Posts tagged personal
Posts tagged personal
Stumbling blocks are inevitable.
Do you dust yourself off and try again or do you just sit there staring at your grazed hands?
Do a bit of both: you need to acknowledge the pain and hurt. You also need to let it sink in that in all actuality, you’re ok. You. Are. O. K. Life is moving forward and you are forever in that moment of moving, growth, change.
It really isn’t the end of everything. Sure, it stings a little but that will pass. All things do. Push up and onward. It’ll fall into place before your very eyes and you will hardly believe it. It won’t be a case of ‘too good to be true’. It will simply be true. Simply be.
As for myself, I’m currently between the 3rd and 4th paragraph. I’m getting there. May Allah give me the strength to hold on to that rope because I sure keep slipping.
Tawfeeq, ya Allah!
Bright bouquet on a Spring day, April 2014
I almost didn’t recognise his voice, deeper yet still soft with prepubescence, when Youssef picked up the phone.
I got excited, momentarily lost in wonder. “Is that really him? God, how tall he is now?”
I think back to summer days, lounging in the neighbour’s olive groves, sunlight dappling our faces. The kids running across the grass, playing tag and laughing loudly. I picture the still green leaves and the red clay walls, brown earth and clear streams.
I cannot wait to cross land and ocean, to pull up to a smoke-filled, sun-soaked entrance. To ring on the bell and have the metal door yanked open. To see beaming smiles and to cover various cheeks with frantic kisses, to tousle hair and clap backs.
It’s been three years and there’s a part of me calling home.
Having to memorise the different conjugations of Form I verbs in the perfect and imperfect is my Arabic homework for this week.
Rattling off the verbs in order sure is a tongue twister.
When one you love remembers you, that is enough to make your heart sing.
The leukaemia is back.
She’s just finished a really tough round of chemo and she’s now in remission (again) but she’s waiting for another bone marrow transplant.
May Allah grant her shifa’. May Allah grant her huda’.
I am scared to ask for destruction. I am scared to ask for death.
My prayers were being answered, just not the way I liked. My prayers are being answered, just not the way I like.
I am the servant, rebellious, weak, afraid; I seek light like the seedling but am blinded by my own preoccupation.
He is the Master, Subtle, Loving, Apparent and Hidden.
My heart is breaking bit by bit and I wonder if, in this stone, I will find fruit. I know I must - but is it sweet?
If I care about the taste, then I am only chasing honey.
I must flee from Him, to Him, and then flee from fleeing.
Scars of gold are precious, valuable, worthy of love, but having kissed them, my lips are burned. The gold is still molten, hot and raw.
I walk away to save my tongue from being charred. Greyness has haunted me all my life - I don’t want to whisper ashes.
Will I be pierced by a sharp blue gaze,
Left to gasp, splutter, splash,
and then sink into the sea?
Perhaps his eyes are slate-grey,
Hard as tiles, cool and calm,
but cracked with love.
Or will his eyes hold lush verdure,
Green jungles that I crash through to drink
At a speckled pool that’s hazel-gold, full of desire.
Maybe, just maybe, your eyes’ colour will be honeyed and warm,
Like coffee, rich and smooth, like earth, or hearth, like home.
Or they will smoulder instead, intense and black,
Ready to swallow me up in our own private night.
I don’t know what colour your eyes are,
If your lashes will be dark or light, thick and full, curled or slight.
But I’m certain, almost certain, ours won’t be love at first sight.
the sun isn’t setting
but it is getting darker
I’m sinking into my own personal evening
the surface is sliding away
the sun falling into the distance
its long rays slipping between
the tiny anxious bubbles rushing out of my nose
and the fat oblique ones rolling from my mouth
the light making…
Learning how to drown…
Crying my eyes out… but this too shall pass.
I feel sick. Stomach-churning, dry-retching, heart-constricting sick.
The GAP by Ira Glass.
A small reminder sent to me. Reflections on potential and perseverance. Just keep swimming.
Things I would like:
- Sennheiser HD201s
- a Petit Prince themed plain paper Moleskine (A5)
- a set of Letraset fineliners
- new dhikr beads
- that Space.N.K. foundation a customer accidentally left in store last week
- lots and lots of rings, silver or gold, chunky, slim, intricate, simple, midi and thumb rings: they’re all good.
- Doc Martens
- a mid length coat
- a helix piercing
- an awesome haircut
- a full set of MAC makeup (with brushes)
- lingerie sets
- a chance to learn how to snowboard
- the entire Studio Ghibli film collection
- the entire Pixar animation film collection
- archery classes
- a new watch
- more books
- Muji pens
- driving lessons
- the chance to travel without my mum worrying
- one of those Scandinavian sweaters
- more Nike Free Runners (they’re so darn comfortable!!!!)
Things I *really* want:
- sincere duas
- that special someone
- new dhikr beads
All I need: