Its when you feel the most nervous that you need to be the most confident.

Riding on the Ossington blue line bus, creeping to 4 AM, listening to Colin Hay sing “Beautiful World” on my Blackberry as I fight the land of dreams to avoid missing my stop. Happy.

It’s a powerful concept, especially when taken out of the usual physical context of light waves. (Perhaps this is the usual context for me because I’m an astronomer.) Specifically, I see a strength in using this concept when describing the behaviour of groups of people. I’m reminded of it now because of our current political situation, but its something that should be at the back of every leader’s mind regardless of what the group.

Polarization is something that should always be avoided. Unfortunately, it’s an easy way of taking control and directing a group of people to do your bidding. Our leader’s do it regularly because its an easy way to lead. Defining an “us” and “them” in provides a prism to see the world — and naturally leads to a predictable set of actions.

The challenge? It’s difficult, if not impossible, to overcome. And that will always come back to haunt you, regardless if you believe your ideology to be right.

Those of you who know me well will find it no surprise that my life has a soundtrack. Often the songs that get associated with my memories are the ones playing on the radio over and over again. Sometimes they’re classics that I’ve recently (re-)discovered. Strangely though, more often then not they’re fitting of the mood I’m in. (I’m sure there’s some causation in there somewhere.)

Tonight, however, that will be associated with this memory is a repeat; Night Shift by the Commodores. The last memory that comes to mind with this song is about 8 years ago, my last year of high school, and pulling the crazy all-nighters. (Two to three nights at a time if I remember correctly.) Nope, not for any school work, of course not. Rather, my science fair project on the eve of ISEF. Obviously, staying up for that length of time is no easy task, and I’ve never been one for coffee, so turning on the radio was going to have to do.

When I was feeling that I’d get to the point where I’d fall asleep right at the keyboard, I turned on the radio. Every time that I did, the song “Night Shift” by the Commodores was on. (Keep in mind, this song came out the year after I was born, so it’s not as if I knew it well.) Considering it was usually at 3 or 4 AM, it ended up being quite fitting, even thought the lyrics in memory of Marvin Gaye and Jackie Wilson didn’t quite strike me at the time.

Anyhow, for years, this song has forever been associated with the week leading up to ISEF. I had met my then mentor, Chris, earlier in the day when I first heard the song, and I was going to hear it again many-a-time before I made it to Cleveland.

Now, it’s 6 AM and I’m atop a mountain in Chile 8 years later. The last time I saw my now-supervisor Chris was about a week ago. As I type, I’m collecting photons for science that the boy 8 years ago wouldn’t have fathomed he would be able to do. It’s my second last night up here, with a bunch of Germans (well, they’re coming from Germany, even if that’s not where they’re originally from) to my left, and a few Portuguese to my right. Despite the radio in the control room blasting the same music loop that has been playing for the past three nights (which includes a large number of Canadians, including Michael Buble — just for my sis), the only song in my head right now is Night Shift.

Perhaps this moment, just like that eight-year-old moment, is driving a sense of nostalgia within me. I can’t help it. Back then, I was on the verge of beginning my journey, a few short months away from leaving high school and beginning that journey to, well, here. Now, I’m about a year away from being Dr. Mubdi Rahman, on top of a mountain using a telescope that I have no business getting access to, not being European. I’m a couple of days away from presenting to people I can actually call colleagues, my thesis, if I can fit the entire story in the hour. From the station where I’m sitting, there are 17 monitors (not including my laptop) with details on every setting and parameter of the 3.6 metre that I’m using only a kilometer away or so. Every time I leave this operations building, the path is lit by the beaming moon light, and I’m accompanied by the Milky Way to wherever I’m heading.

Gonna be a long night…

..despite everything that it’s taken, everything that I’ve had to do or get through to be here…

…it’s gonna be alright on the night shift.

There’s an oft-quoted reasoning given for the fasting during the Islamic month of Ramadan; to be able to emote with those who do not have the ability to stay fed on their own accord, a very “social justice” reasoning behind the act; it’s one that sounds great during a sound bite for the media or in the Friday sermons to drum up support for the local food bank. It’s a great selling point for a  noteworthy cause, but I think this misses the point; a head fake of a divine nature.

At its core, I believe that the ultimate purpose of fasting during Ramadan is to help its participants; while many tout numerous benefits to it, I believe it all comes down to self control. Let’s think about this pragmatically;  we’re being told to abstain from food, water, and sex from sunrise to sunset. For those of you at more southerly latitudes where sunset and sunrise times don’t vary much, the sun goes down these days at around 8:30 PM in Toronto these days, and it comes up at around 6:20 AM – although, truth be told, you start fasting from the first light in the day, and not just astronomical sunrise. Without context, it sounds pretty insane. Why on earth would anyone ask you to prevent yourself from partaking in the most basic human needs?

Unless that’s the point. Perhaps the point is more than just a parable of mutual empathy, but rather an exercise in training the mind. By choosing to not eat and not drink from sunrise to sunset, we’re training our minds to overcome even the most basic human needs. It doesn’t dismiss the biological need for food and water, but rather, we’re putting the control of it in our own hands – we’re not letting our hunger and thirst dictate our actions, or be more powerful than our minds’ intent.

But I think it goes beyond simply fasting, but is the core of Islam as a faith, and directly stems from the five pillars of faith that are heralded in the Sunni interpretation. After all, no divine being needs our actions or rituals, so at some level, these rituals have to be designed for our self improvement, which also fits with the nature of Islam being an orthopraxic faith. Perhaps the belief in the oneness of God is a requirement of self control over ones’ arrogance; arguably no other human trait has caused as much grief in recorded history as arrogance. Maybe the recognition of the existence and superiority of a divine being controls our ability to feel ultimate power when we are enabled with a new piece of technology, knowledge, or advantage, which oft happens throughout history.

Prayer, at fixed intervals; perhaps a lesson in the control of one’s time and practical chronology, requiring us to structure our days and lives based on our fixed intentions rather than falling victim to circumstance.

Zakat, (sometimes translated to charity, but I find that misleading since charity by definition, is voluntary), can be a lesson in self-control when it comes to our possessions, requiring a recognition of all that is available to us, and some degree of planning to the use of it all.

Finally, Hajj, which I believe is a lesson to remain earnest in a long term goal or dream; looking at this again, pragmatically, you’re talking about saving for long periods of time to one day be able to go to a foreign country to partake in a once-in-a-lifetime ritual. Remembering that people were doing this back a millennium ago, this could potentially lead to long periods of travel at great cost. At some level, what this has to be teaching us, unconsciously, is that to obtain something great – even if it’s required, you have to devote yourself and plan to make it happen.

In the end, each of these required acts are simply a lesson to us – more like a gift to be able to deal with our physical reality. Now that’s quite the head-fake.

-Mubdi

Often writing a short piece is far more difficult than writing a much longer piece. It’s more than the difficulty of being concise without being trite, it’s just getting started. At least that’s the way it’s been for me. After writing a gargantuan paper, I’m trying to write a short letter. For those not in the field, letters are short research papers that are meant to communicate exciting results in a timely fashion. So much for timely, since this paper is taking forever. This isn’t new to me, since starting the writing of a paper always takes me the longest. What concerns me though is that I’m overwhelmed.

There’s more stuff that I want to put into that paper than I can imagine how. It has gotten to the point where I’m writing the same sentences over and over again, deleting them in between. I never start writing a paper from the introduction, as it is usually the last part I write. So that leaves me starting to write somewhere in the middle. I’m jumping from section to section, writing one or two sentences, deleting them, and then jumping to a new section. I’ve been like this for a week. Guess where that leaves me? A document with only section headers. Sound frustrating to you? Imagine what it’s like for me!

I’m sure that as soon as I get something (aka anything) on digital paper, it will get easier and start going faster. This is an exciting result and I’m excited to get it out. Here’s hoping I don’t frustrate myself to death before I get there.

Back in the summer of 2006, I took a number of road trips across this continent. It was the first summer I had a car, and I put over 50 000 kilometres on it over 4 months. Most of the time, I was the only one in my car, left to my own thoughts. Yeah, it was crazy, but everyone has to do something like that before they leave University. I’ve  been meaning to write about these experiences, if only to appease my need to have some written memory. This post will hopefully be the first of a series of memoirs from that summer.

I was coming to the end of the second day of driving – the day started in Wisconsin Dells, the world capital of water parks, through the speed traps of Minnesota, and now up through North Dakota. I’d had my fill of driving through the States at this point, and was now getting eager to head north as sunset hit. My GPS was sending me through the border crossing at Portal, and then I’d be back home in a familiar land – just 3000 km away from my normal stomping grounds.

By the time I hit the border, the sky was pitch black and the red-and-white flags were being illuminated by my headlights. Nothing makes me feel quite as patriotic as coming home after time away. Even if I’d only been away for a day. The border guard was bemused at my joy of being back in Canadian soil, until she saw my Ontario license plates.

“Where’s the closest Tim Horton’s? I’m dying for a fix!”

“I get that all the time,” she said with a grin. “It’s about 20 minutes down the road, in Estevan.”

I had my target. Now driving on a Canadian highway, it felt different. Perhaps the quality of the road work, but I digress. At this point, all I could see was the road directly in front of me. Not even the headlights of passing cars, as none were to be seen. Just me and a bunch of dashed yellow lines.

I got to Estevan and the Tim Horton’s therein – with what looked like a sizable portion of the town. Young and old, were all here this night – it truly was the town’s community centre. I got my tea and doughnut, and hit the road again. Again into the darkness.

Eventually I saw something bright off to the west. It looked like a fire from afar, but as I drove closer and closer, it looked more and more industrial. To this very day, I have no clue what I drove past, but the fact that I could see it from such a distance was what amused me.

I hadn’t driven too long until I realized that I should stop for the night. After an hour of driving, I hit Weyburn and decided to stay for the night. It was warm, and I had my trusty pillow and blanket in the car, so I decided to find a place to park and sleep in my car. I ended up in a department store parking lot, bright enough for me to figure it was safe, but dim enough so that I could sleep. I rolled my seat down, kicked off my shoes and slept for the night. Cracked a window open for a bit of air. Never before had I slept so well in such a cramped space.

I woke up the next morning to the sound of a train. I wiped away the remnants of the night and propped myself up. Gold. Surrounded by Gold. As far as my eye could see – fields of what I thought was wheat (and now know is canola). I couldn’t see the end! It was as bright as the sky and filled the distance between my car and the horizon, with grain elevators faintly seen, breaking the golden yellow fields. This is what I’d heard about from my junior school geography classes, this was truly the Prairies.

I knew it was going to be a good day.

Which of the following are NOT ultimatums:

1. “If you don’t hand over those folks who shot our Archduke, we’re going to invade your country and thereby start World War I.”
2. “If you don’t move those missiles off Cuba, we’ll invade.”
3. “I don’t like where this is going, so perhaps we shouldn’t see each other.”
4. “You’ve got 5 hours to leave this town, or else.”

Really, take your pick.

We were sitting in the Lady Eaton participant lounge the night before we all left Peterborough. Four friends and a guitar, with the students long having fallen asleep. Sadly, the guitar wasn’t being passed around, but my song book was – as I did the impromptu acoustic performances that I’ve come to be known for since Saguenay in 2006. Ever since, my guitar has always come with me to Canada Wide Science Fairs. As we’re doing this, song to song, Jason tells us about his favourite part of concerts; the banter. You know, the brief talking moments any artist uses to tell an anecdote, connecting their last song to their next. Doesn’t necessarily have to be true, it just has to flow.

And there it began – we all took turns choosing songs in the book for me to play, many I haven’t played in years. Whoever chose the song would have to do the banter. Every one of us had our own styles – some took a bit more to push it out, while others told stories of their love of disaster movies. Every song became prefaced with a story, and regardless of the actual content, our banter said something about us each individually. We were creating our own soundtrack to our lives, and to the story we told through the night. Obviously, I had the easiest time since I knew every song in that book – and there usually was a story about it. What struck me, however, was when everyone else chose a song and told a story that had nothing to do with the mythology I had created about the song for myself. That’s what made this night special.

There it was, a bunch of friends sitting around, sharing music that meant something to them. What a way to end a great week.

While I’m not sure what this says about the Astronomy world’s belief of the importance of peer review, but when a paper is submitted to a journal in Astronomy, we almost always post it on the Arxiv preprint server. Yes, even before the peer review takes place. It is where astronomer’s go for their daily dose of the cutting edge research. (Well, perhaps not daily, but somewhere in that timescale.) It gets our work out to other scientists while we go through the tedium of peer review and the like, which regularly takes months of time.

Many of us get a daily email with all the new postings and their abstracts. Unfortunately, this email can be particularly long and cumbersome to read. In fact so much so that the people often only skim the first few papers on the email. the amusing part is that the number of citations you get on a paper is a strong function of where you see on the list: the first few papers on average get the most citations on average, but if you’re even fifteenth on the list, the average number of citations goes down by about a factor of two! Crazy, eh?

The way the list is compiled is first come first serve. That means the first papers submitted after the cutoff time for one day become the first papers on the next day’s list. This cutoff time is 4 PM eastern. Hence today, at 4:01 PM, I will be playing the game to see if I can be first. Wish me luck!