I woke up today and thought of my son. I went through breakfast, chats with my parents and the inevitable errands. As I sat in my car, I looked up at the house that I grew up in. Memories flooded my mind and yet, instead of feeling a longing to go inside, I opted to start raking the leaves that littered the entire front yard and driveway.
I find, in times of sadness, the best thing for me to do is to exercise my body physically, and let my thoughts wander where they may. I came inside after 2 hours and sat down with a cup of chai. I was still in a silent yet reflective state. I knew I was being anti-social with mum and dad, but they also knew that I needed the time to work through my thoughts.
Marriage is a joyous thing. I fought hard for my choice in a husband. I went against my parents, my family, my friends, everyone in my quest to marry a convert. I believed that a man, who could accept Allah, who could revert back to Islam, was a wonderful example and that I was truly blessed that such a person wanted me as a wife. Looking back, I realize that the love, the honour and the diligence which I showed to my partner, was never reciprocal. It's a bitter pill to swallow. But, I've accepted it fully now. Friends sometimes ask, if he was to return and ask for another chance, would I grant it to him? No. There is no love left, there is no respect remaining. I'm ambivalent. I’m not angry, nor sad. Simply ambivalent.
The question then revolves around the loss of the greatest gift a murid of Allah has, the blessings of a child. I miss him, deep within my heart and soul, I miss him. I know in my rational mind that he is happy where he is, with Allah, but I miss him nonetheless. Not one day goes by that I do not miss that greatest of all gifts. The memories will always be there. So will the knowledge that his death was senseless, it was wrong and it did not need to happen. I've accepted, after quite a few years, that he is gone and that I cannot change the past. I still don't completely understand why it happened, but I accept that the outcome has my son in a place which is infinitely better than anything I could have given him in this life.
I'm not angry with Allah per se. I am however, sad that He took away something that was so good, so pure and which I wanted more than this life which I lead today. At times, I feel as if I'm coasting, simply going through the motions.
When I got married, I foolishly believed that I would love my husband for the rest of my days on this earth. When I went through my separation, I held onto that belief with the tenacity of a child in the midst of a full-blown tantrum. I've learned quite a lot through the separation and the years since the divorce. The finality of the gavel falling, declaring I was now a divorcee, resulted in me going through the months thereafter in a shell shocked state of mind. Over the course of this past year, I've started slowly emerging from the vestiges of that shock. I've experienced a roller coaster of emotions and lashed out in ways that proved to me that I could still feel.
I hope now that I can really become a good person, a human being that Allah feels is worthy of Jannat. My motivation may seem trivial or wrong to you, but for me, it’s the reasons why I even want to continue to struggle in this life. I want to be able to see, hear, feel and hold the child I lost. I'm not sure, if anyone can truly understand the pain a mother feels if they haven't gone through it. I pray, if you haven't, that you never do.
I'm not the same carefree devil-may-care personality; I was before this life-altering event. In some ways, I'm more mature, I'm more accepting, I'm more open, and I think, stronger for the experience which I've lived through. There are still vestiges of the carefree bubbly girl I was once was. It is good she's somehow still a part of the new me, it helps me to remember, in some ways, the past and that not all of it is mired in grief nor anger.
I pray that I overcome whatever difficulties and weaknesses/temptations that I expose myself to, consciously or unconsciously. I hope I persevere and I truly pray that Allah helps me to achieve this new goal.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Soul's Yearning
The memories of the past beckon yet again. The restlessness that remains firmly within my control has reawakened. It's stronger today. It's causing the normally happy-go-lucky personality on the surface which is me to be silenced. There is anxiousness, a searching which defies explanation. Those who know me know that there resides a deep sadness within me.
I'm the girl who everyone clamors to spend time with, yet I belong nowhere. I shy away from attention instinctually and yet my outer self is perfectly at home amongst a roomful of strangers. I'm a farce, a mockery, for I am lying to the most important person...me.
I close my eyes and hear his deep voice; he’s entered our home and is calling for our children and I. His voice even from the back of the house has a deep smile in it, for he’s happy, he’s home. I open my eyes…there is no one there. There is no smiling voice; it was like the rest of my life, a mirage.
Again my eyes close and unbidden comes the wailing of a child. An infant and my yearning know no bounds. I long from deep within my soul for that child …the one whose wails can only be quieted by his mothers soothing voice. I want that child the ones whose body my arms were chiseled to cradle.
I envision spending hours in front of a fire listening to my families stories of what occurred over their individual days. I blink and know before my eyes are even fully opened that I have no one to focus that attention upon.
An extrovert … internally I'm a whirring of emotions, thoughts, questions, concerns and a plethora of facts collected over a lifetime that seems wasted.
Tears come easily for I am deeply unhappy.
The knowledge that by society’s standards I am a productive member of society is meaning less and less to me daily. I've accomplished a lot by society’s measurements and yet I feel like a complete failure. I'm successfully able to play whatever games life hands me and yet I long for a return to simplicity. A normalcy which is so elusive that currently I feel the continued search for it is an exercise in futility.
I close my eyes yet again in hopes that I can recapture that mythical life…the one which beckons me. My soul is so utterly restless that no matter how hard I try, I cannot recapture that elusive dream for reality is the only constant in my life.
And so I enter reality, I open my eyes and I put my fingers to work.
The cursor incessantly blinks behind the phrase: “Where do I belong?”
Dare I press enter?
I'm the girl who everyone clamors to spend time with, yet I belong nowhere. I shy away from attention instinctually and yet my outer self is perfectly at home amongst a roomful of strangers. I'm a farce, a mockery, for I am lying to the most important person...me.
I close my eyes and hear his deep voice; he’s entered our home and is calling for our children and I. His voice even from the back of the house has a deep smile in it, for he’s happy, he’s home. I open my eyes…there is no one there. There is no smiling voice; it was like the rest of my life, a mirage.
Again my eyes close and unbidden comes the wailing of a child. An infant and my yearning know no bounds. I long from deep within my soul for that child …the one whose wails can only be quieted by his mothers soothing voice. I want that child the ones whose body my arms were chiseled to cradle.
I envision spending hours in front of a fire listening to my families stories of what occurred over their individual days. I blink and know before my eyes are even fully opened that I have no one to focus that attention upon.
An extrovert … internally I'm a whirring of emotions, thoughts, questions, concerns and a plethora of facts collected over a lifetime that seems wasted.
Tears come easily for I am deeply unhappy.
The knowledge that by society’s standards I am a productive member of society is meaning less and less to me daily. I've accomplished a lot by society’s measurements and yet I feel like a complete failure. I'm successfully able to play whatever games life hands me and yet I long for a return to simplicity. A normalcy which is so elusive that currently I feel the continued search for it is an exercise in futility.
I close my eyes yet again in hopes that I can recapture that mythical life…the one which beckons me. My soul is so utterly restless that no matter how hard I try, I cannot recapture that elusive dream for reality is the only constant in my life.
And so I enter reality, I open my eyes and I put my fingers to work.
The cursor incessantly blinks behind the phrase: “Where do I belong?”
Dare I press enter?
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Questions and Answers
A key which unlocks the deepest parts of me....
In my mind's eye, I once remember a thought that flitted through my
mind when asked what it was that I was seeking. I wasn't able to
conceptualize it at that point, but now it is quite clear.
The world is Allah's gift for mankind. The oceans are like a woman's
heart. The land the perfect description of man...A woman's heart is
deep and pure (most times) and yet she doesn't encompass the entire of
this Earth...land is still essential, and that land is like a man;
protective and secure (most times). One without the other cannot
survive. However, it takes constant vigilance for each to survive and
infinite care for both to prosper.
In my mind's eye, I once remember a thought that flitted through my
mind when asked what it was that I was seeking. I wasn't able to
conceptualize it at that point, but now it is quite clear.
The world is Allah's gift for mankind. The oceans are like a woman's
heart. The land the perfect description of man...A woman's heart is
deep and pure (most times) and yet she doesn't encompass the entire of
this Earth...land is still essential, and that land is like a man;
protective and secure (most times). One without the other cannot
survive. However, it takes constant vigilance for each to survive and
infinite care for both to prosper.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
An Onion called Life
Five years ago yesterday I was happy. Deliriously so. I had a husband who was absolutely the most wonderful thing in the world. The sun rose and set with him. I was pregnant with our son. I had a career which was slated with achieving a VP position by age 30, a mere 2 yrs. I had a mother-in-law who wasn't meddlesome and who actually understood and respected my beliefs, culture, language, etc.... Both my parents were healthy after years of fighting various life-threatening diseases and I had productive, happy and healthy siblings. Mash'Allah, I had such amazing dreams and I was systematically achieving them all. Alhumdillah, I had everything and gave Shukran to Allah for it all.
I was always the eldest in the family, immediate and extended, so I was more often than not a mentor. I relished that position; it was a natural part of my personality. I would get calls from time to time from friends or family members about their troubles, at the end of each call; I would give Shukran and marvel at how blessed I truly was. I'd share the troubles with my husband and tell him that I felt so blessed that we didn't have to go through such trails. He’d look at me and shrug or smile. I realize now, as it didn’t immediately impact him, he didn’t care much.
Five years ago today, I found out my perfect world, wasn't perfect. Since that day, I've gone through a roller coaster of emotions, I've lost a husband, I've lost a mother0in-law, I've lost my most prized gift, a son, I've also taken 2 yrs off and traveled the world, I've left my profession and delved into a completely different profession. I've lost all my worldly possessions and my perfect world is no more. Why? Why did this happen? Simply said, because my husband wasn't happy.
So, I ask myself from time to time, why? Was there a failing in me? Was there a failing in him? Was our time together really suppose to be short-lived as so many have told me? I'm not sure. I do however know, it's changed me. Irrevocably so. I'm not sure if it’s for the better or the worse, but lately, I’m realizing I'm enjoying the new me.
Do I wish things were different? Sure. Am I glad life happened as it did? Absolutely not. I do however, thank Allah that through it all, I grew, I changed and that finally five long years later, I've become a new me, a me which is different yes, but better as well.
There are times when melancholy overtakes me. I wonder sometimes, how is it that life can change so drastically all on whim. How can one person's unhappiness or happiness really be so powerful, constructive or destructive that it can change the lives of the immediate as well as extended people?
I'm happy that I've restarted life. I'm sad that it took such a big price in order for me to really appreciate all the nuances of this onion called life. It’s got layers, its smelly, its nourishing, some refuse to have anything to do with it, but yet it’s all around us.
Funny...I've just compared life to an onion, and yet, it somehow strangely makes sense.
I wish sometimes, in my melancholy reflective moods, that I could have my old life back. And yet, rationally I know there is no going back. There is simply forward, constantly, whether you wish it or not.
And so, I need to move forward, constantly and diligently, forward but the urge to look back, to wish and think how life could have been, how it should have been, it's almost overpowering in its strength. But one foot, at a time, diligently and constantly, forward. That is the focus now...one day at a time, one foot at a time.
I was always the eldest in the family, immediate and extended, so I was more often than not a mentor. I relished that position; it was a natural part of my personality. I would get calls from time to time from friends or family members about their troubles, at the end of each call; I would give Shukran and marvel at how blessed I truly was. I'd share the troubles with my husband and tell him that I felt so blessed that we didn't have to go through such trails. He’d look at me and shrug or smile. I realize now, as it didn’t immediately impact him, he didn’t care much.
Five years ago today, I found out my perfect world, wasn't perfect. Since that day, I've gone through a roller coaster of emotions, I've lost a husband, I've lost a mother0in-law, I've lost my most prized gift, a son, I've also taken 2 yrs off and traveled the world, I've left my profession and delved into a completely different profession. I've lost all my worldly possessions and my perfect world is no more. Why? Why did this happen? Simply said, because my husband wasn't happy.
So, I ask myself from time to time, why? Was there a failing in me? Was there a failing in him? Was our time together really suppose to be short-lived as so many have told me? I'm not sure. I do however know, it's changed me. Irrevocably so. I'm not sure if it’s for the better or the worse, but lately, I’m realizing I'm enjoying the new me.
Do I wish things were different? Sure. Am I glad life happened as it did? Absolutely not. I do however, thank Allah that through it all, I grew, I changed and that finally five long years later, I've become a new me, a me which is different yes, but better as well.
There are times when melancholy overtakes me. I wonder sometimes, how is it that life can change so drastically all on whim. How can one person's unhappiness or happiness really be so powerful, constructive or destructive that it can change the lives of the immediate as well as extended people?
I'm happy that I've restarted life. I'm sad that it took such a big price in order for me to really appreciate all the nuances of this onion called life. It’s got layers, its smelly, its nourishing, some refuse to have anything to do with it, but yet it’s all around us.
Funny...I've just compared life to an onion, and yet, it somehow strangely makes sense.
I wish sometimes, in my melancholy reflective moods, that I could have my old life back. And yet, rationally I know there is no going back. There is simply forward, constantly, whether you wish it or not.
And so, I need to move forward, constantly and diligently, forward but the urge to look back, to wish and think how life could have been, how it should have been, it's almost overpowering in its strength. But one foot, at a time, diligently and constantly, forward. That is the focus now...one day at a time, one foot at a time.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Restlessness
"Open your eyes"
So, I open them. The sun is shining through the skylight. It's hot and yet the overhead fan undulates. The dog is still sleeping. She sleeps far enough away that when I awaken she still has me in her line of vision.
"I don't want to get up yet." I turn over to the opposite side of the bed, stubbornly waiting to fall back asleep.
"Wake up, I want to go play outside."
"But, how can you?" I ask.
"I'm there inside of you, around you, in all aspects of life. And I want to go outside, only I don't want to go out alone."
So, I throw off the covers. The dog wakes up. She stretches. I watch her and stretch myself. Then I trek downstairs. I'm still in my pajama's. I slip on my flip flops and I open the front door. The dog follows. She knows I'm restless. She knows I've gotten up without a "Good Morning" to her. She knows that something is wrong.
I have a purpose. I go outside, I sit in the shade of the largest tree's in my parent's backyard.
I'm still restless. But, I don't hear him again. He's silent. I look around all the backyards from my parent's all the way down the block through all the neighbors backyards. I don't see a soul out this early. I take a deep breath and I lay down. I look up to the heavens, the clouds, the perfectly open sky above.
I realize, the birds aren't singing. There are no sounds of cars or golf carts whirring by. Not down the street nor in the distance. Why is it so quiet?
I sit up again and I look for the dog. She's gone. Perhaps she's wandered off, she knows where her home is. She knows the neighborhood. Everyone knows her as well. She won't get lost nor will she stay away long. She's my constant companion.
Suddenly I hear her bark. Strange, she hasn't barked since the day I rescued her, when she was 3 months old. Yet, instinctively, I know its her. I get up, I walk over to the side of the house. I see her, under the huge pine trees that line up on the side of the house. She's standing up through the pines of the smallest of the 4 tree's. I notice, her hair is standing on end.
"What's wrong Zari? Why did you bark?"
She doesn't look over at me. She growls. My sweet, loving, patient, quiet 12 lb'er is growling? At what? Suddenly, she whines and runs back to the front of the house. I walk closer to the small pine tree. Nope, I don't see anything. I don't hear anything.
Strange...I wonder what got into her.
I walk back to the front of the house. Zari is there, on the front stopp. She's scratching at the door. I walk up to the door and reach for the door handle to open the door.
But I don't feel the handle. I can't grasp it.
I'm back in bed. I look over and Zari is in her bed. She's on her back and her legs are up in the air. She's oblivious to the world, deep in sleep. I sit up in bed and I hear it...the small voice.
"Mommy you forgot me."
I jump out of bed and go running to the front yard. Nothing.
I run to the side and stand under the pine. Nothing.
I run to the backyard, near where I was sitting in my thoughts, or were those my dreams? Nothing.
I walk back into the house, dejected. And I think..."I couldn't protect him when he needed me the most and now...now I'm starting to forget him."
And then the tears come. Silent, unbidden, cold. I walk back upstairs, into my room, I get into bed and I caccoon myself. It's going to be a long weekend ... so much to do, yet I don't want to get up. Not just yet.
So, I open them. The sun is shining through the skylight. It's hot and yet the overhead fan undulates. The dog is still sleeping. She sleeps far enough away that when I awaken she still has me in her line of vision.
"I don't want to get up yet." I turn over to the opposite side of the bed, stubbornly waiting to fall back asleep.
"Wake up, I want to go play outside."
"But, how can you?" I ask.
"I'm there inside of you, around you, in all aspects of life. And I want to go outside, only I don't want to go out alone."
So, I throw off the covers. The dog wakes up. She stretches. I watch her and stretch myself. Then I trek downstairs. I'm still in my pajama's. I slip on my flip flops and I open the front door. The dog follows. She knows I'm restless. She knows I've gotten up without a "Good Morning" to her. She knows that something is wrong.
I have a purpose. I go outside, I sit in the shade of the largest tree's in my parent's backyard.
I'm still restless. But, I don't hear him again. He's silent. I look around all the backyards from my parent's all the way down the block through all the neighbors backyards. I don't see a soul out this early. I take a deep breath and I lay down. I look up to the heavens, the clouds, the perfectly open sky above.
I realize, the birds aren't singing. There are no sounds of cars or golf carts whirring by. Not down the street nor in the distance. Why is it so quiet?
I sit up again and I look for the dog. She's gone. Perhaps she's wandered off, she knows where her home is. She knows the neighborhood. Everyone knows her as well. She won't get lost nor will she stay away long. She's my constant companion.
Suddenly I hear her bark. Strange, she hasn't barked since the day I rescued her, when she was 3 months old. Yet, instinctively, I know its her. I get up, I walk over to the side of the house. I see her, under the huge pine trees that line up on the side of the house. She's standing up through the pines of the smallest of the 4 tree's. I notice, her hair is standing on end.
"What's wrong Zari? Why did you bark?"
She doesn't look over at me. She growls. My sweet, loving, patient, quiet 12 lb'er is growling? At what? Suddenly, she whines and runs back to the front of the house. I walk closer to the small pine tree. Nope, I don't see anything. I don't hear anything.
Strange...I wonder what got into her.
I walk back to the front of the house. Zari is there, on the front stopp. She's scratching at the door. I walk up to the door and reach for the door handle to open the door.
But I don't feel the handle. I can't grasp it.
I'm back in bed. I look over and Zari is in her bed. She's on her back and her legs are up in the air. She's oblivious to the world, deep in sleep. I sit up in bed and I hear it...the small voice.
"Mommy you forgot me."
I jump out of bed and go running to the front yard. Nothing.
I run to the side and stand under the pine. Nothing.
I run to the backyard, near where I was sitting in my thoughts, or were those my dreams? Nothing.
I walk back into the house, dejected. And I think..."I couldn't protect him when he needed me the most and now...now I'm starting to forget him."
And then the tears come. Silent, unbidden, cold. I walk back upstairs, into my room, I get into bed and I caccoon myself. It's going to be a long weekend ... so much to do, yet I don't want to get up. Not just yet.
1,345 days later
I woke up today and didn't want to get out of bed. I went through the morning. Got ready, took the dog for a walk, had chai with mom. Went to work, went from meetng to meeting. But my mind wasn't there. It's still not.
Sometimes the pain is so unbearable I don't want to get out of bed. Other times, its just there. Like my heartbeat. Its softly prodding, reminding me that it will be my constant companion.
"How come you didn't protect me? You promised to always take care of me."
I know, I KNOW ...I remember our conversations quite clearly. I would talk to you as I laid on the rug. The ultra soft one that wouldn't do anything but protect you, encase you, offer you a soft cushon as you learned how to walk. I remember your small ishaara's in response to my questions and my teasing. I remember how quiet you would get when I would put those headphones on for you to listen to. That was my favorite...you were so quiet and paying such rapt attention and yet I knew that you enjoyed it. It's my most treasured memory of our time together.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't protect you. It's my greatest failing. Perhaps, I simply didn't deserve you.
I'm not sure if you can ever forgive me, I'm not sure if I can ever forgive myself. But I know that even when surrounded by everyone, family and friends...I'm still there...bereft without you. Your my constant companion, my constant reminder that once I failed and quite badly.
Sometimes I hear a cry and wonder...what would you sound like? Sometimes I go into the department store and pick up a scent, something that that makes me think...would he smell like this? I never got to touch you, I never got to see you, I never got to hold you, I never knew what you smelled like.
I went into the basement last night, I stood at the bottom of the stairs and stared at the boxes holding all the hopes, the dreams, the beginnings and memories I had started in anticipation of your arrival. I can't seem to give them to anyone else. I can't seem to share them with even mom. Everyone keeps telling me that I need to move on, that I need to give them to someone who needs all that stuff. But NO they were your things...how can I possibly allow others to derive pleasure from that which was and will always be yours?
Ya Allah, I missed all of it. I'm so sorry I didn't protect you. I'm sorry I couldn't save you.
Sometimes the pain is so unbearable I don't want to get out of bed. Other times, its just there. Like my heartbeat. Its softly prodding, reminding me that it will be my constant companion.
"How come you didn't protect me? You promised to always take care of me."
I know, I KNOW ...I remember our conversations quite clearly. I would talk to you as I laid on the rug. The ultra soft one that wouldn't do anything but protect you, encase you, offer you a soft cushon as you learned how to walk. I remember your small ishaara's in response to my questions and my teasing. I remember how quiet you would get when I would put those headphones on for you to listen to. That was my favorite...you were so quiet and paying such rapt attention and yet I knew that you enjoyed it. It's my most treasured memory of our time together.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't protect you. It's my greatest failing. Perhaps, I simply didn't deserve you.
I'm not sure if you can ever forgive me, I'm not sure if I can ever forgive myself. But I know that even when surrounded by everyone, family and friends...I'm still there...bereft without you. Your my constant companion, my constant reminder that once I failed and quite badly.
Sometimes I hear a cry and wonder...what would you sound like? Sometimes I go into the department store and pick up a scent, something that that makes me think...would he smell like this? I never got to touch you, I never got to see you, I never got to hold you, I never knew what you smelled like.
I went into the basement last night, I stood at the bottom of the stairs and stared at the boxes holding all the hopes, the dreams, the beginnings and memories I had started in anticipation of your arrival. I can't seem to give them to anyone else. I can't seem to share them with even mom. Everyone keeps telling me that I need to move on, that I need to give them to someone who needs all that stuff. But NO they were your things...how can I possibly allow others to derive pleasure from that which was and will always be yours?
Ya Allah, I missed all of it. I'm so sorry I didn't protect you. I'm sorry I couldn't save you.
Uncertainty
It's the middle of the day and I can't function. I look around me and see nothing but stillness.
So how come internally I have so much roiling emotion? Why can't I be as still inside my heart, my body, my mind as the stillness that pervades all around me?
An outsider, looking in, would never judge what is inside. They would see a woman, diligently at work at a table surrounded by the calm fragrant smells of that which is a library. Never would anyone guess the emotions, the uncertainty and the concern which is at the heart of that which I call myself.
Why, why can't I just be at peace? Why must I fight tooth and nail for each small concession? Why is it so hard to just enjoy and be a part of life? Why do I feel as if nothing and no one will ever understand that which is inside of me? Why is it that no matter what I do, how I go about, whomever I am with, no one will ever compare to that which was at the heart of my happiness two years ago? Why can we never be happy when we have all that we always strive for?
I watched a mother yell at a child outside of the entrance to the library today. The little girl was completely enamored by the sun reflecting off a small puddle of water. The mother was in a hurry, why are we always in such a hurry? She didn't notice the simple pleasure and the longing on her daughter’s face. I wanted to scream to her, enjoy it! Enjoy it while you can. Never, ever be in such a hurry that you lose the innocence, the happiness, the memories given daily to us. But I didn't say anything out loud. I screamed it but it didn't do any good. She didn't hear me.
And the girl, with a tear streaking down her cheek meekly followed her mother into the building. She looked back though, longingly to the puddle and then looked up. I met her eyes and I looked at her and then on that viselike grip that her mother had on her arm. And then they disappeared into the air conditioned building, my destination for the day.
Before I went in, I splashed in that puddle. I ruined my trainers, but it was worth it. It was a small thing but I did it, not just for myself but also for that little girl. It was....worth it.
So how come internally I have so much roiling emotion? Why can't I be as still inside my heart, my body, my mind as the stillness that pervades all around me?
An outsider, looking in, would never judge what is inside. They would see a woman, diligently at work at a table surrounded by the calm fragrant smells of that which is a library. Never would anyone guess the emotions, the uncertainty and the concern which is at the heart of that which I call myself.
Why, why can't I just be at peace? Why must I fight tooth and nail for each small concession? Why is it so hard to just enjoy and be a part of life? Why do I feel as if nothing and no one will ever understand that which is inside of me? Why is it that no matter what I do, how I go about, whomever I am with, no one will ever compare to that which was at the heart of my happiness two years ago? Why can we never be happy when we have all that we always strive for?
I watched a mother yell at a child outside of the entrance to the library today. The little girl was completely enamored by the sun reflecting off a small puddle of water. The mother was in a hurry, why are we always in such a hurry? She didn't notice the simple pleasure and the longing on her daughter’s face. I wanted to scream to her, enjoy it! Enjoy it while you can. Never, ever be in such a hurry that you lose the innocence, the happiness, the memories given daily to us. But I didn't say anything out loud. I screamed it but it didn't do any good. She didn't hear me.
And the girl, with a tear streaking down her cheek meekly followed her mother into the building. She looked back though, longingly to the puddle and then looked up. I met her eyes and I looked at her and then on that viselike grip that her mother had on her arm. And then they disappeared into the air conditioned building, my destination for the day.
Before I went in, I splashed in that puddle. I ruined my trainers, but it was worth it. It was a small thing but I did it, not just for myself but also for that little girl. It was....worth it.
Only One
It didn't take me a long time to notice you were gone.
I was walking through the vineyard and it was such a lovely sunny day. The vines were ripe with fruit and the air was sweet with the various smells of the miles of Allah's creation all around me.
"Did you try the berries?"
"I picked a few but I want to take them in and wash them before I eat them."
"No no...you have to try them while we're out here. They taste sweeter in the sun."
You knew how much I had a thing about cleaning everything before I touched it. But you'd run ahead of me and pick berries at your leisure. You'd run back or wait for me to catch up to place them all in my apron. It was the perfect day. It was the greatest day of my life. No accolades, no fanfare, no major visitations nor drama. Simply just you and I and a sunny day surrounded on our property.
There is nothing and nowhere I go now that doesn't remind me of that day. You were so beautiful. You had your father’s hair...a black so jet that the sun made it seem like a halo. I use to envy your father his hair...and now you have it. The smile...that was all Gullu's. The cadence, the lilt and the ability to get anyone and everyone to laugh along with you...it was a gift that you inherited from my sister. Your high cheekbones, the tilted eyes, the long limbs...and how you would look at me from under your impossibly long lashes...those are Shams...you look so like my bhai. You're quick, sharp and you are constantly waiting on everyone to catch up to you...so much like your father and my father...it never fails to amaze me how you exhibit a bit of something from each of those whom I love. I wonder..if given enough time, would I have noticed something of mummi in you? What about me…what is your connection to me?
You’re precious, you’re perfect and yet you are no longer mine. In the end, I stand in my bedroom...the field is gone, the sun has set, the vines have shriveled and mixed with the earth and the sounds and smells are no more. I stand here looking out into the hallway and see a long corridor, the air is heavy and it is eerily quiet.
Worst of all...your gone and I'm the only one left.
In the end...there is only one person left.
It’s just me now, all alone, without the most important piece of my puzzle of a life…you.
I don’t cry, I can’t there aren’t any more tears left. It’s all I can do in order to function in some type of a fraction of the capacity I sit here thinking you're happier with Him. But then I remember, I'm still all alone, the only one left.
I was walking through the vineyard and it was such a lovely sunny day. The vines were ripe with fruit and the air was sweet with the various smells of the miles of Allah's creation all around me.
"Did you try the berries?"
"I picked a few but I want to take them in and wash them before I eat them."
"No no...you have to try them while we're out here. They taste sweeter in the sun."
You knew how much I had a thing about cleaning everything before I touched it. But you'd run ahead of me and pick berries at your leisure. You'd run back or wait for me to catch up to place them all in my apron. It was the perfect day. It was the greatest day of my life. No accolades, no fanfare, no major visitations nor drama. Simply just you and I and a sunny day surrounded on our property.
There is nothing and nowhere I go now that doesn't remind me of that day. You were so beautiful. You had your father’s hair...a black so jet that the sun made it seem like a halo. I use to envy your father his hair...and now you have it. The smile...that was all Gullu's. The cadence, the lilt and the ability to get anyone and everyone to laugh along with you...it was a gift that you inherited from my sister. Your high cheekbones, the tilted eyes, the long limbs...and how you would look at me from under your impossibly long lashes...those are Shams...you look so like my bhai. You're quick, sharp and you are constantly waiting on everyone to catch up to you...so much like your father and my father...it never fails to amaze me how you exhibit a bit of something from each of those whom I love. I wonder..if given enough time, would I have noticed something of mummi in you? What about me…what is your connection to me?
You’re precious, you’re perfect and yet you are no longer mine. In the end, I stand in my bedroom...the field is gone, the sun has set, the vines have shriveled and mixed with the earth and the sounds and smells are no more. I stand here looking out into the hallway and see a long corridor, the air is heavy and it is eerily quiet.
Worst of all...your gone and I'm the only one left.
In the end...there is only one person left.
It’s just me now, all alone, without the most important piece of my puzzle of a life…you.
I don’t cry, I can’t there aren’t any more tears left. It’s all I can do in order to function in some type of a fraction of the capacity I sit here thinking you're happier with Him. But then I remember, I'm still all alone, the only one left.
Emptiness
can't seem to breathe. It's all around me, It pervades every ounce of the air surrounding me. This sadness that comes when I'm alone. The flood of memories which cannot seem to lessen no matter the amount of physical or mental exertion I attempt to busy myself with throughout the day.
I miss you. My God, I miss you. I wake up in the mornings to emulate the Nabi's love for Bandagi. I pray for peace and an alleviation of the sadness that is my constant companion. Khair, I've come to realize that no matter the amount of care, people, surroundings, physical exercise nor the prayers, I engage in, nothing can seem to lessen the strength of the bone deep pain I have deep in my soul.
No matter how right things are in life, there is a part which each of us hides. This part seems to be the shadow which I never realized I had until I started paying attention to the loneliness and the solitude which surrounds my inner self. I feel like the leaves which I constantly rake from the yard of my parents home is in essence a real representation of the tattered, dead and discarded pieces of my heart and soul.
I've tried all that I can. I miss you, I love you, I'm tired of the struggle and constant pain which is now my companion. Someone once told me that the tears wll eventually stop. I wanted to believe them so badly. I prayed it was the truth. I know now that they were wrong. The tears come unbidden. They flow as powerfully and regularly, as hot as the day I first shed them.
I remember the day well. Everyone was so scared to tell me. But the doctor, was vacant, distant and yet watchful. He told me you were gone. Without hesitation.
I remember being led past the nursery and staring at the fathers watching their newborns. I recall thinking, "Your father will never have that kushi."
When I pray now, I realize its gone. My will is no more. To live, to suceed, to survive is not a blessing today. It is simply a purgatory. A holding pattern until I return to be reunited with you.
An old lady once told me, that should you wish for it with enough desire He will take you back. Should you truly with your soul feel there is nothing left for you on this Earth, you can request a return to His kingdom.
I miss you. My God, I miss you. I wake up in the mornings to emulate the Nabi's love for Bandagi. I pray for peace and an alleviation of the sadness that is my constant companion. Khair, I've come to realize that no matter the amount of care, people, surroundings, physical exercise nor the prayers, I engage in, nothing can seem to lessen the strength of the bone deep pain I have deep in my soul.
No matter how right things are in life, there is a part which each of us hides. This part seems to be the shadow which I never realized I had until I started paying attention to the loneliness and the solitude which surrounds my inner self. I feel like the leaves which I constantly rake from the yard of my parents home is in essence a real representation of the tattered, dead and discarded pieces of my heart and soul.
I've tried all that I can. I miss you, I love you, I'm tired of the struggle and constant pain which is now my companion. Someone once told me that the tears wll eventually stop. I wanted to believe them so badly. I prayed it was the truth. I know now that they were wrong. The tears come unbidden. They flow as powerfully and regularly, as hot as the day I first shed them.
I remember the day well. Everyone was so scared to tell me. But the doctor, was vacant, distant and yet watchful. He told me you were gone. Without hesitation.
I remember being led past the nursery and staring at the fathers watching their newborns. I recall thinking, "Your father will never have that kushi."
When I pray now, I realize its gone. My will is no more. To live, to suceed, to survive is not a blessing today. It is simply a purgatory. A holding pattern until I return to be reunited with you.
An old lady once told me, that should you wish for it with enough desire He will take you back. Should you truly with your soul feel there is nothing left for you on this Earth, you can request a return to His kingdom.
Coming Home
The leaves have formed this beautifully vibrant carpet on which the lightest feather dusting of snow sits. The seasons are perfectly aligned, this morning the first hints of two seasons intersecting is easily evidenced. One is just at the vestiges of completion while another is beginning to unwind and awaken from its dormant slumber.
As I begin my run this morning I realize I've overdressed, over calculated and will be stiflingly hot soon. I can easily turn back and take off a few layers, however I know that the need to run, to expend this pent-up frustration and sorrow that is at my core will not happen without my continuing forward.
Life is like that, either you move forward or you get left behind. I either continue running, dealing with the oven that my body will become or I go back into the jail that my home has become. I prefer the oven of freedom.
My step falters, it slows. I notice, they haven't left yet, the ducks are still here. I see the babies, they pointedly ignore me. I watch them and marvel at the level of freedom and joy just observing nature and wildlife brings to my inner self. I pick up the pace, I'm running once again.
I start pondering the scene which I just observed; can life really be so simple? Why then as humans, do we complicate matters so much? Why is it that even when something ends in my life, I can't seem to pick up and move on. To the casual observer I'm a productive member of society, but internally there exists a black hole of thoughts, emotions and raw power that seems to overtake me with a unrelenting chokehold. Sometimes, it is so strong that all I can do is to sit back and simple hang on as the vestiges of wave after wave of this all-consuming emotion rips through me.
I see a small child bending down to pick up something in a backyard. Without conscious thought, my step slows. I'm now half a block away and he's sat down and is enthralled with something that is enveloped in his chubby hands. I stand there fascinated; transfixed by his ease and utter concentration on whatever it is that’s got him so focused. Memories flood my mind, images which are woven so deeply into my soul that they come up unbidden. Just the slightest hint of something can open the floodgates. It's cold and yet even bundled up, I can make out his features clearly. He realizes that someone is watching and looks up. Suddenly, with the innocence of only the very young, he reaches out his hand towards me. I can't move. My eyes follow from observing the sun glinting off his charcoal black hair, down his ruddy complexion, to the outstretched hand. There isn't anything in that palm, its open and the fingers are stretched out waiting for me to come take hold. I look back at his face as I feel my legs propelling my body forward.
"Stop" I say to myself. This isn't a good idea, to go unwelcomed to another woman's home.
And yet, I cannot help myself.
His face is patient, welcoming, happy to have found someone to share the outdoors with him. I'm by the bushes, the ones which barely graze my knees that outline the backyard that is his mother's property. I hear her, she's somewhere inside, my brain registers that, however, my actions and senses are focused on this boy. I reach out to touch him, to grasp those chubby fingers. To envelop him in my arms and smell the mixture of love, baby and outdoors that is a sense of coming home.
My eyes close, the tears slide slowly and silently down my face, I breathe deeply and feel my heart open. I smile slowly and finally feel at peace.
As I begin my run this morning I realize I've overdressed, over calculated and will be stiflingly hot soon. I can easily turn back and take off a few layers, however I know that the need to run, to expend this pent-up frustration and sorrow that is at my core will not happen without my continuing forward.
Life is like that, either you move forward or you get left behind. I either continue running, dealing with the oven that my body will become or I go back into the jail that my home has become. I prefer the oven of freedom.
My step falters, it slows. I notice, they haven't left yet, the ducks are still here. I see the babies, they pointedly ignore me. I watch them and marvel at the level of freedom and joy just observing nature and wildlife brings to my inner self. I pick up the pace, I'm running once again.
I start pondering the scene which I just observed; can life really be so simple? Why then as humans, do we complicate matters so much? Why is it that even when something ends in my life, I can't seem to pick up and move on. To the casual observer I'm a productive member of society, but internally there exists a black hole of thoughts, emotions and raw power that seems to overtake me with a unrelenting chokehold. Sometimes, it is so strong that all I can do is to sit back and simple hang on as the vestiges of wave after wave of this all-consuming emotion rips through me.
I see a small child bending down to pick up something in a backyard. Without conscious thought, my step slows. I'm now half a block away and he's sat down and is enthralled with something that is enveloped in his chubby hands. I stand there fascinated; transfixed by his ease and utter concentration on whatever it is that’s got him so focused. Memories flood my mind, images which are woven so deeply into my soul that they come up unbidden. Just the slightest hint of something can open the floodgates. It's cold and yet even bundled up, I can make out his features clearly. He realizes that someone is watching and looks up. Suddenly, with the innocence of only the very young, he reaches out his hand towards me. I can't move. My eyes follow from observing the sun glinting off his charcoal black hair, down his ruddy complexion, to the outstretched hand. There isn't anything in that palm, its open and the fingers are stretched out waiting for me to come take hold. I look back at his face as I feel my legs propelling my body forward.
"Stop" I say to myself. This isn't a good idea, to go unwelcomed to another woman's home.
And yet, I cannot help myself.
His face is patient, welcoming, happy to have found someone to share the outdoors with him. I'm by the bushes, the ones which barely graze my knees that outline the backyard that is his mother's property. I hear her, she's somewhere inside, my brain registers that, however, my actions and senses are focused on this boy. I reach out to touch him, to grasp those chubby fingers. To envelop him in my arms and smell the mixture of love, baby and outdoors that is a sense of coming home.
My eyes close, the tears slide slowly and silently down my face, I breathe deeply and feel my heart open. I smile slowly and finally feel at peace.
Breaths
She looked around her. Everywhere there were pretty people.
Women were attired in stunning ball gowns and men in their requisite penguin suits. The air was rife with the smell of money. She took the first step down the long expansive staircase.
"Take a deep breath. You can do this. They've been prepping you for this since you were a child."
"Here goes." She said to herself.
Second step down, “WHAT am I doing HERE?!"
Step three. "Ok, just another 12 and you’re done."
Looking at the serene, exotic beauty of her physical presence, one would never believe she was in such inner turmoil. The almond shaped hazel eyes, a hallmark of her Iranian mother, the lustrous thick reddish brown hair, the nose that fanned out every so faintly hinting at a South Asian decent, the slight yellowish tint to an otherwise perpetually tanned tone, she was the hallmark of why children of mixed races were so sought after. And yet, internally there existed a quagmire of doubt, self-recrimination and constant struggle as to whether success was hers, deservedly or otherwise.
Deep breath number two. "I wonder if anyone can see my crazy beating pulse in vein my neck. Who am I kidding; no one will look that closely at me!"
What she didn't realize was that all eyes were gravitated towards her. Her nervousness was indeed valid as conversation had ended as she began her descent into the main hallway.
Nizar: "She's done it. All the years of hard work, she's going to be a success. Just look at her."
Zaynab: "Yes, she's the epitome of the daughter you so diligently tended to."
Nizar: "Don't compare her to one of your hothouse flowers. She's a pawn, to be used to further our empire. She receives more than enough in return to ensure she succeeds."
Zaynab: "Yes, that being said however, are you really sure you'll be able to handle the level of success she may end up amassing?"
Last step, "Let your breath out, breathe normally. You did it!"
Looking to her left, standing waiting to escort her down the last remaining steps into the ballroom proper was the embodiment of a successful South Asian aristocrat, her beloved father. She took his proffered hand, raised her cheek for his feather light peck, trained her eyes into the circus that awaited her and glided forward.
Women were attired in stunning ball gowns and men in their requisite penguin suits. The air was rife with the smell of money. She took the first step down the long expansive staircase.
"Take a deep breath. You can do this. They've been prepping you for this since you were a child."
"Here goes." She said to herself.
Second step down, “WHAT am I doing HERE?!"
Step three. "Ok, just another 12 and you’re done."
Looking at the serene, exotic beauty of her physical presence, one would never believe she was in such inner turmoil. The almond shaped hazel eyes, a hallmark of her Iranian mother, the lustrous thick reddish brown hair, the nose that fanned out every so faintly hinting at a South Asian decent, the slight yellowish tint to an otherwise perpetually tanned tone, she was the hallmark of why children of mixed races were so sought after. And yet, internally there existed a quagmire of doubt, self-recrimination and constant struggle as to whether success was hers, deservedly or otherwise.
Deep breath number two. "I wonder if anyone can see my crazy beating pulse in vein my neck. Who am I kidding; no one will look that closely at me!"
What she didn't realize was that all eyes were gravitated towards her. Her nervousness was indeed valid as conversation had ended as she began her descent into the main hallway.
Nizar: "She's done it. All the years of hard work, she's going to be a success. Just look at her."
Zaynab: "Yes, she's the epitome of the daughter you so diligently tended to."
Nizar: "Don't compare her to one of your hothouse flowers. She's a pawn, to be used to further our empire. She receives more than enough in return to ensure she succeeds."
Zaynab: "Yes, that being said however, are you really sure you'll be able to handle the level of success she may end up amassing?"
Last step, "Let your breath out, breathe normally. You did it!"
Looking to her left, standing waiting to escort her down the last remaining steps into the ballroom proper was the embodiment of a successful South Asian aristocrat, her beloved father. She took his proffered hand, raised her cheek for his feather light peck, trained her eyes into the circus that awaited her and glided forward.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)