. Blah. I can never decide what to stick with.

Actually, if I could, I would grow an Afro. Not a huge one; just long enough to stick a pick in it.

While I’m still on the topic of fashion in this city, I’ve tinkered with the idea of piercing my ears and getting diamond studs. I’d look so slick and dangerous, especially if I kept my hair buzzed. And I’m totally not dangerous; I almost cried twice when I watched The Namesake three weekends ago.

This is what living in Buenos Aires does to you. Too many corrupting, pierced youngsters and their shaggy hair and mullets.