Monday, December 18, 2006


Sound Advice

“You are truly selfish, that’s all I have to say to you!”

“Hey!” she protested, thinking it was a bit unfair to be hurled such heavy accusations in the middle of the night, with a pounding headache to match. She rubbed the creases on her forehead that seemed to deepen by the day. She shut close the laptop and turned to glare half-heartedly at her roommate, Nadirah. Her head couldn’t handle full-fledged at this point. It was ready to buckle, and the lone pillow that lay just less than a foot away from her was beginning to beckon seductively.

“Well, it’s true!” her opponent insisted. “Look, you’re tired, you should take a break. It’s impossible, really, seeing you work at those letters all night long. Plus, it’s pretty hard to sleep with the light emitted from that machine distracting my eyes from its deserved rest.” She shook her head in frustration. “You won’t even share the load, even though we work in the same department. I mean, come on, it’s not as if you don’t ask my opinion for half the problems in there, anyway.”

Dania let out a sigh and leaned back against the frame of the bed. She wasn’t in the right mind to argue to win. She’d just have to mumble her way through this one, because she recognized that obstinate look on her friend’s face.

“Dirah, come on, it’s my job, and I’d feel guilty if I don’t finish it on my own. You know how strict Hazirah is,” she reasoned, giving a feeble raise of the eyebrows. “She nearly came down on me this morning for asking for an extension for my deadline. Regardless of the fact that the impact of her merely sitting on me would be enough to cripple me for life. She’d freak if I don’t complete this month’s column by tomorrow.”

Nadirah shook her head again and tutted Dania’s choice of words, making Dania squirm. “No ghibah; no backbiting our fellow sisters, y’hear? You should apologize to her tomorrow. Even if she is sleeping in the room next door and can probably hear you anyway, since she seems to NOT WANT TO SLEEP!!” Dirah rapped the adjacent wall sharply, to the retorts of, “Yes, Cik Dirah, I will sleep after I’m done fixing this issue’s margins, okay? You get some sleep; you’re driving us around tomorrow, sister, and there will be no arguments about it!” An ominous chuckle emanated through the wall, and then the furious tapping of keys resumed.

“Read the du’a for sleep first, Haz!” Dirah grinned and sat down on the bed opposite her and absently tapped the humming laptop. “But get some rest, okay Nia? I know you still have that oral presentation for Ms. Ng tomorrow.”

The monitor was back up. “Hm. I’ve got it under control.” She had barely typed two characters when she looked up, straight into the concerned eyes of her friend. “Look,” she reasoned, “I only have one letter left. I’ll try to make it a really long solution, so I’ll fill it up to the margin. Then I’ll get to bed. Okay?”

Dirah hesitated for a second. “Fine. But only one letter. Or I’m calling your mother.”

“I didn’t know you’d stoop that low.”

“Hey, we had an agreement. I keep an eye on you and make sure you get out of this semester in one piece, and she gives me all the chocolate cake I need.”

“Careful, you’ll get sick with too much of that stuff.”

“You’re just jealous because you tire of chocolate easily.” She stood up in a flourish, finishing with a bounce of her feet. Dania marvelled at the abundance of energy her roommate had, even at – she faltered, checking her computer’s clock – 12.30 a.m. “I’m going to wash up and get ready for bed.”

“Ya. Just get some sleep, will you?”

“Going, going, gone.”

Dania fingered the letter which contained the predicament she was addressing. The author of the letter was having trouble getting enough sleep at night. Dania could relate. she still had a term paper to complete, plus she had to add the finishing touches to the graphics accompaniment to her oral presentation. Sleep was becoming a distant friend.

However, she thought the Sleepless in Selangor’s problem was a bit more medical than it was logical. SiS had been unable to sleep for weeks. She was dead tired, but she couldn’t seem to fall into slumber. Dania really didn’t see how she could possibly give any advice for this problem.

Salaam Sleepless in Selangor,

Your problem seems to be more complicated than you think it is. Trust me, I completely understand your dilemma. Now that we’re in university, slumber seems to be the only goal in mind; maybe even the one thing that keeps us going through the endless lectures and tutorials. The way I see it, I only have two options:

I can be irresponsible and recommend you this wonderful sleeping drug you can get over the counter, and possibly get slapped with a manslaughter suit, or
I can tell you to go seek professional advice (I suggest a doctor, rather than a shrink because no matter what you say, insomnia is a medical problem) and end this response now.

I choose the latter.

Sweet dreams!

Cracking her knuckles, she stole another glance at her pillow in the corner, and fixed her eyes on the computer screen determinedly. She scratched at a mosquito bite at her elbow.

“Lisa, will you fumigate the room with Shieldtox for us, please? Thanks, dear!” she called to her housemates in the next room.

“We’re all out. Will Ridsect do?”

“I can’t care less, as long as you get rid of these nasty creatures!” She clawed ferociously at her elbow again, and plucked out the final letter for the night.

Covering her yawn with a free hand, she fingered the edge of the paper. She recognized the crinkle of the paper and the smudge of the black ink. The person wrote the letter in a hurry, and she suffered from a severe form of hyperhydrosis. Also known as ‘really sweaty hands’. She knew the side effects firsthand.

Dania quickly skimmed through the letter to determine what she was dealing with, so she could work out the generic reply in her head. She did that whenever she was pressed for time. Sure, she felt ostensibly guilty about it later, but there was always last-minute editing. Praise Allah for technology.

Tapping her pen on the temple of her forehead into a percussion beat from one of her nasyid, she wondered absently why their magazine even ran an advice column, anyway. And then she remembered how it all evolved from a few questions addressed to the editor, before it became a teensy slot in the middle of the double-spread features presented monthly, and then became the sleepless epidemic it now was. How had a magazine focused on the female Muslim college student get an anonymous ‘big sister’ like its other more entertainment-focused, intellectually-insipid counterparts? If Dania wasn’t only doing this to help her fellow ukhti, she probably would never have taken up this job. It had started out being only a few lines long, but then the letters kept on coming, and they soon lost track of where the problems ended and where the solutions began.

There would be no problems in the world if everyone would just focus on accepting whatever God has presented them with in life – the good and the bad. But as she formed the words in her head, aimed to address her blog audience, she realized that that sort of generalization was really quite unfair. Some people really felt lost and alone on campus. She was just blessed because she had chanced across a close network of sisters who supported each other through everything.

There were also those who really knew what they wanted to do, but were just looking for a second opinion; a person to aye or nay their alternatives, because despite what we say all the time, we actually like having a majority support for what we do. It makes us feel more sure of our decisions, and less afraid of the consequences. So really, Dania couldn’t blame the people who (unwittingly) turned to her for advice. She had no business scorning them, even if in her head, because they were all only human, and relied on other humans to get by. But it still made Dania wince when she saw that some people just do not realize that sometimes the faith and strength they truly needed and wanted can only come from God.

How many times was it that the dhikr would bring such calm into her heart? And every time she cried a little after prayers, during supplication, she would feel the pressing burden on her chest recede and lift away. Every time she sought refuge in Allah, it gave her renewed faith, because she was sure that everything from then on would be alright. Even if it wasn’t, she would be fine with it, because God would not give her something she could not handle.

'Allah does not charge a soul except [with that within] its capacity.' (2:286)

Dania calmly focused her now slightly aching eyes on the next letter. She was not really sleepy, but her head was throbbing a silent beat against her veins, and she felt sudden longing for rest. But she had promised herself sleep only after this letter was answered, and she could not do away with it. She soldiered on.

Dear Ukhti,

I know that this is not your usual run-of-the mill letter, and I would like to apologize firsthand, in case you do not approve of what I am about to say. I think I just really need to put my problem down on paper, before I can sort it clearly in my head.

I think I am in love.
I don't know if I'm in love.
But something that makes me suffer this much, it should be Love, shouldn't it?

I have what you may call a crush on someone. Actually, I've had a crush on him for years. Although I've spent most of my life trying to be an independent woman, I've found that a single man can still occupy the deepest threshold of the female heart.

My friends call it normal, but it worries me that so much of my emotions and my time should be preoccupied with him and his existance. I know he does not deserve my affections. He ignores me outright, even though the signs are all there. He looks away whenever he sees me. He talks to all my friends, male and female, but acts like he doesn't know me. If he can so callously treat my heart that way -- to pretend that I, along with all my feelings, don't exist -- then I know I should forget him.

But I've tried, and I can't.
Maybe I haven't tried my best.

I don't think I'm looking for advise. I'm not really looking for a solution. All I want is another person to know how I'm feeling, and not judge me for being me, but just for being another person in her life, who doesn't amount to much. I want my thoughts to be read by someone who does not know me, and cannot make the decision for me.
But I would really like to know what you think of this particular subject.

Wassalam,
Anonymous.

Dania realized that her gape was spreading, and that Dirah was giving her funny looks from the doorway. She decided to ignore Dirah, knowing that being the ukhti that she was, Dirah would not ask unless Dania said. And as for Dania herself -- well, she felt that she could find no way to explain this. Nadirah had not been a part of her world prior to university, and had not been present during Dania's more painful years. She found it hard to swallow as she contemplated telling her friend, who she knew would not judge her, of her old five-year heartache, pining over the same boy.

He was one of the more popular guys in school, back when popularity was the thing, and he had stolen her heart by accident, during that fateful afternoon when she had heard him sing for an end-of-year contest. It might not seem macho, the thought of a guy singing, but he did so in such a gruff yet sweet way that even though Dania had developed a resistance against all things superficial-cum-popular, she could not but think of him over and over again afterwards.

She supposed that was how all crushes began. With persistent thoughts, until a pattern, so hard to shake, developed.

Maybe she was to blame for nurturing what she had deemed to be harmless at the time. She had begun by confiding her person of interest in friends, and then allowed them and herself to create an obsession in her mind, making it fashionable and almost acceptable to be wallowing in self-pity over the level of his response. Dania could not suppress a groan from deep within as she recalled all the stupid things she had done to grab his attention, all of which were to no avail, because he had taken to studiously avoiding everything to do with her. This, of course, spurred on more indignation and depression. The painful cycle that came from having a crush -- the irony of the word's other meaning gave her a small smile.

“Nia, you okay, sayang?” Dirah ventured from her posting. “You’re being rather quiet, and it’s scaring me.” Dania could feel her grin without even glancing up. “That loud groan reminds me of when I wake you up in the mornings when you oversleep. Scary, by the way; don’t ever do that again.”

“Afwan,” Dania apologized. “It’s just…” She paused, taking in the scenario for a second. “Dirah. Do you remember your last crush?”

Dirah’s cheeks flamed on cue. “It’s definitely not something I like to talk about,” she admitted.

“Was it awful?”

She gave Dania a look. “That would be heading into the territory of ‘talking about it’.” She pretended to be miffed before relenting. “But yeah. It was pretty bad. I hate being in no control of my emotions like that. It was scary, being so uncertain all the time. I hope I never go through it again, insyaAllah… or if I do, that I’ll actually do something about it rather than sit around and mope.” Dania looked up from the letter to peek at Nadirah’s determined face.

“Taking a leaf out of Kak Basirah’s book, I take it?”

Another wicked grin. “For sure.” Kak Basirah was a senior of theirs, who had recently gained a reputation among their bi’ah for having proposed to her now husband. She had decided that she had had enough of letting thoughts of a guy cloud her head and her judgement, and felt that marriage would probably place them in a better perspective. She had reminded her sisters that it would be better to marry a guy and live with him for the rest of your lives, rather than to let obsessive emotions over him to weaken your memory and reliance on God.

Dania doubted whether she would ever have the gall to do such a brave deed, but she could relate, especially when she thought back to her school days. She gave another shudder. The things overreacting to feelings could make you do… Dania folded her legs under her and propped her elbow on the bed.

“Let me guess. The reader’s problem?” Dania nodded distractedly, handing over the letter. “What would you do without me?”

“Get less threats over chocolate cake bribes?”

“Su’uzon ke?”

“Eh, no. Only joking, dear.” Dania gave her an apologetic grin. “Forgive me?”

“Hm.”

“Jazakillahu khayr. So. What should I tell her, you think?”

“The truth.” She snuck a glance at Dania. “How do you feel about crushes and dating? Start with that. Be completely honest, as she wants you to.” She gave a reluctant yawn. “A’uzubillahi mina syaitan nir rajim.”

“I’m sorry, habeeb. I forgot you were on your way to bed.”

“Ah, relax. A little less sleep didn’t hurt anyone. Waking up early tomorrow?”

“I can’t,” she said meaningfully.

“Ah. Oh, well. Salaam.”

“Wa’alaikumussalam. ‘Night.”

Dania had wondered what she could possibly tell this girl. It’s at times like these, when the responsibility squared itself on her shoulders, that she was reminded of how things were, before she understood. Before she saw how things really worked, and before she started fully embracing everything about her religion that she had previously been scared of. Before she realized that Islam was a way of life filled with ‘can’s, and few‘cannot’s.

Things back then had felt easy, perhaps because she had not felt guilty about being selfish. She had no need to consider the consequences of her actions. She could’ve been inconsiderate, for she had felt good manners to be merely a moral chore. She had not felt the need to stop and think. The memories gave her an involuntary shudder and she felt a pang of annoyance at the person she once was.

Well, she thought, better to learn now rather than never.

Dania kneaded the back of her neck, knowing instinctively that this would be a very long reply. Hazirah would be happy, and should she finish this soon, she would get some sleep, which would make her effectively pleased as well. But how to start?

She listened to the steady, reassuring tap-tap of Hazirah’s keyboard in the next room, knowing that Haz would work late into the early morning and not sleep much. She admired that her friend would sacrifice so much of her own pleasures for the sake of helping spread the message around, knowing that Hazirah’s intention, insyaAllah, God willing, would always be on the right path. Sometimes Dania found herself questioning the state of her heart, and the heart of her niyyah. She wondered whether anything had come in between her doing this purely for the sake of Allah.

She pleaded silently to God to keep her on this path He loved.

And then it came to her. Slowly taking form at its own pace, the thoughts, rearranging into words, settled themselves at the edge of her mind. She cracked her knuckles with a sharp cry of praise, “Alhamdulillah!”, and let it run through her.

Salaam Anonymous,

Trust me, at one point in my life, my situation was almost exactly like yours, except that it took place during my formative secondary school years, which were awful at educating me about how the real world worked. Try placing yourself out and away from the problem, and tackling it from that sort of perspective. Look around you and see whether there are guys better than this guy you’re crushing on. Ask yourself why you’re still hanging on to something that he doesn’t want to happen, and don’t fool yourself by thinking that you know better than he does right now.

And as your sister, I’m telling you: When that daydream involving him arrives at your doorstep, crush it like the bug it is. Don’t let it live, because it’ll just feed something that does not exist, and thus, is not worth your time.

I know I sound awfully harsh, but the truth is, Anon, that I have experienced firsthand the life-sucking capabilities such crushes have, and I am keen on removing such fallacies from anyone I know with even the earliest symptoms. I refuse to allow anyone to look back at their lives and feel a pang of regret over having wanted to date a guy who isn’t even man enough to acknowledge that you exist. Don’t sink further into the manhole, dear.

While we’re at it, and since you asked my opinion of it, I’ll give it to you straight: I do not believe in dating. I used to dream about it, often with the question nagging at the back of my mind: After all the fun is over, and we’re married, where would we begin again?

Close observation of the people around me tells me that we’re not honest when we date. Of course we’re not! We just want to be happy, to enjoy each other’s company. That involves hiding certain things and making up others, either with intention or not. In the end, the person you choose to spend the rest of your life with is no longer the person you fell in love with. Which upon even closer observation, reveals that it hurts.

However, if you love a person, and a person loves you for the sake of God, and you both share a great love for Him, then you would, in your deepest of hearts, not want to damage either relationship. You would both do what God asks of you (which is to not to even approach anything that encourages pre-marital relations, as a reminder), and do what is right by the both of you. You would learn about each other before marrying, as per sunnah, but if your love is for God, if it is fillah, then by God, you would do anything in your power to make it work, wouldn’t you? Despite differences, and despite odds.

With prayer and love and tolerance and understanding -- basically by doing everything Allah asks you to do -- it would work, insyaAllah. And I know this sounds idealistic and somewhat unreal, but I’m telling you because I believe in it; because I’ve seen it work, and working still.

So worry not about the future till it comes. If you find yourself falling for someone, take that faithful plunge and go for it; make it worth something by the sanctity of marriage, and then make it work. Don’t allow opportunities to let something as wonderful as love, mess with your head and make you lose hope.

I’m sorry if I sound too passionate, but something about your plight struck a chord, and here’s to hoping my dear editor would not cut me too much slack in making this a tad long.

Wassalam.

Standing up, Dania trudged out the door and into the next room, leaning on the doorframe for a second, absorbing the sight of a person working harder than she was at 1.30 in the morning. Feeling someone’s eyes on her, Hazirah finally looked up from the thick pile of notes in her lap and gave Dania a nod.

“Yes?”

“I’m done.” She was glad she could say this, finally.

“You want me to see it.” A statement, rather than a question.

She shrugged. “If you must.” She offered a grin, surprised when Haz smiled back. Haz had just moved into the house, and Dania found that she was slowly bucking almost all of Dania’s ideas of her from the very day she arrived. It helped allay the odd feeling of having her previously physically distant editor separated from her by a single wall.

“I will, then.” They both made the few steps into the next room and plopped down on the floor. Dania purposefully looked away as her editor’s eyes quickly scanned the laptop’s monitor. Suspense never agreed with her.

“I approve.” Dania looked back at Hazirah in surprise.

“Seriously?”

Haz nodded, a half-smile stuck to her face. “I think it’s a good response. Could lose the last sentence, though.”

Dania gave a loud chuckle, making Nadirah shuffle uneasily in her sleep. “Alright. Sorry about that jibe about you being able to cripple me, and all,” she said earnestly.

Haz shook her head. “Eh, forget about it. And you can tell her you were merely repeating what I said.”

“And let her tutting get at you instead? You serious?”

She considered this for a moment. “On second thought.”

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this has been a rant by Syazwina Saw at 2:32 pm

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