Lately, I've been getting a whole hell of a lot of lumps in my throat. The kind when you are trying to fight back an emotion-drenched voice. It's a good thing I suffer from seasonal allergies because I have been blaming my teary red eyes to the blasted pollen instead of the truth: I am so sad that my time in Argentina is almost over.

The other day I was walking on Avenida Juramento and I began to look at everything as if it would be the last time I would ever see it. I began to eavesdrop on the conversations - patting myself of the back for understanding every word, but I grew uneasy about the possibility that I may never be able to hear Spanish all around me again.

I looked fondly at the good 'ol bus number 60, with its recognizable dingy yellow body and the black and red stripes, and thought about all the fun trips all over the city she has provided me with.

And the dashing Argentine men - with their floppy hair and suits. As horrible as this sounds, I am going to miss the occasional piropo (flirty remark) that I would receive on the street and the inner laughter that would result at the notion that a man - a good looking one at that - would actually have the audacity to hit on a gal in a headscarf.

Hell, lately I have even been looking at the lovers on park benches, and instead of scoffing at them like I normally do, I wish it were me on the park bench with that cute little pink tank top on. What in the world is wrong with me!?

It's not just haramful desires that have gotten a hold of me: I have actually contemplated doing something that I could seriously get in a lot of trouble for. Yesterday I was at the grocery store and I saw packs of my favorite Argentine beef cuts in vacuum sealed bags. I stood there for at least 10 minutes holding the ojo de bife and the bife de chorizo in my hands, examining just how vacuum sealed they were, being impressed with the expiration dates that read 12 de Enero 2008 (Jan 12 08).

I was deliberating with myself the following crime: should I buy these packs right before my departure date, wrap them in foil, hide them under layers of clothes in my checked bags, and smuggle them in to the United States of America? Yes, I decided. So I plopped one pack in my shopping cart - and then I immediately took it out and placed it back on the shelf and ran to the cheese aisle and decided on buying myself a hunk of fresh mozzarella to devour melted in my lonely apartment instead.

As I walked the three blocks home with bags full of fresh Argentine fruits, vegetables, chicken, and meat (all of which cost me about $11, that's another thing I'll miss - fresh food at good prices), I realized that no mater what, I can't take my favorites back with me in my suitcase. Juan and Fabiana definitely wouldn't fit. The meat would get thrown out at customs. The empanadas (savory pastries) would explode. And all the Spanish literature I have managed to gather about Islam would prove to be too heavy.

So. What do I do? Argentina and its people, its food, and its public transport system cannot go back with me in my suitcase. I reckon, however, its memories can and will go back with me, guarded in a place that cannot be opened, robbed, or searched - a pocket, a pocket in my heart.

SubanAllah. That's about the only thing that comes to mind when I think about the past three months. There's really no way I can summarize all the goodies that I've been blessed enough to experience these past few months, so below I offer a brief list:

1) My purse with everything (camera, wallet, Argentine national ID, cell phone, etc...) got stolen in June. Although it may not seem like a blessing on the surface, this experience taught me things. Stuff is just stuff. And it's just money. Get over it. Not only that, but the way my Argentine brothers and sisters in Islam supported me right afterwards was incredible: waiting with me at the police station, hugging me as I wept over the loss of my Coach handbag, paying for my locks to get changed and feeding me Chinese food at the end of the ordeal, was just plain incredible. Their support got me through it all, alH, and it was an opportunity for me to experience just how much they care about me and how much I truly love them.

2) In July I took a solo trip to Montevideo and Punta del Este, Uruguay. Just what I needed - time to reflect on my present, my family and my future. Not only that, but I was afforded several opportunities to take fun pictures with my new digital camera, alH!

3) At the beginning of this month, Fabiana and Juan invited me to visit their families in Santiago del Estero, a northern province in Argentina. It was such an honor to partake in their intimate family activities like Saturday Asados and Sunday lunches in their country home, way out in the middle of nowhere, a place where water is drawn from a well and TV doesn't exist. One of my favorite memories was meeting Juan's family and preparing empanadas together.

4) Finally, I was blessed enough to receive a very special visitor about two weeks ago. Within ten incredible days, we managed to visit Colonia, Tigre, Mendoza and Paraná, where we met a lovely convert to Islam and spent an entire Sunday with her family enjoying her brother's very tasty asado. AlH as a result of our stay with her family, some of the stereotypes that her family once harbored against Muslims, were toppled...Mendoza also proved to be a stunning time - we rented bikes and gazed at the Andes, enjoyed a very Argentine Jummah (complete with besitos), and connected with some fascinating believers. Just plain incredible all the gems that God just threw down during this time. SubanAllah.

So. There's my "winter" in one hurly burly of a nutshell. Spring is in air in Buenos Aires. Allah Akbar.

May. Springtime, right? Well, not exactly. Today is the coldest day in Buenos Aires this year. Why? Well, for those of you who haven't realized it, Buenos Aires is deep in the Southern Hemisphere, so it is entering a very frigid winter.

Several weeks have gone by since I have written and I am not really sure why...with the exception of this past week, I really haven't been that incredibly busy. A few interesting things have come up, but I hesitate to share too much of my life on-line. In deciding not to share certain things on my blog, I am also saving a chunk of my personality and life for the people that I am actually friends with.

Last month, Nahir, an Argentine convert with a Syrian husband invited me to her father's birthday party. It was an incredible time and I felt almost like a thief there because I was doing and seeing things that I honestly didn't feel like I deserved. It was such a deep honor to have been invited to such an intimate family gathering of about 20 people and her father made me feel so welcome, stating several times that any friend of Nahir's is like his own daughter.

It was an interesting juxtaposition of experiencing Muslim life in an Argentine family. Nahir and her brother, Yamil, are the only Muslims in her family. In fact, Yamil is currently studying to become a sheik in Saudi Arabia. The amount of respect and affection that this family, including their extended family, has for their Muslim children and Islam in general, was unlike anything I had ever seen. Nahir's mom even proudly showed me the the Arabic certifications that Yamil had earned.

Later on in the evening, all the ladies in Nahir's family locked me in a bedroom insisting that I show them how I look without my hijab. I just thought that was adorable since they all were conscious of the fact that this would have to take place with women in a private area. Little gestures like that mean a lot to a Muslim in a non-Muslim family since many of my hijab donning friends, including myself, have been asked on repeated occasions by unaware Argentine men in social situations to take off our hijabs.

At nearly three months into my second year here, I can say with certainty that I am just so comfortable and happy here, al'H. I really do miss my family and the Sunday and Wednesday evening conversations I have with them have become something I look forward to, but alas, in order to make the most of my time here, I can't think too much about what I am missing in the States.

It is unbelievable to realize that in about six months I will be on a flight back to Alabama and my life after this experience will be perpetually influenced by its memories and people. SubanAllah. That to me is incredible. A Rotarian once told me that me as an Ambassadorial Scholar the notion that I am here to represent the US as an ambassador is a lie. Instead, he told me, that after my time in Argentina, I will represent Argentina as an ambassador for the rest of my life. What an amazing honor. SubanAllah.

In the seven weeks I have been absent from writing, I did something that could have disappointed both my mom and dad. I cut off my marriage bun. What? Well, in college, right before I graduated, I had long hair almost down to my waist and I was in the mood for a change. So I got a really cute short hair cut that came up to my neck. My mother freaked out and told me that I must never do that again, for on my wedding day, I'll need to have a nice bun underneath the veil of my sari. And with such short hair, such a voluminous bun is just not possible.

Three years later I found myself with hair down to my waist, hijab, and still no wedding veil to worry about. For many in the Desi Muslim community this is just tragic [the no wedding veil part]. I'm fine frolicking about in Buenos Aires and harnessing my relationship with God and myself, but my parents, bless their hearts, are worried. And they certainly have let me know over the phone, and this just stresses me out. So one day after one such conversation, I did the unthinkable: I cut off my hair, also referred to as my marriage bun.

I'm not bashing my parents or marriage. My parents are concerned for a very legitimate and good thing. But I have to be honest, it felt good to cut it off. A windfall of all this is that it no longer looks like I have another head growing out of the back of my head under my hijab, so it's a lot more comfy :) Cutting off my bun, released me of the expectations of what the next step in my life should be. I look forward to getting married one day iA, but I don't need a marriage bun to prepare me for this occasion. All I can really do is be comfortable with what I am doing right now.

When I told my mom I cut off my marriage bun, she told me something incredible, "Good for you." And with those words the stress that I had been harboring in my chest melted away.