Gunslingers by Najeeb Alam

Looking at the title, what do you expect? An article about a gun-wielding character? Death at his willful disposal? Maybe her disposal? Perhaps immoral and irrational killing? A cowboy challenging a punk to a shootout? If that is what you expect; consider this:

In the old times, the term “gunslinger” was given to both outlaws and men of law respectively; but what separated the two? Outlaws rebelled against the set laws they saw as oppressive, while men of law sought to protect the virtues of sensible law that governed the land; both justified in one another’s mind. What brought the two together is the idea of the gun and the fight. One can’t help but respect both aspects of a gunslinger as a mercenary of death or a protector of life for they had the drive to put their emotion into action; fighting for what they believed in. All the while, taking and making the actions that others would hesitate to act on.

In one way or another we all represent the theme of a gunslinger for we all hold the gun (mind) to point whichever direction we believe to be right and simply fire our rounds (ideas), with only one question: Will we fire successfully? If you ask me, the term “gunslinger” in context can be translated to another word: Leader. Leaders have no need for a gun, for their ammunition lies in their thoughts, visions, and ideas; pointing them towards a desired direction and firing them at will. As the “bullets” fly, they gather counter forces from oppressors and various other forces, but inevitably hit their target: success. The valiance of the scene is depicted only through the actions and characters of the gunslingers that so boldly and bravely fired towards targets they wished; knowing that their ammunition was unsurpassable.

~ I reached towards the sky and said my good-byes, my heart’s always with you now~ R.I.P Ronnie Cruz

Incorruptible Desire by Najeeb Alam

The blood, sweat, and tears have all paid their dividends; it’s just you and your opponent. You’ve trained for years upon years; waiting, hoping, praying that when the time comes you’ll be ready to dominate and be victorious. But when that time had come, you have slowly lost it; the desire is no more. Your will that helped you guide you through the struggle has shattered. The many hours and days you invested within yourself fades away, as all you see now is the glory and fame, nothing else. Your vision clouded, your thoughts irrationally jumbled, and your confidence turned to arrogance, you enter the ring ready to claim your title, ready to claim what you think is rightfully yours…

Yet across that ring lies another, another who has worked his way to meet you on this grand stage; to challenge you in your goal for victory. Like you, he has shed countless ounces of blood, sweat, tears, hours, days, and time. You look at the “new kid on the block” and you convince yourself that he is nothing but a joke, a mere trivial obstacle that stands in your way, a young man who can do NOTHING to you. You feel indestructible and cocky as you enter and the initiating of the bell takes place; one step closer to the title. The battle within the ring rages on when alas, you are rendered defeated in both shock and awe upon the loss.
You wonder “How is this possible!?!?!?! How could I have been defeated!?!?!”…….I’ll tell you how…

While the road was the same between the two it was but many things that had given the young man the edge against the savvy veteran. While you boasted; he trained, while you gloated; he stayed inspired, while you bragged; he stayed humble, and when you assumed victory; he never underestimated his opponent.

In the end, no visions of glory or title motivated the young man; it was his incorruptible desire that helped him come out on top. And after the smoke cleared, and the young man’s passion was fruitfully rewarded, the message he spoke after the grueling match in respect to his opponent echoed throughout the audience and throughout the world:

~ If you stand for nothing, you will fall for anything.

"A View From the Top" by Yaphet Murphy

Have you ever gone mountain biking?

It’s easy at first, and enjoyable. You’re pedaling, you pick up speed easily. If you have a good bike with the right tires, it digs into the rough terrain and really propels you forward. You’re riding. You gain momentum. And then you hit a hill. At first, all the momentum drives you upward and you really think you’re going to be in for an easy time. But then gravity starts to exert its force on you. Slowly, each step gets harder to take. Suddenly, sitting down on your seat and cruising is no longer an option; you have to stand and heave if you are to make headway. Your whole body gets into it, trying to surmount this invisible powerful force – gravity – which threatens to stop you in your tracks. Head jutted forward, hands gripping the handlebars tightly, body swinging and legs pumping, you do your damnedest to keep yourself in motion. “Just a little bit more,” you tell yourself, and then you look up and see that it will take more than just a little bit more to get you up this hill. If you were alone, you might stop. But when you’re with your buddies, that’s not really an option. They’re all pushing themselves up the hill the same way, and if you stop, you disrupt everybody else. Besides, stop, and you’ll have to walk your bicycle up the rest of the way – it’s simply too difficult to get a running start on an uphill dirt path. That’s a slow and lonely disappointing walk. So you keep going. You question every major muscle in your body. How long before utter fatigue? Your lungs burn – you can’t seem to get oxygen in fast enough. Sweat drips from your forehead, and then it runs. Underbrush tears at your legs. You get nicked. The muscle strain is tortuous. You can’t wait for it to stop. You realize just how close you are to your limits. You can’t wait until you make it to the top of the hill, so you can take a break, and recuperate. You enter the last steps, heaving and straining all the way.

Then you make it. Awwwwwwwwwww. That becomes the best feeling in the world.

You know you’ve just taken on a beast and conquered it. You’re battered and bruised. You and your friends are all out of breath. But you’ve made it. You’ve turned an initial thought into action; a dream, a wish perhaps, into reality.

Take time to savor the moment my friends. It’s been a battle all semester, a tortuous path to get to where we are, with tons of meetings, five on-campus soirees, and twenty volunteering events under our belt, but we did it. We rolled with the punches, took our licks, kept our head up and kept on kicking. Class, friends, family, work, all begged for attention but we worked around it. We never said, “Die,” and die we didn’t.

We’re on the top of the hill right now. We survived the struggle. We conquered the beast. We picked the highest mountain around and we climbed it. We’ve done it once and we can do it again. We’re Sigma Alpha Delta! We thrive on achievement.



Enjoy the view, and the fresh air. And get ready for an exhilarating ride going down the other side. We’re experienced now. We can do it again.

Look at the Seeds Growing by Yaphet Murphy

Wow, where did all of these people come from?

Two months ago, I had a small band of warriors. Now I have an army.

Two months ago, I was wondering if we had lost all of our inducted members. Now the warriors are coming back home.

Two months ago, I was talking about new recruits. Now I’m talking about setting up bands of Green Berets.

Two months ago I was wondering who our alumni are. Now I’m walking around with their business cards.

Two months ago, I was wondering if we were ever going to get a decent meal out of this outfit. Now someone’s pushing a plate of food every time I walk in the door.

Two months ago I wondered if the lieutenants were really getting it. Now I realize they knew what I was talking about all along.

Two months ago I thought I was going to have my hands full. Nowadays I travel full of hands.

Two months ago I wondered if this thing called Sigma really mattered. Today, it’s a different matter.

Two months ago,

two months ago,

two months ago.

What the hell am I going to have on my hands two months from now?

Organized Confusion by Yaphet Murphy

Believe me, I want to get caught up in the passion of a thing
To feel the fierce firestorm of wind, and rush, and roar
And go with it, swiftly, wholly and completely

But I feel my life is way too diffused to get caught up in any one thing completely.

My life - full of jagged edges, disparate forms and disconnected pieces.

Twenty different people called me today – not one of them know each other
How many degrees separate us???

Lord knows I like complexity…but not like this.

Give me the complexity of a fly’s eye or a spider’s web,
the complexity of a blood vessel or a muscle.
When a muscle receives an impulse, all of the cells contract in harmony, pulling the muscle in the same direction.
Sigma is a part of my life.
My life is a part of Sigma.
I wish my life had that kind of absolute, harmonious complexity.

Yaphet Murphy
Sigma VP Speaks

A Podium for Expression by Hosni Mubarak

When the idea of a blogspot for Sigma's Vice President was originated by Harb Johnson, many people were indifferent to it. People didn't think much of Harb's conception, because in this business-like environment, everyone assumed that no one could allocate the time to read the thoughts of others. Being the Vice President of any organization is a crisis for those who assume the distinction. You are the understudy to the President, yet you are obligated to perform at an exceptional level. Some consider you a lackey, others question your credentials, while the majority find you irrelevant. But SigmaVPSpeaks gave the Vice President a podium to express his or her feelings and to find some relevance in a thankless position.

Reading the works of authors and friends have always been a full-course entree' for me . I shrewdly digest the idiosyncrasies and habitual patterns of a writer and apply some of their techniques to my style. Writing is an art. A very delicate one at that. It's a burden to many and a passion to some. It's a vehicle to coordinate protest and dissension. Yet at the same time, it is a medium to express praise and approbation. When I read Harb's articles I became enamored. His articles were seductive, engrossing and intellectually refreshing. He constantly focused on Sigma-related anecdotes and applied his personal philosophies to them. I became an avid fan of Harb's written work. His issues concerned the organization I was intimately involved in and there were subliminal allusions to a lot of the members of the organization. Harb being Harb, never revealed the member's he wrote about, yet he expected his readers to uncover the mysteries themselves. It was a treacherous journey to unearth his riddles, yet it stimulated the mind.

My adventurous trek with SigmaVPSpeaks began in the Fall of '07. I harassed Harb into allowing me to write an article and he relented after weeks of persistent clamor. The article had no relevance to Sigma Alpha Delta. It was my assessment of the female gender, aptly titled "Nice Guys Finish Last". The article caused a stir amongst certain circles because it paved the path for a meaningful discourse about sexual relations between men and women. Before the article, I was an unknown. After the article, people started inquiring about my ethnic background, my personality, some even began perusing my facebook profile--all of this was an attempt to comprehend the constitution of my character. Was I an objective observer of human relations? Or was I some jerk who wanted to spark a contentious debate for the hell of it? The instant notoriety was amusing to me. I mean, how does an emotional diatribe end up causing such a controversy?

The following Spring semester, I was elected as the Vice President of Sigma. I became the mouthpiece for SigmaVP Speaks. As much as I love writing, I never wanted to bombard my readers with constant articles, therefore I wrote an article once a month, choosing quality over quantity. My articles were the routes to my soul. People who read them could understand the gravity of my emotions during that time period. Many, including my predecessor, had admonished me about being too personal in such a public medium. However, I intentionally ignored them, because I believed that honesty was the best policy. Why conceal how I felt? I would sabotage the entire meaning behind the blog if I did. When I wrote "Pieces on a Board", I tried to amalgamate two infatuations of mine--Sigma Alpha Delta and Chess. Comparing the game of chess to Sigma's hierarchy was an enriching experience as it allowed me to venture "outside of the box" and provide a plausible analogy to the Sigma experience. However, there were a few ill-advised sentences in the articles which curtailed my relationship with certain members of Sigma. Do I acknowledge the miscalculation of those sentences? Yes. Do I regret saying how I felt at the time? Never. The certain level of scrutiny which accommodated that article was bewildering to me. My podium of expression had become a death trap. I understood that my words had a certain density which could not be discounted nor diminished. People did tune in for my articles and would be disappointed if they thought I was trying to slight them. The next article I wrote graphed my evolution and transformation on a personal level. I endured a lot of stress, controversy and contempt from certain circles of the organization. At first, I was dejected. But after awhile, I learned from my mistakes and conformed to the standards which were required of a Vice President.

The Spring 2008 semester was tumultuous and frustrating for me as a leader in Sigma, but it was enriching for me as a man who is about to be unleashed into Corporate America. Through it all, SigmaVPSpeaks documented the emotional fluctuations that I experienced. I ascended to the heights of the organization and SigmaVPSpeaks accompanied my rise. Jotting down your feelings helps in mitigating their poignancy. SigmaVPSpeaks gave me a faceless audience. They knew me, but I didn't know them. I was indifferent either way. I invested myself, they invested their time to my articles. I'm grateful for that.

A Hairy Situation by Hosni Mubarak

Allow me to summarize America's diversity into an apparently embracing phrase; the melting pot. This phrase defines the vast cultural diversity which America boasts. Each race, religion and nationality are thrown into this huge kettle of boiling hot water and mingled with one another to produce the "greatest nation of the world". The concept is obviously figurative. Our nation can be alluded to as a nation of immigrants, survivors, journeyman, or aspiring businessman. etc. America is the vehicle that the persecuted minorities of Europe employed to extricate themselves from systematic subjugation. These are all the splendid attributes that America has offered to us in the past and the present, and will continue to do so in the future. If we venture to survey the situation up north in Canada, the perspective is different. Canada is defined as an ethnic mosaic; a collage of the myriad of cultures, untempered, unblemished and unperturbed. I mean, what's the difference? Is there a difference?

If one were to take a more prudent look, there is an immense disparity between the two concepts. Canada's ethnic composition is varied, different, and accepted in all it's forms. Ethnic groups are not impelled to alter their identity, they are all included and accepted in this social infrastructure as they are. In America's melting pot, you can retain certain characteristics of your old culture, but you have to seemingly repudiate most of it, at least if you want to be accepted in the social scheme of things. This is not a direct admonition or commandment, it's a purported assertion. In other words, it's implied. You want a professional job? Corn rows on your head will discourage employers. You want to mingle with society? Alcohol consumption is a necessary trait which you might have to adopt, otherwise your "friends" will have misgivings about you. I can go on forever with this, but my contention has a resonance.

Being raised in America for most of my life did have some repercussions. I constantly make inquiries to myself about my identity. What is my identity? I am from Bangladesh (this is a small country east of India, which hosts a population of 150 million), but the Bangladeshis who have recently arrived in this country have a different and alien culture which I cannot personally relate to. I have endeavored to acquaint myself with assimilated Desi's (a desi is an American whose family has orginated from India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Guyana or Trinidad), but that has been a frivolous exercise because I am not as "Americanized" as them. In the midst of all this, I am expected to conform to this professional standard of conduct and appearance if I desire to land a high profile job in JP Morgan, Lehman Brothers, or Goldman Sachs. To top it off, I attend Baruch College, where the majority of the student admissions tend to imitate mechanized robots, incapable of exuding any sense of human emotion. I observe the vain boasts of certain students, about impressive resumes, about the career path into which they are treading into, and I unwittingly smile inside. The irony is, at least to me, the majority of them aren't experiencing life, they are mortgaging their present by feigning to be corporate elites and solidifying their image to obsequious student-protege's who fervently idolize them. I positively believe that certain freshmans and sophmores have statues of some of the seniors they admire and aspire to be like.

But on a closer look, am I really that different from them? I was image conscious. I am admired by some of the underclassmen at our university. I am the Vice President of a revered
Honor Society. In the midst of this public reverence, I lost myself. I lost the steady, calm, rebelliousness which I so desperately cherished in the past. My most valued asset, at least to me, is my eccentricity, my idiosyncratic impulses and my lust for spontaneity. These three terms are synonymous, but they are what I cherished about myself. But a high profile position within Sigma Alpha Delta coerced me to question and re-evaluate myself. Certain elements within the College were clamoring for my removal, because they felt I was being haughty, or condescending, or simply not giving them the attention which they felt was due to them. This deeply disturbed me. What disturbed me more was that I actually cared for the opinions others have of me. Not everyone is going to like you, nor accept you, and most of the time, it will be for the most trivial reasons. The most difficult dilemma for any person is when he/she is forced to re-examine his/her character. It's an arduous voyage.

I stopped being tense and image conscious. I stopped shaving. I'm well aware of the responses I received about my beard. Surprisingly, the majority of the reviews were positive, but I was indifferent to public opinion. The beard was symbolic for me. It marked my transformation, my ascendency to maturity (at least on a heightened level) and my indifference to public opinion. Some thought I was trying to look older, some believed I was masquerading as an Al Qaeda operative, but those opinions merely served a form of amusement. The beard was my figurative finger to the standards set forth by our great melting pot. I do not need to conform. I am gladly going to proceed as I am and "do me". Even when the beard outgrew appropriate levels, I kept it. It was a mark of defiance. A protest noted by everyone who was intelligent to comprehend what I was doing. Not once did I hesitate to alter my appearance when I heard others imploring me to shave it. I was going to shave my beard when I felt it was necessary. Was I routinely harassed by law enforcement in my local train station due to my conspicuous facial hair? Absolutely? Did it deter me? Nope, it emboldened me. It liberated me. I made witty comments when I was being "randomly" searched, but nothing offensive, just playful banter.

To summarize, my entire message with this article is simple. Be yourself. Do not let others define you. Do not allow the concept of a "melting pot" to question you about yourself. Yielding positive opinions from society is beautiful, but do not sacrifice or compromise yourself to achieve those results. The long term effects of self-identity crisis, depression, and self-disgust far outweigh the short term rewards of public approval.