Umm Maryum

I have marvelled before at the way Allah swt places people in our lives. And at night, in the private of your room, in the comfort and warmth of your bed you think of these such people and sometimes you smile, and sometimes you weep, but always is the realisation of an unrepayable debt. The people who have given you so much and you have so little to offer them in return – there is just not enough in you to balance those scales.

I remember prior to my marriage I would meet up with Umm Maryum (back before I could call her that) at a regular sisters day. We would sit for the lesson, one of us inevitably late, finding a spot together or making room, concentrating. And afterwards would talk, of family, of life, of work. Maybe there was food – always a falafel/chicken sandwich from Al-Manara – or sometimes just hijab shopping. Sometimes we’d catch up during the week, those days I made it to Monday/Thursday nights at the masjid after work. Sometimes we chat on the phone. I don’t know if much was ever really said. A lot of listening was done. And that bond developed. The one you don’t see happening, only realising its creation after the fact. The type of bond that allows you to say very little but still reach an understanding. The friend you can sit in silence with and not feel the need to fill the air with meaningless chatter. And, as always, with time things change. I remember the first week I was married, she would visit me every evening and stay while my while XH worked night shift. Teaching me to cook – salted chicken as I recall was the first dish – which was awesome the time she made it, and destroyed with the addition of an entire container of salt the time I tried to do it alone.

I remember the day she called me to tell me her mother was ill. That it didn’t look good. I was off from uni. It was mid-afternoon, ‘asr had not yet entered. The sun was starting to seep though the kitchen window. I was cooking. I don’t know what. Probably chicken. And the mobile rang. I remember running across the house to answer it. I remember getting back to the kitchen and staring at the chicken without appetite as she told me. I didn’t know what to say. I felt entirely useless. The same girl who had listened me when things were upside down was having her world thrown around and I had nothing to say. I remember getting off the phone. Leaning on the counter. Turning off the stove and sitting on the floor. I remember crying. But I still had nothing to say. No appropriate words of comfort. I was not balancing the scales.

And even still, after all that, these such people are still there for you. When the rest of the world forgets of your existence they call. Make contact somehow. And you remember how much you miss them. Good friends. True friends. And you wish you had something to give in return but as always you are short-handed.

And so this is the outlet for expressing your gratitude for everything they have given you, every minute, every second, every world of comfort, and every word of advice, every breath, every morsel of food, everything. So to this sister I say: may Allah swt grant you the greatest of rewards, I love you with all of my heart and I ask Allah swt to provide you with nothing but good in this life and the hereafter. I ask Him swt to lift your burdens, lighten your load, and guide those that you love to His Way. I ask that He swt grant you true happiness and well-being. Amin.

Options

We all have plans. We arrange our lives to facilitate meeting the objectives of those plans. We strike out on the path, we alter the trajectory as we travel to correct for bad judgement and poor foresight. We think with the benefit of hindsight that we’ll do it differently this time, the path stuck to, the objectives met. Everything, is meticulously planned, every step analysed, every decision poured over, every precaution taken to preserve, to ensure, that the objective is achieved. And we continue and find that we’ve taken it all for granted. The path has been changed. Rapidly sliding off course. Repair mechanisms fail. Something is awry. And then one wakes up. And finds that the objectives are no longer achievable. No amount of correction can alter the path, recreate the trajectory. But with time, if one has good fortune, new objectives are discovered, new paths set out on. And the one thing that is never learnt from hindsight is that no measure of planning, analysis, or preservation will prove effectual in the face of reality. But for those of a lesser fortune, they wake up and find that there is nothing. No new objectives. No paths to create or resurrect. No trajectory to busy oneself with. What then? Oh there are plenty of options. In fact, this soul could choose any direction, any path, any objective. But if they want none? Where is the appeal? How envious this position.

It is said that the upside of losing everything is that you find yourself. But what is there is nothing there? The nature of the human being is that he is the sum of his needs, wants and desires. Needs, well you can’t argue with that, we all need to eat. But wants and desires? What if nothing remains? What if upon losing all those things you think you wanted leads you to the realisation that not only do you have absolutely no idea what it is you want but that in reality you are not sure if you even want anything at all? And worse still, if this situation persists.

It is clear. The upside of being happy is that you work to maintain it. The upside of sadness is that you work to remove it. The upside of anger is that you work to direct it. The upside of tranquillity is that you work to find it. But the upside of nothingness is nothing – so how should one work?

Oh there are always vague notions of wanting to better oneself, serve humanity, work for food... But that should one choose to do when faced with a lack of objectives. Do you choose the most interesting item from a list of things that you know will captivate you for mere seconds before the realization that that is no force driving you to protect the trajectory of this project? Do you stab blindly in the dark or pull something out of a hat? Do you ask around hoping someone else will lend you their objectives? How is it that one makes a decision that affects the living and breathing of the everyday when one has no direction?

something

Amirah

I am seriously beginning to question my sanity. At present I am sitting up in bed in the middle of the night because I can’t sleep because I’m terribly heartbroken over the loss of my cat. Amirah. She left me almost exactly a year ago. I sent her off to live with a nice family because I was coming overseas. Then three months turned in to a year.

I miss her a lot. I was cuddling my hot water bottle (winter is blowing a cool crisp gale through the slit in my window) and it reminded me of how she would curl her furry little body next to my belly for warmth at night after nosing her way under the blankets. And then , once sufficiently warmed, she would unfurl. Purring. Needing my stomach to push me onto the cold side as she lolled happily in the body heat I’d left behind. I miss her. But she’s living with a wonderful family. She has a friend (Rage). Her very own bathstool so she can play in the water. She’s outdoors. No doubt harassing the birds she could never get at though the flywire. Climbing trees. Digging up the gardens of unsuspecting neighbours. Stealing Rage’s food and battling for his share of the attention. She was a wonderful, beautiful, amazing little girl.

My God I am possibly certifiably insane! I have an excuse (many actually should you care to listen)... I’m hitting the one year wall. 2 weeks, 3 months, 6 months...the one year wall. Been here before. Not enjoying it this time round either. Funny I’m not in the slightest bothered about XH, just Amirah. I always said I cried more at the loss of my cats than XH. Funny that – guess there just wasn’t much to cry over in the end.

Playing the “nothing affects me” role at the moment – brave faces and all – quite convincingly if I may say so myself. Now I just have to work out what to do with my life.

The one year wall...

Ya Allah, take me to Palestine.

Pathways

The path to contentment is something that I have been pondering over for quite some time.

The last year has seen some large (and not so large) changes in my life and at times it has been so entirely overwhelming. I’ve found myself exhibiting an attitude of ungratefulness and it has disgusted me in my moments of clarity and reflection. I often felt that I was losing grip on the fundamentals, and as the “why?” reared its ugly and damaging head I was weak enough to take that path, but all it conspires to do is drag you lower than you have ever been before. Maybe it is only from the depths that people can really reassess things. But with every new change, new challenge, there are two paths, and the hole only gets deeper if you allow yourself to fall.

Upon hitting the bottom you realise two things:

1. Your own stupidity/recklessness/disregard/heedlessness has bought you to this place
2. Allah swt wants you to be there
   

And it is in two that you realise had you only been conscious of it sooner you would not have had to arrive at the place you are via one. However, Allah swt has placed us in the situations we are in because He knows, in his infinite wisdom, that it is the best thing for us.

You may feel like you’re drifting; your marriage has failed or has been slamming itself on the rocks for months, maybe years; you didn’t get the marks you wanted at uni – you didn’t even get in to uni; the guy you’ve been seeing who was meant to come propose never arrived on the doorstep – forget that you can’t even find a decent bloke; you can’t get pregnant and the inlaws are circling; you don’t know what to do with your life – and everything you want to do is out of the question; the sister you thought had your back stabbed it etc. Indeed it is our very human limitations, our bounded rationality, that prevents us from seeing beyond the pain of the moment and causes us to make decisions that only lengthen the fall. There is something in everything to learn from.

Patience – the favourite words of Shaykhs from all corners – is often maligned as “fake” advice. But it is only after weathering a storm made worse by none other than yourself, do you realise the virtue in patience. Patience is the only thing that breeds contentment. If you can be patient with your circumstance, accept what it is you have been dealt and play the cards with taqwa, only then will you find the burden easier to bear. And I’m not talking about the type of taqwa that requires the donning of a niqab and berating all and sundry about their kuffur-ways, I’m talking about the purest form of submission – the acknowledgement of Allah swt as the Soverign, the One, the Most Wise and Most Merciful, the Knower of All.

I once heard an incredibly wise man say that Allah swt tests us for two reasons:

1. We’ve strayed in some way and he wants us to remind us, to provide us with the opportunity to return to the path of righteousness and make amends
2. He is providing us a unique opportunity to provide for the Hereafter – a chance to raise our rank
   

Such opportunities can only be realised from a position of submission – it is only when we truly accept that Allah swt is the One, the All-Powerful in every manner conceivable, that we will be able to see our struggles for what they are – the opportunity to find contentment.

There is something very wrong with a world in which intelligent and educated women believe that they must be subservient and tolerant of blatant disrespect in order to keep their husbands happy and their marriages stable. Tonight’s dinner table conversation was initiated by a question posed to me by one of two flatmates taking a marriage course (neither of whom are married or have ever been married and for one this is like the 8th course undertaken on this topic – and no it is not about "the fiqh of"). It was a question of whether a husband telling his wife “Don’t interrupt me!” (with attitude) because he was “busy” with “something” and “not interested in her at that moment” would be considered rude.

Well, in a word, yes. The husband needs to have some sense knocked into him. Its not rude – its just downright disrespectful. But this is apparently OK. However, apparently it is NOT ok for the wife to say the same thing to her husband, but it IS a perfectly acceptable way to speak to a child: her words not mine. Sickening. I wonder if a few words of disrespect, a couple of smack downs later and some black eyes and or lost teeth would change these women’s perspective on disrespect – somehow I doubt it. How could you venture into bed with such a pig?

I don’t really care all to much if women hold the view themselves (as long as they don’t want to access state services when it all goes pear-shaped), but to promote it to impressionable and vulnerable individuals is not on. I am living in a very sick community. Actually I don’t think you can call it a community. It is a bubble. A bubble in which a select few people’s words are worth more than a milligram of common sense and where “outsiders” are being “ridden by shaytan”. Yet we are all brethren in Islam. Subhan’allah.

I’m not in the best of moods tonight – the self-righteous and condescending arguments coupled with complete inanity and stupidity with a touch of judgementalism thrown in for good measure have me wanting to kick something (productive I know). Sometimes I think that my sisters in Islam have nothing more interesting to speak about than marriage and to be honest it bores the shit out of me. If there is a gathering of more than two sisters inevitably it comes up, needs to be discussed, hashed and rehashed – you’d think world peace had been declared years ago and that it was the most pressing issue of our time. AAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH!

***

Anyway. There’s a film festival starting tomorrow so insha’allah I hope to attend some of it – at least interact with some people that are not bubble-bound if nothing else. Why does thins place bring out the worst in me? Why do I feel so gross about me living here? Why can’t I just get the hell out - oh wait I know the answer to that one – the dollar has tanked and I can’t afford it lol!

***

Ya Allah protect me from myself.

Contentment

I have mentioned to several different people over the last few weeks that don’t think I can return to teaching. Not because I don’t love it – I do, more than anything I can envision myself doing. But because it is unsustainable. I love my students. I love watching them learn new skills, master new content, get excited by concepts, I love having the role of potential catalyst, expanding their thoughts, opening their minds to a bigger world than many of them (many of whom have not even been outside of their own suburbs) have imagined. It is a love. A passion. Walking to tajweed class I pass by a school. Its a high school. My time of passing coincides with the change of a period. The familiar sounds of students rushing out of class – not of course in the desire to be early to the next – the calling and shouting to friends who may not be seen till lunch time, the horse voice of the teacher who calls out to remind of homework and assignments and for the room to “please be left neat and tidy” only for their calls to remain unheard, unheeded. It all brings me to a point of nostalgia. I crave to be in the classroom again – almost as much as I wish never to be enclosed by its walls again.

People keep telling me to find work in a “better” school. A school where students care. Where learning is valued, desired, realised. Where there is parental and administrative support. Where there isn’t a huge budget shortfall. Where resources are available and people are willing. It almost sounds heavenly...But where is the challenge. Where is the assistance to my own community that is so lost despite its rich heritage, that it can only be likened to a clumsy child groping in the dark for its mother after waking to realise her absence? Could I stand in front of such a class and feel that I am doing my part for my sisters in Islam who appear doomed to walk the well-trodden and oft-resented path of generations of women in their families before them? Sisters who are leaving themselves no buffer-zone, no protection. Relying on those who are not at all interested in them except for their own gain for a cursory time. But how can I drag myself to a place of no respect, of soul-destroying revelation, of pain on a daily basis? To face the anguish that invariably accompanies my witnessing of the state of our community at close quarters, having one’s heart ripped apart by it and then being denied a voice in an attempt at its correction?

***

As I walk to tajweed I come to the top of a large hill. All the way up it I am surrounded by construction, old and new. Towering apartment blocks that mirror one another in their hideousness. But at the top the heart lifts. A wide expanse which flows all the way to the northern horizon and onto another country. The rugged, barren landscape of a once fertile country, dotted with the odd small home and a plethora of minerets peeking from the white dust everywhere one looks. But amazingly, a small residence – for it cannot be called a house – sits just metres from me on the undeveloped side of the hill. It is made from odd cement blocks piled upon one another to act as walls. Off-cut timber straddles them, covered with branches (some still with green leaves) as well as tattered rugs and carpet as a roof. Within metres a donkey grazes quietly, and from a corner of the residence there is movement. Three laughing, smiling children – playing what looks like tip and falling over one another with the giggles. It is amazing the nature of the human character. It seems happiest with nothing.

And so I am wondering if that is my problem. There are too many choices. Too many things. Always perceiving there to be something better out there – always searching for it... Contentment. I wonder if it will be possible to find it in the classroom, in my old life, within the ancient and rundown university halls I love so much and long to return to. I find contentment in learning and sharing that knowledge and yet I cannot bring myself to return to the classroom. Yet I know somehow that I will, and that scares me.

***

Someone once told me that you don’t choose to teach it chooses you. And once it has you it won’t release you – not in tact anyway. Part of me remains with my students, some of which began sitting their final school exams today, and I worry about them. From thousands of miles away I wish I could hear their take on the papers, their preparation, last minute questions and cramming. Most of all I wish I could protect my little sisters from the big bad world they are running towards faster than they know.

***

Ya Allah, grant all students of knowledge in every corner of the world tawfiq in their studies. Guide them to a way that is best for them and make it easy upon them. Ya Allah guide my family and loved ones and grant them hidayah, and Ya Allah protect me from myself. Set my heart at rest and guide me to what is best for me in this life, in this din and in the akhirah. Only you Ya Allah are the Possessor of All Knowledge, the Bestower of all Bounties and the Merciful, Forgiver.