Posts tagged personal
Posts tagged personal
Tryna make peace with myself.
I have to dig deeper, search harder for some sort of inner strength, a truth that I know but can’t remember.
It’s a painful journey. It hurts because you begin to realise you are not who you thought you were. That pristine image you had in your head was just an illusion. You’re looking into your metaphorical mirror and what you see is quite ugly, weak, pitiful.
You’ve read about this so-called journey, heard about it, in books, on the telly, in the movies, in music, in casual conversations over coffee.
But now you’re starting to see it. Not only see it but experience it. That wretchedness that comes with a fall. Your lowliness, the gaps - oh God, the gaps! - in your very being. The disconnect between your goals and your reality. Perhaps realising you don’t really have any solid goals to begin with. You’re kinda coasting along, not quite present in the moment, just vaguely living in the watery near-future.
It seems bleak but you know that it will pass. It has to because nothing lasts. It’s not even about good days or bad days. They are just days.
The knowledge of love is coming. Be patient. Work hard but be patient.
I’ve just noticed that I’ve been unfollowed by a certain person on Tumblr. I have no idea when it happened but…
Thank God for small mercies.
Now they’ve just got to follow through on Twitter.
I won’t hold my breath.
Persian food appreciation post. Perfect food was perfect, alhamdulillah.
Currently enjoying being mis-educated by L. Hill after hitting it up with some soulful La Havas.
My love is Hidden and I want it to be Manifest.
If you find God in loss, did you really lose?
I won’t lie, I was missing Marrakech when the plane hadn’t even taken off from the runway at Menara airport but I’m home now. London is home.
Strange how different places and people can fill certain holes in your heart. Alhamdulillah.
This is my last day in Morocco and I’m feeling blue.
Better just to ask directly. You might not like the outcome but at least you tried.
Everyone has the right to preserve their personal space so when the answer’s No, just leave it. You do your bit and leave the rest with Allah.
There’s a bigger picture you don’t necessarily see.
Don’t fret - God has your back.
God have mercy on me because I know the people don’t have mercy.
God pardon me because I know the people don’t pardon.
God cover my faults because I know the people are ever ready to expose.
I tripped up, I stumbled, I fell - bit my tongue on the way down.
Help me realise the taste of blood in my mouth is the sweetest nectar.
That mosque was hella huge. I’ve never felt so daunted and awed by a mosque in my life (of course I haven’t gone to Hajj yet but that’s a different kind of awe). Felt more like a palace than anything.
It’s right by the sea and the interior is just as impressive. Massive dangling chandeliers, intricate geometric tiling, elaborate calligraphy, clean carpets and marble floors. It even has escalators to take the women upstairs.
It’s extremely beautiful but it also felt almost too big…
Am I sounding stupid?
Hassan II Mosque | Casablanca, Morocco 2014
Nothing quite beats the echoes of Fajr adhan and as I’m pretty sure this will be the coolest part of the day, I’m gonna savour this breeze whilst it lasts.
I woke up this morning not feeling too well (partly due to the start of my period but mostly because I’m feeling low). I’ve spent the best part of this entire day wrapped up in blankets and drifting between wakefulness and very light sleep.
I had half a mug of hot milk for breakfast and couldn’t bring myself to eat anything. I just went back to bed.
My aunt - who lives across town - had come round and popped into the room at one point. We weren’t expecting visitors. I was drifting, eyes closed, huddled up close to the wall. She planted a warm kiss on my cheek and I opened my eyes to see her face floating above mine. She smiled and I smiled back. I thought it would be Mum so it was a nice surprise.
She asked how I was and I replied honestly. “Not great.”
Not too long after, Mum asked if I wanted to have lunch with the family or if I preferred lunch on my own. The thought of summoning up energy for social interaction (donning my hijab in front of my aunt’s husband, having to put up with his ‘playful’ jibes, maybe having to explain why I look so rough or why I’m so quiet today) didn’t appeal to me so I asked for lunch in bed.
Mum took pity and brought me a small tray of food. Alhamdulillah it tasted good. In fact, I’m sure it would have tasted delicious if I wasn’t feeling so crappy. There was a cup of mint tea (infused with thyme - good for cramps) and a bottle of cool water to wash everything down.
Now I’m lying in bed again. My teeth feel furry (I need to brush them), my feet feel cold, my body doesn’t feel that tired but my soul does. The motorbikes outside are muffled by the closed window. There’s one fly lazily winding its way through the air. The clock ticking is pretty loud but only if you focus on that particular sound. Mum’s on the other mattress waiting for slumber to overtake (Moroccans will let you know about the post-lunch siesta). She looks like she’s in a world of her own, too. She is starting to snuffle a little, now her eyes are closed.
I am breathing. I can see. I am waiting.
Waiting for this absence, this chasm within, to disappear or be filled or…
This is the hard part. The part where patience has to kick in. It can’t last forever. It won’t last forever but you have to see it through.
I’m yearning for completion. There is a part of ‘me’ that is aching for something more. It is an endless void that can’t be sated by any worldy thing. It is a loneliness that is all-consuming. The sun is shining and alhamdulillah I am outwardly safe. But inwardly, I am teetering.
I think it must be easy to find God in a pair of strong arms that hold you close. It must be easy when the one, through whom God manifests His Beauty, kisses you on your forehead, looks into your eyes and tells you it’ll be okay. It’s easy to see God in that security, that moment of warmth and mercy and compassion. It might not even be your significant other, it could be your mother or a sibling or a friend.
Harder perhaps to find God in absence. In pain and fear and loneliness. He isn’t any less Present but we are veiled by dualities. We’ve trained ourselves to see the ‘bad’ as beyond God, as if it’s not Him that has created every thought and feeling we possess. We ask Him to heal us of it as if it’s some external thing, a power that isn’t His. He is beyond ‘good’ and ‘bad’ but we’ve forgotten or we can’t see.
He is closer to us in our moments of weakness not because He has changed - He Is as He Was and Will always Be - but because *our* perception has changed. We have realised our desperate neediness, our feeble existence, more fully when at these low points.
As one friend put it, if you believe you are any less in need of God when you’re in your own city surrounded by your luxuries and home comforts (running water, electricity on demand, food in the fridge, warm house, phone reception and Wifi, etc) than when you’ve broken down in the middle of a desert with no water for miles and no means of calling for help, then there’s something wrong with *you*.
So yes, I am waiting. To see and understand - heck, not even understand - what’s on the other side of this lonely desert. Insha’Allah this isn’t an idle waiting.
P.S. I would have put a Read More but I don’t know if that can be done on my phone.
P.P.S. I know I’m not making much sense, contradictions and competing ideas abound.
In summary, I want to be loved and to know that I am being loved. I want to love and let it be known that I am loving.