My mother often laments after my brother, Amir and I have had one of our nasty yet regular spats, that we were so nice to each other as children. And for some reason, whenever she does, I can see it in my mind – an old snapshot of the two of us (for it has always been just the two of us) in our pajamas in our parents’ room, plastic containers on our heads, pretending we were at the market, just before breakfast.
With that excellent memory of hers, my mother can recall the days when I actually anticipated my brother’s birth (something I find hard to believe now). I was so keen on being a big sister, I had volunteered to do away with my Pampers far before my time – a decision much regretted by my parents, as they apologized to the cleaner lady at a shopping mall, after my first attempt at being diaper-free.
My mother says that I was a doting sister, who took pride in my brother’s full Beatles’ 60’s mop and constantly showered him with kisses and hugs – a scene I would have even greater difficulty believing, were it not for the many pictures of us as toddlers, my arm dangerously positioned in a strangle-hug around my brother’s neck. There were clearly no homicidal tendencies; just pure sisterly affection.
And then, my mother recounts in a slightly wistful tone, I went to school and started yelling at my brother. Everytime she tells us that bit, I almost don’t have the heart to tell her that as far back as kindergarten, I played by social rules. And the sick social rules back then was that younger siblings were uncool. Basically, all younger kids were uncool. And I lived with one, so I was in the high-risk category. Or so my twisted six-year-old mind thought.
I used to bully Amir all the time. We both learned Taekwondo from a young age, and I was especially generous with my punches and slaps. I distinctly remember a regretful encounter that ended with my brother having an imprint of my palm straight on his back – which lasted for some time. We feared our mother to a fault, and that meant that anything bordering profanity – even the word ‘idiot’ – was forbidden. Physical revenge (hidden from Mama, of course) was the only means we had, and we were well trained in it. I took advantage of my age and size all the time.
It horribly backfired by the time I reached twelve, and my brother started growing at a faster rate. All he had to do was pull my arm back in a fierce lock, and I would start apologizing for anything and everything profusely.
It can’t have been nice, being him. I’ve only recently learnt how awful the teachers at school were, always comparing him to me. The first child apparently sets the standard. Right. He was never good enough, it seemed to be implied. But in every way, he was the better child. He had sound common sense (something I sorely lack), natural intelligence (another missing feature of mine), a critical mind (which people seldom listen to, much to their loss), charming genteel manners (which make even little baby girls blush with admiration), a solid religious foundation, and overwhelming patience and faith in the human spirit. He was never judgemental, except maybe to his own flaws – but never in others. He always saw the good in people.
I always forget that behind his rough exterior, he has a huge, warm heart – tender and easily hurt when betrayed.
My big little brother is strong in many ways; fragile in others. And I can’t believe that he’s all grown up. He got accepted into Law Matriculation at the International Islamic University. He’s happy, going off to do something he excels at (talking his way out of messes) and he’s doing something I never had the guts to. It’s unchartered territory. He’s slightly scared but excited, I can tell, even a continent away.
I’ve taken to the habit of looking up old Beatles’ hits lately, and as I listen out for the familiar chords and drum cues, I’m constantly struck by the image of my brother and me, arguing over Paul or John’s lyrics as we struggled for elbow-resting space on the seven-hour car trip to our mother’s hometown.
And when I found this song, I knew I could share it with no one else.
These past three months, I have been torn, I will admit as much here.
For a long while, I used to be a follower. I used to follow the crowd; try hard to fit in. Someone once asked me, “I thought you said you didn’t care what people thought of you."
Right I didn't.
Early this year, I came back to Melbourne, finding that once again, the kaleidoscope with which I viewed the world had changed. I had visited reality - it wasn't pretty, but that reality was mine. And I knew that certain things that I had taken for granted - from this point on, they had to be questioned and re-evaluated.
And so I tried to tread my own way – to listen to the 'real' me inside, that I seemed to have lost touch with some time ago. The one that didn’t like mindless conformity. The one who questioned before judging, and definitely before accepting. The one who balanced everything with moderation. For Muslims, we walk the middle path between two extremes, the Furqan as our guide.
And I learnt that just because I didn’t think like everyone else, did not mean that tolerance was out of the question.
It’s true, at times I feel almost singled out. I feel like I am the weird one for questioning and searching for answers. I feel like an outsider, for not necessarily adhering to the societal mores (for I feel like I never have, anyway).
So I see my past lives (for I have had several), and know that God has prepared me to be a ghuraba’ either way – to be a stranger, walking foreign lands.
Political theory has always been my thing. And so I delved into it. Bediuzzaman Said Nursi once wrote in one of his many treatises, “...a person sometimes gets carried away by paying attention to the enticing broad sphere of politics and conflict.”
And yes. I was carried away by it, for a long while. I started looking into everything and anything at the same time. Somewhere along the way, I lost focus, despite my eye always on the main aim (my darling housemates made sure I had my head stuck in reality). I became wide-eyed by big names and ideals, which though pressing nonetheless, had sucked me in and whirled my mind.
All of a sudden, talk and action was all that mattered.
And so alhamdulillah, a little bit of dialogue occurred not too long ago, which had me seriously considering the balance between the mind and the heart. A fellow blogger I had come across had negated my opinion, which was that the dealings of the human heart (in its spiritual form) sometimes held higher importance when it came to matters of religion. His claim that even traditional scholars had not classified the mind and the heart unsettled me.
Not confident of my own knowledge, I turned to a learned and trustworthy friend for clarification.
Just the other day, I managed to catch him for a brief discussion on the topic. And having braced myself for his blatant, uncompromising honesty (which, I had thought, might be amazed at my incredible ignorance), I asked him about the theoretical separation between the intellectual mind and the spiritual heart in the context of Islamic spirituality. We discussed the work he had recommended me, which was Sheikh Abdessalam Yassine’s dissection about the Muslim’s understanding of the position of the heart and the mind as mentioned in the Qur’an. And I asked him if my understanding was right; that the heart and the mind, in all its simplistic terms, had equal credence in understanding religion.
“Well, you know, the mind is definitely important… it’s just that the heart, it’s more so.”
And that sentence, more than anything else, struck a chord within. They were simple words, yes, but they related to me more than so many other things I had heard these past three months – the ideologies and the huge plans. All the political theory I had been keen on digesting sounded impressive, and no doubt they made me think, but they did not fill the little furrow that was beginning to dig deeper within me. By instinct, I felt that his words were true.
I was too busy with doing the physical, that I had abandoned my heart for a bit. I may not have lost my way, but my heart was suffering out of malnourishment. For the longest time, I had felt as if my lungs lacked air, and I desperately longed to go away for space to breathe. I think that other times, my intention may have gotten skewed.
After discussing the study of Imam al-Ghazzali’s Ihya’ Ulumuddin with him, it dawned on me just how much I have been neglecting that most important part of my life – the spiritual one - that part of religion that the secular world despises for its ability to transcend minds, and expand the soul.
And I suppose that Banoffee, in all her maternal concern for me, had it right:
“Sometimes, when you don’t feel at ease with yourself, when your heart is uneasy, ask yourself time and again – how is my relationship with Allah? For if that part of your life is good, then everything else should be as well.”
Allahu'alam bithawab.
P.S: - Title duly borrowed from Sheikh Yassine's book, 'The Muslim Mind on Trial', available here.
Dearest habibti Sema, self-elected matchmeddler, likes to think so. Because apparently you can't admire someone without such simple feelings leading to more exhausting ones (sigh).
Woman, if you're self-googling, take note: Give it up already.
To think of it, a lot of people I admire, I have come to love. I admire their principles and the way they carry themselves, but I believe that my ability to care for them was only slightly influenced by their virtues.
Because I happen to love a lot of people that I don't necessarily admire, or agree with.
And then there are some people that you REALLY don't agree with, but you admire their veracity all the same. It takes a lot of guts (and stubbornness) to be so principled, and if you love a person selectively, then you can admire one in the same way.
There are those who you may never be able to understand, but you end up loving wholeheartedly anyway. Take family, for instance. One of the more apparent truths that you don't have to like someone to love them (as my cousins may attest to in reference to me, the overall girjiksen)
My recent foray into the realm of Sisterhood has made me realize that love is a subjective thing; one that you may never totally understand, but you come to accept. The human heart is a wondrous thing to observe, and recent weeks have taught me that God owns our hearts, and shall make them feel however so He wishes.
Upon reflection, though, if admiration had nothing to do with affection, Islam would not stress that our Prophet was the one to 'perfect noble manners'. Looking back, I remember the first time I felt tremendous love for Rasulullah (pbuh) - and it was due to something he did (I can't remember what, he did so many fantastic things), not just the fact that he was the Messenger.
And so I suppose (in my case), admiration does help lead to affection. But not always so.
(Further and better reading must be recommended: Muhtar Holland's translation of Imam al-Ghazali's Ihya, The Duties of Brotherhood in Islam. Haven't gone past the translator's note, but it should explain a lot.)
Note: Ah. Technology has failed me. If you get the 'must log in' message, simply click 'In the Press', and go to The Christian Science Monitor article by Asma Khalid. Harap maklum.
Several Aussie sisters are keen on setting me up with a much-respected friend (a by-the-book Mr Darcy who is beyond my league, in all honesty); my best friend is trying her level best to persuade me towards a mutual acquaintance (I cannot afford lengthening my case against it by phone call); some girlfriends have questioned me over suitors, assuring me that they can arrange something with guys from any ethnicity (over which I vehemently opposed to); another girlfriend has asked me if there is anyone particular in mind.
I will not be the person to say the word out loud. Not when it relates to me. NO.
In the not-too-distant past, I did seriously consider marriage being part of a very near future. It wasn’t that long ago that I decided against dating, and now that it isn’t an option anymore, I do admit that the thought of matrimonial bliss being the solution to particular quandaries has crossed my mind more than once. Plus, I have a theory that getting married is contagious, and there is only so long before the thought of it starts to infect me, as well.
A brother who recently claimed that he would not marry until he gets his degree (in 14 years, by his calculations) went back on his word about a month back (mubaarak, akhi). A close friend is saving money for his walimah. A sorely missed sister has just given birth to Muhammad Fatih a couple of weeks back. My cousin just got through her engagement extravaganza. My housemate’s eldest sister is getting married in exactly two months. Every wedding I attend, the makciks claim that the next one they meet at will be mine.
So yes. The pressure is pretty intense.
However, just a week ago, I learnt of people I know who got married while studying (for very long degrees), and when they had children, having to send the kids back home to Malaysia, while they finished their degree.
In my opinion, there are few things sadder than that.
In one instance, the mother had to leave her child with his grandmother, and when she came back, her baby could no longer recognize her.
It’s stories like these that warn me against such impulsive matchmaking. Stories that tell me that there is more to marriage than emotions and ideals – that it involves reality, which is seldom predictable, and full of compromises. It’s more than just sharing the same ideals and principles (ahem, Arveena, you should listen to this), and more than just about two people living together in legal terms (although that would be problem enough already).
I won’t even pretend to know what the underlying issues in marriages are. Just that they’re plenty, and that until that horribly fine day (if it ever) comes, I am very grateful that I do not have to deal with it yet. Because for now, my weekend plans involve my habibis, and frankly, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Besides. Which poor guy would want to torture himself by committing to ME, anyway? Hah.
Okay. You may stop rolling on the floor with laughter now.
I had a long, long conversation a couple of days back. It seemed to go on – oh, forever, and before you knew it, the same friends had passed by us about six times, probably wondering why the heck I was taking so long to make a point. My knees were just about ready to buckle under the pressure for standing as long as we did, and alhamdulillah, when we decided to sit down for a finish, my thoughts came to me in a clearer, more logical manner.
Surprisingly enough, that long conversation that centred on politics, activism and basically, principles, was scattered with few personal details which helped explain ourselves to each other. Still, it was surprising how just talking – with raised voice, at certain points – helped me better understand the person I am. To the person I talked to: I am sorry, but it seems I do most of my thinking after I say the first thing that comes to mind. Thus revision is rather important in regards to me.
I have learnt that:
I do not believe in passing cool judgement (for the matters that truly count) without considering all sides at once. Life is never monochromatic, but the greys are the hardest to swim through. And in matters other than the obvious, I do not favour a particular solution being better than all others, but instead that we can all hold to what we believe is the best way. We were made different, and absolute insistence that one particular path is wrong is, well, wrong.
I do not believe in passivity or ignorance. I do believe that the greater danger lies in ignorance, for the person who acts and yet does not understand is harmful to all those around him, but to resign oneself to passivity while knowledge and conscience resides within seems mere stupidity, to me. I believe in actions, though they may not always speak more loudly than words. Because when things are being done, change is being made.
I believe that the here and now holds the future for me. True, extrapolation of the self does not guarantee anything, but I believe in working towards the future with set principles in heart and sheer will in hand. What I work for now will set my pace for the years to come. And if doing so means retaining ideals, I do not see the harm in them. For nothing was ever achieved that did not require dreams and ideals.
I believe that reality is what you make of it. I do not condone shutting one eye to the world around you, but merely to understand that reality is a flexible creation – what is now may not be tomorrow. I believe that everyone plays a hand at shaping reality, and that not realizing that role is a great loss to humankind.
I believe that what I believe may be different from what you believe (‘you’ not meaning a particular person, of course). I believe that the road may even take us to divergent paths. But I do sincerely hope that wherever we tread, we may come across each other, for in the end, the Destination is but One.
*Note: Sorry if it seems a little self-absorbed. I just feel like some things have to be clarified.
An acquaintance said to me the other night, “Wither Muslims?” When I beckoned further explanation, he replied and I quote him, “All talk no action.” I thought it an ironic phrase coming from him, but other than that, I refrain from further comment. Admittedly, that choice twist on Shakespeare, I believe, made my brain move at a furious pace, and I duly credit him for the choice of my topic.
Wither Muslims, indeed? Have we all hidden behind the mirage of anonymity of blogs set up to spread the word? Have we all sought refuge in our scholarly items and have found no other way out? Have we submerged ourselves in the familiar enclosure of culture and refuse to crawl back out?
As Muslims, we are oft-reminded (and in turn, remind others) of how we live to serve only one purpose, which is to worship the Almighty Lord, and that in so doing, we strive to do all that is deemed worthy of acceptance of God.
In other words, we have been set forth to do good.
Now, there seems to be a misconception amongst this particular generation of Muslims, where we tend to contain shallow perspectives of how this good is to be perpetrated into the world. The distinct lines between blatant selfishness and general goodwill have somehow been blurred by the wonder that is the human mind. Where our purpose in life is to do good by all, we find it sufficient to do good by ourselves and appease our own conscience.
Which leads me to the question: Are Muslims allowed to choose their battles? To pick among a lot and select the most convenient to champion? To pay attention to those that interest Muslims alone, and to blatantly close an eye to all others?
Shame on me, and shame on you.
The word Muslim itself is an adjective, which means ‘one who submits to God’. And as for acts of submission, God did not tell us to only pay attention to the matters that concern us most, but to do good by all. And the definition of ‘all’, the last time I checked, meant something in its entirety. So when we talk about all of mankind, we really should mean it.
As bearers of God’s deen, it surprises me at times, how ignorant we are by choice. Granted, we have been persecuted and demoralized beyond belief in the past century alone, but it is no excuse for the level to which we have secluded our concerns – into and unto ourselves is where the world ends. Selfishness was never part of Islam, and should not be within the Muslim ummah.
Therefore it pains me to see people rant on and on about Palestine and Iraq and ignore Afghanistan and Kashmir. Or for them to talk about boycotting Zionist businesses but fail to advocate fair trade in defence of global child labour. Or for them to talk about Sudan but neglect to care about the FTA, or the happenings of the UN. Or for them to continue to discuss international/local politics, but refuse to attain positions of responsibility, where differences actually begin to be made.
It is this placidity and acceptance to mediocrity that helps shoot my blood pressure past the safe level. Because I’ve come to learn that Muslims should not succumb to mediocrity. We should not choose our battles, or limit our concerns, because humankind is our concern.
This reluctance to act has prompted many of our contemporary scholars to remind us oft and again of the need for Muslims to play a part in the community, before they dare speak of the building of an ummah, much less an actual caliphate. They keep reminding over and again, on every platform they can reach, that change begins from the individual – that we have to stop being selfish, and to go out there to give more, and without thinking. That in everything we do, we should stop and consider about how our next action can be done to benefit other than ourselves.
In short, they are advising us to quit being hypocrites and to begin walking the walk. Because we are Muslims, and the only limit for a Muslim is perfection as depicted in the Beloved, Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him), which while may never be attained anyone else, should not remain a lofty dream, but to be retained as a standard model for us all – of modesty amidst greatness, of humanity amidst apathy, of courage amidst oppression, and of the negligence of impossibilities in doing what is right and true. He taught us to always reach for higher than what we knew, but to never hold the world in our hands. He was never selective in doing good, nor did he ignore one aspect of life in committing to the other. The Prophet never encouraged selfishness, not even in the most dire of states.
I feel that on the blessed day of his birth, we should at least pause from picking at the flaws of others and to peek a look at our own nafs, and re-evaluate our position and our intention in working and living as we do. There is nothing wrong in comparing ourselves to the Prophet, because it would only serve to humble and humiliate, rather than to feed the ego. And then in doing so, maybe we would progress, instead of just talking about it.
For if we wish to live in the shadow of the Prophet, then we should at least work to deserve the shade.
To further my point, I recommend this audio clip by Dr. Tariq Ramadhan, al-Azhar scholar, celebrated author, and incidentally, grandson of the late Imam Hassan al-Banna. (Coutesy of TheRadicalMiddleWayProject)
'FIQH AWLAWIYYAT : ANTARA GERAKAN ISLAM DAN KELOMPOK MANUSIA
Di kalangan manusia itu terbahagi kepada beberapa bentuk, iaitu seperti berikut;
a. Golongan nususi (tekstual)
Golongan ini adalah golongan yang tidak pernah melihat kepada maqasid hukum yang sehinggakan mereka mahu menyampaikan Islam tidak mengikut kepentingan awlawiyyat.
Kebiasaannya, golongan ini mendakwa bahawa mereka adalah golongan yang berpegang kuat dengan Al-Quran dan As-Sunnah, tanpa merujuk kepada pemahaman “Istidlal” atau pengambilan hukum yang betul.
Maka dengan demikian, mereka mengemukakan pandangan-pandangan yang tidak “bercaknakan” Fiqh Awlawiyyat, sehingakan kadangkala merugikan kepada kemenangan islam, seperti menimbulkan isu-isu khilafiyyah dan menyembunyikan isu-isu utama, seperti kenaikan harga tol yang bercanggah dengan Islam[11], kenaikan harga barang, “mengkondem” institusi-institusi agama yang tidak sehaluan dengan mereka, membuat tuduhan jahat terhadap gerakan Islam dan sebagainya.
b. Golongan Liberal
Golongan ini pula adalah golongan yang dikenali sebagai “muktazilah moden” yang sedang kuat menyerang agama dan umat Islam di seluruh dunia.
Golongan ini hanya mengambil pemahaman Al-Quran dan As-Sunnah berdasarkan kepada kehendak hawa nafsu semata-mata. Mereka juga kadangkala berhujjah dengan menggunakan kaedah Fiqh Awlawiyyat, tetapi penggunaan fiqh Awlawiyyat tersebut lebih kepada kehendak hawa nafsu, tanpa di asaskan kepada wahyu Ilahi.
Sesuatu kandungan nas Al-Quran dan As-Sunnah yang tidak bersesuaian dengan nafsu mereka, mereka tidak menerimanya, ataupun mereka mewujudkan penta’wilan-penta’wilan terhadap maksud nas-nas syarak tersebut dengan tujuan untuk menguntungkan kehendak hawa nafsu.
Tindakan mereka ini adalah “ciplak” dari tindakan yahudi terdahulu yang telah dinyatakan oleh Allah didalam Al-Quran.
Maksudnya; “Apakah kamu beriman kepada sebahagian Al Kitab (Taurat) dan ingkar terhadap sebahagian yang lain? Tiadalah balasan bagi orang yang berbuat demikian daripadamu, melainkan kenistaan dalam kehidupan dunia, dan pada hari kiamat mereka dikembalikan kepada siksa yang sangat berat. Allah tidak lengah dari apa yang kamu perbuat”
(surah Al-Baqarah : 85)
c. Golongan kesederhanaan
Golongan ini adalah golongan yang dinyatakan oleh Allah “umat yang pertengahan”, iaitu golongan yang mencari keadilan melalui pemahaman nas Al-Quran dan Al-Hadis.
Maksudnya; “Dan demikian (pula) Kami telah menjadikan kamu (umat Islam), umat yang yang pertengahan – adil- dan pilihan agar kamu menjadi saksi atas (perbuatan) manusia dan agar Rasul (Muhammad) menjadi saksi atas (perbuatan) kamu”
(Surah Al-Baqarah : 143)
Menurut Imam Fakhruddin ar-Razi, makna “umat yang petengahan” yang terpilih adalah umat yang pertengahan dalam semua urusan[12]. Iaitu umat yang mengambil Al-Quran dan As-Sunnah sebagai asas perjuangan, disamping “cakna” kepada tuntutan fiqh awlawiyyat.
Gerakan Islam yang berjaya adalah gerakan Islam yang berada dibawah pengkategorian “golongan kesederhanaan” ini, yang menjadikan wahyu sebagai dasar perjuangan, disamping fiqh awlawiyyat dijadikan sebagai “teknik-teknik” dalam menyampaikan kehendak wahyu.
AGENDA PERIBADI DAN AGENDA JEMAAH
Mementingkan “agenda peribadi” berbanding “agenda jemaah” sentiasa menjadi bahan “polimik” dikalangan ahli jemaah yang menyebabkan jemaah islam lambat mencapai kejayaan dakwah islamiyyah.
Bandingannya adalah kenyataan Allah didalam surah At-taubah ayat 19-20 yang menyatakan bahawa amalan berjihad lebih utama berbanding menunaikan haji di Makkah.
Maksudnya; “Apakah (orang-orang) yang memberi minuman orang-orang yang mengerjakan haji dan mengurus Masjidilharam kamu samakan dengan orang-orang yang beriman kepada Allah dan hari kemudian serta bejihad di jalan Allah? Mereka tidak sama di sisi Allah; dan Allah tidak memberi petunjuk kepada kaum yang zalim * orang-orang yang beriman dan berhijrah serta berjihad di jalan Allah dengan harta, benda dan diri mereka, adalah lebih tinggi derajatnya di sisi Allah; dan itulah orang-orang yang mendapat kemenangan.”
(surah At-Taubah : 19-20)
Ayat ini membuktikan bahawa amalan jihad fi sabilillah itu lebih di utamakan berbanding haji di Makkah, ini kerana, manfaat jihad itu untuk manusia ramai.Adapun haji pula, ianya sekadar manfaat diri individu yang pergi Haji sahaja.
Maksudnya; “Daripada Abi Umamah Al-Bahili berkata; di sebut kepada Rasulullah SAW berkenaan dua orang lelaki, salah seorangnya seorang yang ‘Abid (ahli Ibadat), dan satu lagi seorang yang ‘Alim (Ahl Ilmu). Berkata Rasulullah SAW; kelebihan ‘Alim berbanding ‘Abid adalah seperti kelebihanku atas manusia yang paling rendah dikalangan kamu, kemudian Rasulullah SAW bersabda : sesungguhnya Allah, Malaikat-Nya, Ahl Langit dan Bumi hinggakan semut di atas batu dan ikan-ikan - dilautan - berselawat kepada sesiapa yang mengajar manusia dengan kebaikan[13]”
Hadis ini menyatakan bagaimana kelebihan yang ada pada seorang yang ‘Alim berbanding seorang yang ‘Abid.Seorang yang ‘Alim, mempunyai ilmu yang dapat disampaikan kepada manusia. Adapun seorang yang ‘Abid, ibadatnya sekadar memberi keuntungan kepada dirinya, tidak kepada manusia ramai.'
I have, admittedly, been whingeing on and on about my new daily dependence on coffee (which has made my pharmacy-student housemate worried enough to look it up) and how I've hardly had time to breathe. I've been going on and on about how my newfound experience of keeping busy has been taking its toll on me.
The question I think I've failed to ask is: Should it be this way?
Which is why I'm very grateful for this current bit of being able to chill. Time away from the rest of the world can actually give you time to keep up; to relax and breathe a bit. To think things through, and try to let your mind give its reasoning under no pressure.
In my case, I've been re-thinking my niyyah, my intention, a lot. In everything I do. Because my heart has not seeked time to rest in a long while, and I'm worried.
Maybe I've been going through life as though I'm the victim. Maybe I've been too calculative, too selfish, taking offense at everything and thinking it's all about me, me, me.
While reality does not agree.
Going through one_g's article yesterday made me rethink things for the first time in a while. It was not the first time I had read about the topic. But the bit about the difference of an 'alim and an 'abid hit me hard, especially I had just seen it before in Aisha's copy of 'Al-Hikam'.
Has my intention thus far been for the better good of those around me, or merely for my own sake?
Maybe that explains my heart's restlessness and lack of focus. In theory, it shouldn't be this way. I've seen busier people (see: UMIS, FAMSY, MSA, YMA, MCCA). I know busier people, and they seem fine enough to me.
They don't seem torn at all.
I've been telling people, if your heart feel unease, remember that Allah loves you in ways you can't even imagine.
Maybe I've forgotten to heed my own advise for a while. It's far time I did.
Yesterday, while looking over the CBD skyline at sunset, I poured my heart out to Banoffee.
It was a summarized version. Three minutes, tops. But I felt so much better afterwards. When she placed her tiny hand on my back, I felt that yes, she actually understands.
Today, I gave her a longer version of the tale. And believe it or not, she actually managed to stare down at me. I was impressed, and also distressed. I suppose it showed. I was afraid that she might begin to worry for me, and she had a class to go to, and so I trudged over to the computer lab alone.
Which brings me here, thinking about all I have and all I have yet to do. This week will be impossibly busy, much like the ones before. Homesickness has yet to knock on my bedroom door, although nausea most certainly has. At times, stopping to breathe calmly is so foreign now, that I even think that I am about to have a heart attack.
How's that for zikratul maut.
This computer lab is swelteringly hot, and I feel like I am about to pitam soon. But before I make my escape, I would like to share a hadith which has been on my mind for quite some time now:
“How amazing is the case of the believer; there is good for him in everything, and this characteristic is exclusively for him alone. If he experiences something pleasant, he is thankful, and that is good for him; and if he comes across some diversity, he is patient, and that is good for him.” [Muslim] Don't worry, Banoffee. Tawakkal tu 'al Allah. I will be fine.
Have you ever felt like your life is centered around a whirl, and that you can barely stop to catch your breath?
Have you ever felt like each day has gone by so fast, and yet you feel like last Thursday happened a month back?
Have you ever gone a period where every single person who says hi to you follows it up with, "You look tired. Are you alright?", and yet you don't notice that you are?
And then you take a break. You take a day off. Away from it all, but only figuratively, because the spinning never stops. You just step away from it.
And the day starts out with meticulous planning and timing, and attempts at fixing broken words.
And then you slow down, and you feel as if you cannot be bothered anymore.
And then your head hurts, because everything has become too much, and you feel left behind. You almost just can't be stuffed.
Then, You step into an empty room. And you breathe.
And you wash your face and feel the worry lines rinse away. Your shoulders can be eased; the burden has been lifted.
And then you fall into rhythm and motion. Once. Twice. Again. Again.
And then you lift up your hands and just pray. Sometimes, when it is quiet, and you're sure that no one else is there, you can feel your heart speak to you. Or hear it say something greater than you ever imagined.
And you can just cry.
But the rest of life awaits you on the other side of the door.
This time, though, when you step out, you will take your time. And breathe.
Sister Saraa, who I was surprised to see when she came to Frank Tate during lunch hour, announced after the Zohor jema'ah that we were going to gain a new sister, and I instinctively knew it was the girl I had met during O-Week. I had noticed her in the musolla many times, but I had never had the time to stop and say hello.
As it turns out, Saraa was here to help Isabella declare her faith in Allah.
Right after the jema'ah crowd had settled down, she called us all to sit down and witness the process. I made a mad dash for my glasses (which I had misplaced, as usual), before settling myself next to Banoffee Cake. Linking my arm with hers, we let quiet settle among us as Saraa gave a short briefing about the ceremony to Isabella.
When Saraa mentioned the Five Pillars of Islam one by one to Isabella, I apologized to Banoffee for my sweaty palms.
When Saraa ticked off the Pillars of Faith as Isabella affirmed her belief in them, Banoffee tugged at my hand.
And when Isabella recited the shahadah after Saraa, three times in succession, Banoffee and I started to cry.
'I believe that there is no God worthy of submission but Allah (God) And I bear witness that Muhammad is his Messenger.'
What better gift do I need for the day? This, upon my brother's fantastic SPM results and my new phone arrangements?
Praise be to Allah, the Most High, the Great.
As my parting words, I would like to quote sister Saraa:
"Now, I would like to remind everyone to make it easy for our sister. She does not need rules; she needs love and compassion."
Sometimes you need inspiration to help you pull through the days.
And I find that inspiring people help me learn to place the world in my hands, not my heart.
Much thanks goes out to ukhti Lubna for giving me this lovely surprise on a Sunday morning:
Ghazi Anwar Pasha's Last Letter to his wife
Ghazi Anwar Pasha was from amongst those great Mujahideen of Turkey who had spent all his life fighting against the enemies of Islam. Eventually he was martyred by the Russians. Only a day prior to this he sent a letter to his wife, Najiya Sultana. This letter was published by her in the Turkish newspapers, and after being transferred was published by her in the newspapers in India on the 22 April 1923.
This letter is so touching and thought provoking that every young man should read it. An inspiring account of Mujahideen from the Ottaman period.
My Dearest Najiyya,
My life companion and fountain of happiness and joy dearest Najiya. The Almighty Allah is your guardian. Your last letter is in front of me at this moment. Believe me, this letter of yours will always be close to my heart. I cannot see your face but in between the lines and words of your letter I can see your beautiful fingers which used to play with my hair in the dark interior of tent, occasionally your picture fills my eyes. Alas, you write that I have forgotten you and that i do not care for your love.
You say that I have broken your loving heart and playing with fire and blood in a distant forsaken and I am unmindful of a woman who spends the night anxiously counting the stars.
You also say that I like war and my sword. But little did you realise when writing these words of yours, which undoubtedly were written with sincerity, out of deep love and devotion for me, will my heart.! How can I convince you [words are inadequate] that there is no one dearer to me in this world than you. You are the culmination of all my love and affection. I have never loved anyone before but you have stolen my heart.
Then what has separated me from You? O the joy of my heart! You can ask this question in a proper manner. Listen! "I am not away from you because I desire material gains of wealth nor is it because I wish to establish a kingdom or throne for myself as my enemies have publicly intimated. The only reason that I am away from you is that Allah's Obligatory Command has brought me here [battlefield] There is no greater fardh of Allah than Jihad Fi Sabilillah{to fight in the path of Allah}. It is this command of Allah, the intention of fulfilling it entitles a person a place in Jannah.
Alhumdulillah I not only have the intention to fulfil this command but am actively carrying it out in the battlefield.
Your absence{judai}, like an arrow is cutting my heart into pieces every moment. Notwithstanding this I am happy in this separation as it is your true love, and your love which is the greatest test, a challenge to my intention and resolution of fighting in the path of Allah Subhanu Wata'aala.
I thank Allah Ta'ala a thousand times that I have been victorious in this test and have been successful in putting Allah's love and command before my live, love and the pleasure of my desire{nafs}. You also, my darling must thank Allah Ta'ala and be happy that your husband possesses such a strong Emaan that he can ever sacrifice your love for the love of Allah.
Although Jihad with the sword is not compulsory on you, my love lest you are not exempted from it, no muslim male or female is exempted from Jihad. Your Jihad is that you must put Allah's love before your love and pleasure and you must make the bond of love between your husband and you stronger.
Look, never ever pray that your husband must come safe and sound from the battlefield into your loving arms. This prayer is selfish and Allah will not be pleased. Rather let your prayer be this, that Allah accept the Jihad of your husband and bring him back successfully otherwise let his lips imbibe the cup of martyrdom. These lips you know my darling have never been touched or dirtied by alcohol, but have always been kept busy with reciting the Holy Qur'an and hymming the glory and praises of Allah Subhanu Wata'aalah.
Dearest Najiya! How blessed will that moment be when in the path of Allah this head which you affectionately called beautiful will be separated from the body which in your eyes was not a soldier's body but a beloved's body!
Anwar's greatest wish is to be martyred and be judged on the day of Qiyammah with Hadrat Khalid bin Waleed {R.A.}, This world is a temporary one, Death will definitely come, Then why fear death? If death is definite, then why should a man die lying on a bed? Death in the path of Allah is not death but indeed life everlasting life.
Najiayya listen to my will! If I am martyred you must marry by brother Noori Pasha. After you, the dearest peron to me is Noori. It is my wish that after my demise he will faithfully care for you during your lifetime. My next wish is that all the children you bear tell them about my life and send all of them to the battlefield of Jihad for Islam. Remember if you do not fulfil this wish of mine, I will be angry with you in Jannah.
Farewell, my dearest! I don't know why my inner feelings tell me that after this letter I will never be able to write another lettter to you. It is no wonder that I may be martyred tomorrow.
Look! make sabr, on my death be happy and do not mourn, because my death in the path of Allah is an honour for you. Najiyya! I beg leave of you and in the world of thought I am embracing you.
Insha'Allah we will meet in Jannah and thereafter we will never part.
Your Anwar
*Ghazi Anwar Pasha was martyred the following day Insha'Allah*
Tomorrow will be my last officially Malaysian day for a while.
Much thanks to everyone for everything. For all the food, for all the memories, for the pep talks and serious discussions I've missed for so long, for all the car rides and the sweet wishes, for all the laughs, and gee, for all the tears as well.
Rasulullah (peace and blessings upon him) once said:
"It will befall on my ummah, that they will love five things, and they will forget five things. They will love the world, and forget of the Hereafter. They will love wealth, until they forget of the Day of Judgement. They will love another being, until they forget their Khaliq (Maker). They will love to make du'a (pray) until they forget to taubah (repent), and they will love their homes, but forget their graves."
There is an ongoing program conducted by the Federation of Students' Islamic Societies (FOSIS) of the United Kingdom, called The Radical Middle Way Project. From what I understand, it’s supposed to be a re-education of sorts for the British community, so that they may better understand Islam. The term ‘middle way’ is a direct reference to a verse in the Quran, where God explains Islam to be a moderate religion, easier and universal, unlike the ones He sent down before it. ‘Radical’ is obviously a direct reference to how most of the Western world views Islam, and together, they make for a paradoxical phrase -- my favourite kind to repeat.
In recent days, a series of little events have rocked this little world of mine, making me somewhat righteously indignant (if such a thing can be said), and reminding me of why I live as I do, in the first place. As a result of these ever God-sent events, there has been renewed interest in the spiritual condition of Malaysia. People are beginning to talk, think and absorb. That’s always a good place to start.
One of the main topics surrounding Malaysian life would be the unprecedented flooding of the southern-most state of the Peninsula, Johor. In recent days, there have been many first-hand accounts of what happened to, and what is currently going on with the people of that state. As a briefer, Johor was unexpectedly hit by massive flooding of most parts of the state, submerging countless homes, destroying crops and livestock. Hundreds of thousands were stranded, and eventually evacuated to nearby relief centres.
Our family friends who have visited the areas recently gave us a picture that is somewhat sad. One village has been submerged in thick, foul-smelling black mud, which volunteer workers say reminds them of Aceh’s tsunami waste. People are queuing up for a bottle of mineral water. Women don’t have anything to clothe themselves with. Children study in the barest of circumstances. Yet in the midst of all the tragedy, a news publication still had the gall to conduct a talent-search concert in the area.
The most appalling part? The concert was attended by hundreds of thousands of Johorians, clearly apathetic about the sufferings of their own neighbours. I mean, people are dying out there, and you’re still busy singing songs about heartache and pain?
Come on, people. Let’s get real. There is no greater heartache or pain than waking up one morning, and learning that your entire life, as you know it, is submerged under metres of stagnant water; that you have to start over from nothing at all, except pity and charity. And even that’s sorely lacking.
Another wake-up call for me would be watching the newly-established Al-Jazeera English news network, where they live up to their claim of ‘giving the other side of news’. Whereas before I had the excuse of not understanding a word, now I find myself going back to the channel. Al-Jazeera keeps things human, choosing to highlight the issues the rest of us prefer to skim over in the papers. Watching it reminds me that there are people out there who are suffering, and not just in war. It reminds me that the entire planet is in need of a fixer-upper, and that for as long as I live, it is my responsibility to do what I can to help.
It reminds me that the world does not centre around me, and that I should get over myself and off my butt.
And recently occurred the culmination of what I simply call ‘attacks on Muslims, by Muslims’. I will acknowledge here what I acknowledged before: I am part of an usrah. I feel no shame in it. I see no harm in it. I am merely part of something that has been established in countless government schools and masjids, which is to partake in a peaceful discussion of Islam -- to share knowledge and exchange ideas, and to be part of a small group of friends who care and look out for one another. In fact, ‘usrah’ is just a word in Arabic which means ‘family’. It was the main means the Prophet Muhammad used to educate people with Islam, at the advent of its revelation.
Don’t believe the last bit? I’m telling you to read back on history.
Ever since my mother started joining lessons organized by the local mosque (which is strictly monitored by the Government, but whatever), we’ve gone through some gradual changes as a family. Words like ‘halaqah’ and ‘usrah’ are common to our tongues. When I’d just finished with secondary school, my mother dragged me to her classes and usrah discussions as well, and much to my surprise, I had great fun. Being part of a mellow atmosphere, where everybody is a friend, is like therapy of sorts.
Well, the other day, someone I didn’t know just sent me an IM, claiming that ‘usrah’s are the number one cause of division among the Muslim society. I could tell straightaway that the comment was meant to provoke me, and after telling the dude to chill and lay off the hate, I placed him on my ‘Ignore List’ and moved on. I remember a time not so long ago when I would’ve been a lot more unforgiving. I was never the patient sort to begin with, and suppressing my anger was never an option. I even proudly walloped a fellow male classmate once, because he wouldn’t stop calling me (or someone else, I can’t remember) some idiotic name.
The ironic thing (for my virtual hater) is that being in an usrah taught me to be tolerant and to respect other people first, no matter what they’re saying about you. And if you can find no better way to clear the anger, then walk away. Take wudhu’, and walk away.
The point that I’m trying to make is that these are difficult times for Muslims. I’m sure everybody knows that by now. Osama bin Laden only used one word to justify his so-called attacks: Islam. Never mind that up till that point, he was heavily funded by the US government.
Now, everybody thinks that Islam is a religion of hate and revenge. Over what, I’m not exactly sure. As the guys at the ‘Allah Made Me Funny Comedy Tour’ would say, “you can’t be a Muslim and a terrrorist at the same time”. It just isn’t done. Especially not when God tells you to be peaceful. In the earliest days of Islam, when the new Muslims were brutally tortured by the Quraisy of Makkah, they did not even retaliate.
We seem to forget to tell others that Islam does not allow war, unless you have been attacked. And in the Qur’an, there is even a verse forbidding further retaliation when the enemy has stopped attacking.
Islam is an easy, uncomplicated religion, which ensures the easiest solution for every situation, in any era, in any circumstance.
And it pains me to say this, but some Muslims are too busy playing the blame game. We keep on forgetting that we should unite in the face of mounting international tension and undisguised stigma, instead of laying the hate around us. Political differences aside, we should set our hearts for what is right by the people, instead of placing emphasis on what ends up in our pockets. Listen to those around you and pay attention to what they’re saying. Quit playing hide-and-seek with God, because He sees right through our hearts effortlessly. There's no point being a hypocrite anyway, when all will be laid out in the end.
You talk the talk, but you don’t walk the walk. You say that you’re all for progress and change, but your mind is stuck in a ditch that collapsed into itself years ago. I’ll admit that this is a generalization, but it works, if only for the fact that it’s too general a condition now to be pinned down to any one sort of person.
You’re too averse to change, yet you lobby for it. You separate matters of religion from everyday life, saying that they cannot co-exist. You let lack of knowledge, and your refusal to think, mar your sights and your heart. You’re too busy trying to appease your greed that you forget about others.
You’re too preoccupied with your dime-a-dozen life, relishing the cramped bubble you’ve built around yourself, that you won’t even share your space with thoughts of God, let alone Love for Him.
Come on. If you have to change; make a difference in yourself, get over your shame of admitting it. I’ve said this before, and I will say this ever again: CHANGE IS NOT A BAD THING.
Dang, I sound like a broken record.
Quit being scared of change. It’s not worth being afraid of.
Work the earth as if you will live on it forever; live your life as if every day is your last.
Before this is a reminder for you, please note that I am reminding myself first and foremost. I guess Michael Jackson got it right (although I can hardly believe I’m saying this): ‘If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make the change.’
And to end my little indignant rant, I would like to quote someone I admire for his utter frankness and blatant individuality:
‘If you were dead, you’d have much bigger problems than what you’re wearing.’ -Owen Armstrong-
In a world where I never measure up, writing is the place where I know what I’m doing.
I am socially inept, ever with the wrong thing to say or do. I am basically immature, although most people think it’s of my own doing. I always just barely scraped by school with As or Bs, and I didn’t really stand out that much -- not in the fields that mattered, anyway. I am temperamentally short-fused, with little patience and a very poor ability to concentrate. Physically, I never seemed to match up to the standard idea of beauty, or even prettiness, though truth be told, I never saw what was so unacceptable about me. In a world where I was beginning to be judged purely by how much I scored in my exams, I seemed to have barely failed everything else.
I’d always felt so lost all those years before I rediscovered my deen, my Islam, and in those times, where all I had were my emotions and my tears and God, I would find myself with paper and a pen/pencil, and I would write. I would live out my daydreams of ridiculously soap opera-scenarios in a small spiral notebook I hid under my sock basket. I would jot down my incoherent anger (although it seems a tad harsh a word) and frustration in my journal, and release my feelings of loneliness and ineptitude in my poetry, which was basically just metaphoric prose.
When I let myself down, I immersed myself in writing, where there are no rules, other than maybe making sense. In poetry, I could say even more, and still safeguard my private thoughts. I enjoyed my despair because it sounded nice in writing. It gave me an illusion of profundity I could hide from the world, and it showed me sides of me I never knew.
Looking back and reading my work, I can understand the pain, although I no longer feel it. I no longer loath myself, because learning and understanding about the person God made me to be has made me accept myself better. I face criticism with careless abandon where the occasion calls for it; otherwise I deal with it with (what I hope is) patience and tolerance. I relish the fact that God made me the way I am, and with a little effort on my part, I could be better if I wanted to be; if God willed it. But I could also be content with the fact that God made me the way I am for reasons I may not know, all the while knowing that it is what’s best for me. And when all else fails, God would be enough.
With these relatively new principles in mind (and heart), I can see my writing grow with me, or on me; depends on where you’re looking. I used to be obsessed about huge, impressive words not usually used amongst humankind; now I prefer simple words that say more. I used to want to relate to pop culture; now I want to relate to now and forever. I used to allow my imagination to run wild, justifying that it’s all unreal; now I hold responsibility for the things I say, and I prefer to keep my feet grounded on firm reality, painful though it might be.
I think I’ve said this before: I want to spark change, open minds and provoke thought.
Words are such heavy loads in our lives. People use words to tell a story and captivate millions; you can affect politics with the phrasing you choose; you can turn words into a war, or you can bring it to a halt. Mightier than the sword, I believe the saying goes.
In retrospect, I understand why the first verses of the Quran that were relayed from Gabriel to Prophet Muhammad were:
‘Read! In the name of your Lord and Cherisher who created, Created mankind out of a clot of congealed blood. Read, and your Lord is most Bountiful; He who taught men the use of the pen Taught man that which he did not know. Know, but man does transgress all bounds in that he looks upon himself as self-sufficient Verily, to your Lord is the return of all.’
It seems ironic to me, that a person who is so well-known for doing so little, should choose so important a medium. But I did not choose this, exactly. Were the decision up to me completely, I would have chosen something simpler, plainer, quicker to get over with, so that I could get on with my life, easy. But words, instead, pulled me in their direction; forcing me to take another look, another perspective; give another try and see what it means. At times, inspiration will come to me, and when I am done, I cannot believe all this came out of ME. It can get quite scary, although it makes sense. Scary sense, but still.
Now I understand, the way humankind understands everything -- from a purposely stunted point of view. I suppose that God wanted to show me from the start that life is a journey, not mere play, and as Robert Frost once put it --
That’s the idea, anyway. In less than two days, I will no longer have the number ‘1’ as the first digit of my age; no longer able to hide behind the overworked suffix of ’teen’.
It’s quite scary, the prospect of losing all valid excuse is.
The way my mother expects it, having a new digit at the front of my age will force me to mature -- to grow up into an working, functioning adult. How I wish to have the gall to say, “If only things worked that way, Ma”.
You see, I have always had this aversion against growing up. Now, let me get this straight -- I have no problems with becoming a year older; I just have issues with maturity. I prefer regression to cynism; naivete to jadedness.
I think Dawud Wharnsby hit it right on the dot:
I don’t wanna be a grown-up Like the grown-ups I have seen ‘Cause the grown-ups I have seen Don’t seem to have much fun. They don’t get down on the floor enough To pray, or play with toys So when I’m a grown-up I won’t wanna be one.
For as long as I remember, I have always been against growing up. In fact, when most of my peers had already hit the watermark of puberty, I was more than glad to be left behind. I was perfectly happy to be left to my hopscotch and Barney videos (nicely borrowed from my toddler cousin) while the rest of my friends were busy comparing ‘first period’ experiences and boy-hunting.
I suppose you could say that I was late. And happily so.
But now, with my mother heavily hinting about the cumbersome day, I’m becoming rather wary. She’s desperately waiting for me to grow up; become mature. In short, to become less of a worry to her and my father. And to the rest of my aunts and uncles.
And every time I hear about it, I get a twinge in the pit of my stomach. I know how much my family wishes I could learn to be an adult. I just wished I knew how.
Last night, I had a hurried chat with my best friend. She’s happy with where she is in life right now, and I’m glad. My life for the years since we left school has been somewhat lacking her perspective on things. So it wasn’t so surprising that when I asked her opinion of my blog, she gave it to me straight: She told me that I was a little biased, and a little idealistic.
I felt tempted to reply, “When have I ever not been?”
My trip back to Malaysia, which has changed so much and yet remains so familiar, has made me think a lot about how life has changed for me, throughout the years. Ever since I could remember, the mostly part of me grew up here. I guess the change of mailing address has given me a new perspective on things. Little bits and pieces of my past seem to be catching up with me.
Just when so many of my friends are struggling to step away from their past, I’m trying hard to recollect mine.
When I was in kindergarten, I was happy. I was talkative, sure, but I cannot remember a time when I never was. Life was easy, and I suppose that deep down inside, I knew it. Maybe I had an inkling that life then was as leisurely as it was going to get. I remember gymnastic lessons for the annual concert, music classes, and sort-of cheating during after-school Mandarin, and having banana cake for recess. I used to hate banana cake.
When I was in primary school, I felt my first taste of labelling -- I was the smart kid; the bookworm; the chatterbox nerd. I think I was even called weird. I didn’t really have much common sense (some things never change), and it was beginning to worry my mother, in particular. I didn’t know how to keep the friends I had. I guess I just valued my privacy too much. Maybe I was just lazy.
Wow. That was painful to remember.
When I browse through my Friends List on Friendster, little flashes of memories pop into my head. I see the classmate I used to hate (he is a guy, which was reason enough, back in the day); I see my first crush; I see winces from social faux pas; I see the first person I was rumoured to be dating (ever just rumours). But only barely.
I see the people I grew up with, for the better part of my life. And yet now, I can’t really see them clearly in my mind anymore, because to me, they no longer represent my world, or even a semblance of the reality I‘ve come to know since leaving the bubble that was secondary school. I used to think life was what we played at between classes, but it turns out I was wrong.
When I stepped into pre-U, I learnt that there was so much more to life than dating, and looking good, and staying in cliques. I immersed myself in the new environment -- the new, always nice people and I relished that we all came from such different backgrounds. I was happy that being a smarty-pants was a common thing we shared, and most of all, that being one had brought me into AUSMAT 16 of INTEC. I learnt so much, and I enjoyed life so much.
I guess that was where I learnt to celebrate life, and the person I am.
And just when I thought I couldn’t change anymore, I did, again. This time, it was nearing the end of AUSMAT, just before the exams. I suddenly found myself with a whole new set of principles embedded within me, all without my asking. I found a deeper connection with life, deeper than I ever expected. I also found new meaning in living. The intensity and almost suddenness of that particular change -- of me, becoming more of the religious sort I usually evaded all this while -- almost made me forget how transitional and parallel it was. In fact, it was that very change of outlook that made me decide on Melbourne.
Melbourne taught me to be ready to change my mind at anytime. The city and its people taught me to never judge a book by its cover -- a lesson I’m afraid I’m beginning to forget. Melbourne taught me that each person is like an onion -- deeper than the grubby exterior, with many layers to peel, each a different shade. The Aussies taught me not to judge, and the land taught me to be quick on my feet and to trust myself. And my fellow Malaysians taught me everything else.
There, I learned to earn real friendship. I learned about dealing with mistakes. I gained the confidence that was missing from me all those years past. I found myself with so much independence that now that I’m home, I feel stifled and limited. I’m counting down the precious days until I’m forced to leave my family, but at the same time, glimpses of Melbourne appear in my mind, beckoning me to go back.
I used to be so afraid of trying new things. Now I’m just wary, is all.
I used to view change like I did make-up: Nasty and avoidable. I’ve changed my mind some since then.
Now, I’ve realized that if I had looked back more often, the same way I’m doing now, I doubt I would’ve gotten this far. I would’ve been too afraid to do anything other than what I was used to -- I wouldn’t want to improve.
So having a poor memory can come in handy too, in turns out.
Seriously though, I’ve learnt that the only way to live is to live in the present. I know, it is an overworked cliché from Christmas-themed TV movies, but it’s true. If you look behind, you’ll lose courage to take that first step forward or away. If you look too far ahead, you’ll lose your footing and crash on your face.
The only way to push ahead is to be thankful for everything you have right now, and know that God has bigger plans for you, made of stuff you won’t even be able to imagine.
So enjoy the moment. And make way for the next one.
Praise be to Allah for my life thus far. I’ll take it all with no regrets, insyaAllah, for as Imam as-Syahid Hassan al-Banna said,
“Nothing is better than what has become.”
Wassalamu’alaikum.
P.S:- Should you happen to read this, this goes out to Najmina (4th of Jan), Sufia (10th, I think), Rizal and Intan Fairouza and Azza and Chie Chie (15th), Lyana (16th), Erin and Duck and Abang Pea (18th). If you happen to be born in the month, do let me know. Happy Birthday, all. Many happy returns.
Some people punch walls. Some wallow in empty spaces. Some people become vindictive. Me? I just corner you and let my gob speak for itself. Welcome to the inner recesses of my life (sounds almost pathetic, dunnit?)