Before the Blackness: Zaynah

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

There is a beautiful, yet fascinating formula that governs this world, and it is really quite simple.

Unfortunately, as Insaan, our hearts always incline to the opposite of it.

وَخُلِقَ الإِنسَانُ ضَعِيفًا

“…and man is created weak.” (Surah Nisaa verse 28)

Since Allah has said that He has created us weak… And He has created us hasty… Our desires often prompt us to settle for the easiest.

We prefer the immediate over what awaits, the physical over the spiritual, and the obvious over the concealed. We run first to what we can see and feel and touch. We run first to what we assume is closer. We are needy and dependant, and crave ease and fast success.

And so, of course, we turn towards the Creation. We feel like only Duniyaa can fulfil our needs of this Duniyaa. We turn towards people because that hole etched somewhere in our heart is simply not getting filled with whatever material wealth we have filled our lives with.

We don’t realise, that sometimes, in the process of chasing this world, we chase what is basically worthless. We don’t realise that by gaining what’s temporary, in the long run, we are hurting ourselves and whoever is around us.

Not everyone gets it, and not everyone completely believes it, but when you do, it’s quite amazing. Basically, the entire world is at your feet.

And when you don’t, and you forget your purpose here and you forget what this journey is about…. Somehow, most of the time, you just end up messing up.

“He messed up,” I said bluntly, not yet reading the true motivation behind Aasiya’s question. “Of course his mother will feed him. He’s moping around for weeks now. She’s feeling sorry for him.”

She had finally phoned, almost a month after she had left, and I really was glad that I could finally hear her voice. I dug my hand into the packet of jelly babies, grabbing an orange one to pop into my mouth. I noted the silence on the other end.

“Aasiya,” I said, as clear as I could say it with a full mouth.

“Are you feeling sorry for him?” she asked icily, and I immediately knew that I had made a wrong move. She thought I had already chosen a side, and it wasn’t hers.

“Of course not,” I said meekly, swallowing the sweet saliva in my mouth. “I just feel that he’s already suffered and needs to -”

“Good!” Aasiya said. “I’m glad that he is suffering. And I’m glad that Waseem at least has the sense to treat him like he actually did something wrong. Not pamper him like he’s a victim.”

I nodded, biting my lip. Of course he should suffer. Obviously I could never overlook something like that myself, when I knew that I couldn’t even stand the thought of my husband being with someone before marriage.

I just really believed that since no-one in this era would pelt him to death, as was the penalty for what he did, his only other hope was to turn to Allah. We needed to be reminded of His mercy all the time.

“I’ve only told my brother and his wife,” she said, talking a bit softer. “Umar was quite worked up about it, but I told him to leave the confrontation for a while. Let him suffer in anxiety. I know he’ll be dreading facing the ‘Molvi’. I’m not going to tell my parents here… Although I’m sure that woman must have told the whole of Pretoria.”

That woman. I quite despised what she did.

How could any woman be so conniving and lack conscience in that way? It was just unthinkable, yet so common.

“I heard that it wasn’t serious,” I said carefully, hoping that it would be a comfort. When I heard that from Waseem, I actually had some hope for reconciliation for them, but I wasn’t sure if Aasiya would feel the same.

“I don’t care,” she snapped. “He still deserves to be punished badly. It’s not about what happened between them. It’s the principle. He betrayed my trust. He committed a sin and a crime.”

I sighed, knowing that she had a point and I wouldn’t win. He hurt her, but more so, he hurt himself by sinning. It was something that she, and no-one else could overlook.

I didn’t want to mention to her that my father-in-law had been ignoring Muhammed completely from the day he heard that Aasiya had left, although I knew that it would probably make her ecstatic. Waseem and my father-in-law were alike in more ways than he would ever admit. I could see that they both were taking it really badly… Even after all this time. It was quite amusing that Waseem still addressed his brother by his second name, and you could see that their relationship was strained.

“Anyway, how is everything back home?” I asked curiously, wanting to know about Aasiya’s long lost family before I had to cut the call.

I could feel the beginnings of a headache, once again. It usually started from the back of my head and then viciously made it’s way to the forehead. I knew I would have to cut the call soon, because even simple speech became difficult when it reached it’s climax.

“It’s so much of fun here,” she was saying, her voice already sounding different. Lighter. Less burdened. The less urban areas were definitely better for the mindset. I felt nostalgic thinkinging about my family there.

“My other brother and his wife stay here, so it’s always busy with their kids around. They’re such a laugh. You should come visit some time.”

I smiled to myself, feeling the headache getting worse. Luckily, it was just then that the room door opened, and Waseem walked in with his one hand behind his back.

I looked at him questioningly, and promptly ended the call, promising to call her back at another time.

Later. When I felt a bit better.

“Hey sweets,” Waseem said, leaning down to peck me on the forehead as I reclined on the couch.

He smiled his usual amazing smile, and stood up again, waiting for me to ask him what he was hiding behind his back. He loved playing silly games.

I rubbed my temples and smiled back at him as best I could, trying to see behind his back to get a glimpse. The master of suspense kept on changing positions. He then chuckled and  finally relented, revealing the hugest bunch of red roses I have ever seen.

I loved roses. Really. They were beautiful and smelt gorgeous, and they just said something about a person when they gave them to you.

But what was more special was the pack of Jelly Soccer Jerseys attached to the bunch of roses. It was priceless and so original.

“Awwww,” I said, forgetting about my headache for just a few moments.  “Was, I love them.”

I looked up at him, noting his chuffed smile.

“Which part?! I ordered them especially,” he said proudly. “Just because.”

Why was he so sweet?!

He always did these spontaneous and amazing things when I least expected it. I would never think about doing anything unpredictable for him, and I felt slightly guilty. The thing was, he didn’t need an ‘occasion’ approved by the west to make it special. He just did it as he wanted, and I loved that.

I grinned and got up slightly shakily, taking them to put them in a vase at the front of the room. I would cut their stems and set them nicely later.

Later. When I felt a little better.

“You okay?” He asked, his icy eyes scrutinising me relentlessly.

I nodded, forcing myself to smile broadly at him. I knew that he was worried, and so was I.

I lay back on the bed, grabbing a Tasbeeh so I could catch up on my daily Dhikr. I had been feeling so tired lately that most days I went back to sleep without completing my morning routine. It was really out of character for me.

Though I had initially refused, I was now thinking of taking up Waseem’s offer to drop me at Abbi’s brother’s house this weekend. At least I would see Nabeela there and maybe even Zakiyya and the baby if I asked her to come. That would definitely be a bonus.

“I think I might need a small holiday, away from dramas,” I said lightly with a smile, trying to make it seem like no big deal.

Waseem looked surprised, and frowned even deeper. He probably didn’t expect that to come from me.

“Except Nabeela will be there,” I said, trying to kill the tension by joking. “And I’m sure she’ll create some drama for us!”

I also hoped that she would keep some of her stash for me. I better call her in advance to let her know, else we’ll have to rely on Raees to get it for us. I really didn’t want to ask him for anything, because he always made us pay him back in ridiculous ways.

Waseem smiled, although I could see that his heart wasn’t in it. He moved forward to sit next to me.

“I agree,” he said softly, fiddling with his beard, and then clasping his hands together. “I just hope that we’ll survive without you. You just sort everything out.”

“Of course you’ll will,” I insisted, shaking my head at him. “Just don’t get up to any mischief while I’m not around.”

He frowned.

“No ways,” he said seriously. “I’m not like that.  How can you even say that?”

I could see him getting slightly emotional and I knew it was because of the whole Mo story. I was about to tell him that I didn’t mean it that way, but he was already beginning the roll.

“I don’t think you know just how much I dislike Zaheer right now,” he said heatedly. “I was speaking to Molvi Umar, and he is quite upset with him. We can’t be pampering him like he’s a baby. He’s a man who knows exactly what he was up to. I just hope that I’m always saved from that. Allah Ta’ala must never make me so weak.”

I shook my head at him.

“I didn’t mean that,” I said quietly. “I know you.”

He shook his head, and I could see him still deep in thought.

“I have weak moments,” he said, reaching for my hand. “But with you by my side, I know I’ll always be in check.”

I squeezed his hand back, and pulled it away.

“No,” I said firmly.

He looked up, slightly worried.

I didn’t like to worry him, but something was telling me that he needed to know that he couldn’t always rely on me.

“It’s not about me,” I continued, feeling the intensity of the headache rise up again. “You need to know… With Allah Ta’ala on your mind… You’ll always be in check.”

He chuckled as relief flooded his face, finally getting up with a sheepish smile.

That was the secret… The formula that governs the world. For even happiness itself, the more you run after it, the more it evades you.

But instead, if you run to your Rabb instead, happiness will run after you. If you run to Allah, the love of people will run after you. If you turn to the Almighty instead, success will run after you.

True success in this life, and the next. If you run to God instead, provision will run after you. This, is the secret that people have never got. The mystery for which tyrants have evaded cities, and leaders have turned the entire world for—but to never find.
This is the secret.

In a profound hadith of our Nabi (SAW). a man came to the Rasullullah (SAW) and said: “O Messenger of God, direct me to an act, which if I do, God will love me and people will love me.” He said: “Detach yourself from the world, and God will love you. Detach yourself from what is with the people, and the people will love you.” [Ibn Majah]

That was definitely the secret.

“You always put me right,” he said, shaking his  head. “I’m gonna miss you, babe.”

I smiled back weakly, closing my eyes.

I didn’t even know that it was the last even remotely romantic thing I would actually hear from my beloved husband before everything changed that day. I didn’t realise that I might never have the opportunity to see him so amused and at ease, as he was that Saturday morning. I never did realise that the ‘later’ I was waiting for, will probably never come for me that day.

I just lay there, not knowing how tired I was, because falling asleep was almost instant.  I woke up to a gentle shake in what felt like just a few minutes, feeling only slightly renewed after the nap I mistakenly had.

I glimpsed two suitcases already near the bed, and I could only assume that Waseem was trying to pack my bag. I wanted to laugh at him and hug him at the same time, but I was already starting to panic. It was already Zohr time, and  Waseem looked like he had just gotten back from Masjid.

I jumped up, getting worked up about sleeping in broad daylight. I still had too many things to do, like pray my Salaah, and amidst it all I could hear Waseem asking me about which type of face-wash to pack, while he spoke about taking me later that day.

“Okay,” I said meekly, trying to answer his questions by pointing at the right stuff. “I’ll be back now.”

I raced down the passage after making Wudhu, because I knew that time was limited. I also knew that I wanted to finish preparing the pasta dish that Waseem enjoyed so he could have it while I was away. I felt bad to leave everything to my mother-in-law, even though I really didn’t have to. I just had this silly notion that these people needed me around. Why did we always think that the whole world won’t function without us?

I reached the top of the staircase, not even looking down.

Now, Since I had climbed down the spiral staircase dozens of times before, I didn’t have to even look. It was just that, when it came to stairs, it just took one off-step, and all hell could break loose.

And maybe I was still tired, or maybe I wasn’t even fully awake yet. Maybe I just wasn’t thinking straight, but as I felt myself miss that vital step, and my body lurched forward, I just knew at that moment that this whole thing would end in disaster.

It was like I was literally air-gliding for a few moments, and as the slightly high-pitched scream escaped my mouth and I hit the bottom, I immediately felt the impact of the steel-edged stair on the back of my head. I was in slow agony, even as I slid a few steps down, struggling to grab onto the evasive rails.

It really was like I was watching myself in slow motion. The world around me was spinning slightly as I tried to process the whole thing, and my heart thudded in my chest as my legs completely caved.

Eventually, when it felt like it would never end, I finally felt myself lying still at the bottom of the stairs. I could hear someone calling my name, and a voice gasping in shock, but I had no idea what had happened.

And then, as if my body just needed to escape the entire confusion, my eyes involuntarily closed, and I was just surrounded by black.

Maaf for delay in posting. Crazy days.

Please don’t forget our Super Sunnahs!

Beautiful Sunnah 👐🏻 Wash both hands up to the wrist before eating.

عن سلمان رضي الله عنه قال : قرأت في التوراة أن بركة الطعام الوضوء بعده فذكرت ذلك للنبي صلى الله عليه سولم فأخبرته بما قرأت في التوراة فقال رسول الله صلى الله عليه و سلم بركة الطعام الوضوء قبله والوضوء بعده (ترمذي رقم 1846)

Hadhrat Salmaan Farsi (Radhiallahu Anhu) narrates: “I read in the Taurah that the blessings of food lie in washing the hands after meals. I mentioned this to Rasulullah (Sallallahu Alaihi Wasallam). Rasulullah (Sallallahu Alaihi Wasallam) replied: “The blessings of food lies in washing the hands before eating and after eating.” عن ابن عباس رضي الله عنهما عن النبي صلى الله عليه و سلم قال: الوضوء قبل الطعام وبعده مما ينفي الفقر وهو من سنن المرسلين (مجمع الزوائد رقم 7913) [1]

Hadhrat Abdullah ibn Abbaas (Radhiallahu Anhu) reports that Rasulullah (Sallallahu Alaihi Wasallam) said: “Washing the hands before and after meals repels poverty, and it is from the sunnah of all the Ambiyaa. A pious man narrated that he once had a debt of three hundred Rupees, and due to straitened circumstances, he could not imagine how he could ever be relieved of this burden. Sitting one day in the discourse of an Aalim, he heard him say that whoever washes his hands before and after eating, in view of it being a sunnah of Rasulullah (Sallallahu Alaihi Wasallam), will Insha Allah be relieved of his debts in a short span of time. The pious man adopted the above procedure, and through the grace of Allah Ta’ala, he was absolved of all his debts in a few days time.  (The Sublime Conduct of Nabi (Sallallahu Alaihi Wasallam) vol.1)

We will be doing more eating and drinking Sunnahs Insha Allah.



#Revive theSunnahofSpeakingGood




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Out of Darkness

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

Waseem: The finer things of life...

There are two beautiful things that remain with you after this life has taken it’s course.
To say it more effectively, till Jannah, we are given the privilege of carrying two things of this world, and treasuring it with us.

But the most amazing thing about these two concepts, is that they are intrinsically related. The one, most definitely, is dependant on the other. Without the one, the other could never be completely in tact.

And the way I see it, it’s either all or nothing. There was no middle line. If you were compromising on one, the other will definitely take the toll.

That’s why it is said that there is nothing better in this world than a pious spouse. For a man, a pious wife effortlessly brings these two ideals together, from this temporary world into our final abode. Imaan and Nikah are combined to give us that one way ticket straight into the garden of Paradise.

And that was why, when my elder brother’s marriage starting really crumbling, I couldn’t ever understand how anyone could ever underestimate the sanctity of Nikah. It was completely beyond me that anyone could ever disregard it’s importance. How my own brother, who I had once admired for landing someone way beyond his expectations, could ever kill the entire meaning of commitment, as I knew it.

I honestly did not get it.

For a few days or weeks of ‘temporary satisfaction’, he had just thrown away what was probably supposed to be the best thing in his life.

I just knew that I wasn’t ready to face him. I knew that I couldn’t trust myself to speak to him without it getting extremely heated.

And of course, I knew about temptation. I knew that a woman on the prowl could have easily got him doubting his own loyalty. I knew that he had his excuses, and that he had been going through a rough patch in his marriage. I also knew that Aasiya might have not been the easiest woman to live with.

But like Mo, I too had said the words that bound me till Jannah and eternity. I knew that ‘Qabiltun Nikahaha linafsi bi dhalik’ didn’t only just make you a married man with status and responsibility, but it also meant that you are wholly committing yourself to accepting the obligations as a husband. It meant that you are certain that you, and no-one else, can carry out whatever you need to do to keep your wife safe and happy and under your refuge.

I just couldn’t understand how everyone didn’t see it the same way.

“Waseem,” my mother’s voice shouted from outside the room door. “Muhammed Zaheer is here.”

I opened my one eye, seeing Zaynah waking up from her side of the bed. She was usually up and about way before me on a Sunday morning, so I got slightly worried at her lethargy this morning.

She sat on the side of the bed, looking slightly worn out.

“Are you okay, love?” I mumbled to her, as I slowly lifted my head to watch her.

She looked at me with tired eyes and a tiny smile. She still looked like my gorgeous wife, of course, but something about her wasn’t the same. She looked… Worn. Weary. Maybe she needed a break.

“Didn’t you hear your mother?” she whispered as she pulled on her gown. “Muhammed is here. You can’t be rude. You need to get up.”

My mother was the only one who called Mo by his full name. A double-barrelled name was always a schlep, and so when Mo was in his teens he had ditched his second name, just keeping the first, to make his life easier.

“Don’t mention him to me,” I scoffed. “I can’t even look at him… What must I go out for?”

Zaynah didn’t say anything. She just stepped into the bathroom without another word. I waited patiently for her to come out, wanting to talk to her.

“Zaynah. Don’t go,” I pleaded sulkily, sitting up to watch my wife getting ready to leave the room. “Chill. Take it easy. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m just feeling a bit odd for the past few days,” she said, looking at me with a confused  frown. “I don’t know what it is. But Mummy will need help… She invited Ziyaad and Farah for lunch today.”

She pulled on her Abaya, and glanced in the mirror to pin her scarf.

For once, I couldn’t help but think how difficult living here must be for her. I felt bad that she could barely step out of the room without being fully covered. There was never any privacy here with my brothers always around.

“Maybe you should go to the doctor,” I suggested, getting a bit worried. She even looked like she had lost weight, and it wasn’t like Zaynah needed to.

“I have stuff to do, Waseem,” she said, sounding tired.

I knew that. I just didn’t understand why Zaynah had to always go the ten extra miles for everyone else. She was always busy. She took on too much of responsibility, and I could see my brothers taking advantage.

Now that Aasiya was gone, I knew that Mo came here for at least two meals every day, and that Ziyaad was always expecting the fridges to be full of his favourite dishes. I noticed that he seemed to particularly enjoy my wife’s food, and being Zee, he didn’t feel awkward to make requests. I knew I was being moody and petty, but it made me just a little bit frustrated.

I made a mental note to ask her if she wanted to go to her uncle’s place two hours away for a short break next week. I would miss her, but maybe she just needed some time away from everything that was going on here. Helping with Dad also wasn’t that easy, though she never complained.

“C’mon Wassi,” Zaynah said, now putting her hands on her hips and grinning, despite everything she was going through.  “Stop being so sulky. You need a jelly baby?”

I looked back at her and I couldn’t help but smile back. She  was a beam of sunshine amidst the darkness I was feeling.

She had already started her jelly baby operation at this hour, and it always humoured me.

“Okay,” I said, jumping off the bed and taking up her offer on the jelly babies. “But don’t force me to talk to that scum-”

“Waseem!” she said, looking just slightly angry. “Don’t. He might have messed up but you still can’t judge him.”

I sighed, pulling in my kurtah.

“He just makes me feel…”

I trailed off and shrugged, as Zaynah left the room.

Disgusted. Enraged. Disturbed.

I had been fighting with controlling the emotions every time he came home, just so I could appear civil for my mother’s sake. And so that there would be no physical exchanges due to our difference.

Mothers were mothers. She was, of course, angry when Mo told her about Aasiya leaving, but she still worried. I knew she probably phoned him to check if he had eaten, and she probably still felt sorry for the idiot, regardless of how messed up he was.

I took the spiral staircase to the dining room, immediately hearing my eldest brother’s morbid voice as he spoke to my mother.

“I’m trying, Ma,” he was saying as I walked into the room. “But you know Aasiya. She won’t talk. She’s still upset. What more can I do?”

I wanted to klap him. What more can he do?

Now, after he probably broke her to pieces, he wanted to patch everything up as if it never happened? Completely typical male chauvinist behaviour.

I shook my head, moving on to the kitchen before they saw me.

Zaynah was already downstairs, busy at the oven.

“Did you talk to him?” She asked softly, glancing at me as she placed a tray down.

“Him and Mum were talking,” I said morbidly. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

Zaynah shook her head at me and half smiled. She knew that I was avoiding him, and though of course, she wasn’t in favour of what he had done, Zaynah always had hope. She had this insane idea that everyone in this world is still looking to find themselves. For her, no one is as bad as they seem.

Zaynah started to say something else, but stopped suddenly as Mo stepped in. She quickly put down her pardah and left the room, and I knew that it was one situation that I couldn’t avoid him.

It looked like he was waiting for an opportunity to talk to me, and I shifted uncomfortably on the stool, not really knowing what to say.

He too looked uncomfortable as he leaned against the cabinet, crossing his legs in front of him, and I studied him momentarily.

Guess jeans. Hugo Boss shirt. Versace sunglasses.

Mo’s life was on another level entirely, and, wife or no wife, he was still living it.

Given, he was looking a bit down, but I wasn’t sure when he would ever touch-down with the reality that all that crap was just an illusion. I thought that now, of all times, he would get some kind of wake up call. I just hoped that the girl that had messed things up hadn’t appeared in the picture again.

“Waseem,” he said, breaking the ice, and trying to start a conversation.

“Zaheer,” I said looking up at him, raising my eyebrows.

He frowned at me, looking annoyed.

“Why are you calling me that?”

“Boss,” I said, my voice getting slightly louder. “Why do you think? You don’t even deserve the name you have. You’re the only one in this family named after the Best of Mankind (SAW), and nothing about you even depicts the Sunnah. It’s sad, boet. Sad.”

Mo said nothing back. I mean, what could he say?

It was the first time we were actually having a one-on-one conversation like this, and I had to let him know exactly what I thought of him, even if I felt slightly bad about it. Anger was slowly dissipating, and I felt myself calm down again.

“How could you, bru?” I said now, shaking my head at him.

I wanted to ask him what kind of man does something like that, but I knew I would probably just add more guilt to his already disturbed conscience. I wanted to ask him what was so bad about his marriage that he let another chic come in the way, but I didn’t want to go down that avenue unless he volunteered the information.

“Things were tough,” he said simply, not meeting my eye. “She made the move, and it was a weak moment. You won’t understand.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, immediately seeing red. I understood. I understood very well.

So tough that you’ll couldn’t get help and sort it out?!” I bellowed. “So tough that you had to resort to Haraam?!

I must have been shouting a bit too loudly, because I could see Mo looking beyond me, as if someone came in. I immediately shifted my focus away from Mo, and looked back.

Zaynah stood there, looking just slightly uncomfortable. She wasn’t used to my slightly erratic and bed-tempered behaviour. I had never really shown her that side of me, until now.

“Waseem,” Zaynah said softly, and I could see that she was waiting for my response. She was probably just waiting for me to calm down.

I nodded at her, waiting for her to continue. I was still raging inside.

“Ziyaad is here, love,” she said, even more softly, that I had to strain my ears to hear her.

I looked back at her, still a bit confused.

“It’s time for reading,” she finished off, and I could see a book in her hand.

Calmness descended almost immediately. In my state of mind, it was quite something.

A pious wife. SubhaanAllah.

I was probably going to blow my top with Mo, but she knew exactly when to step in and what to do. Any other woman coming into a family like mine, where darkness was literally consuming us, would probably feel awkward to bring in weekly Taaleem as a routine.

Not Zaynah. Besides her own daily kitaab reading, at every lunch or family supper, she would never hesitate to fill our table with the words of Allah and his Nabi (SAW). And what better light can be as a guidance for us, other than the noor of His (SAW) words.

It really was the most peaceful and calming time in our house, when all the gloom and doom of our sins seemed to lift, and tranquillity just seemed to shower over us. And yes, it may sound fairytale-like, but even Mo and I put our differences aside for that time, because it just had that kind of effect.

The thing was, before the Sahabah had become who they were, Radhiallahu Anhum wah Radhu anh (Allah is pleased with them and they with Him) it was these gatherings of Dhikr that made them the greatest people of Imaan. It was through effort, constant dhikr and through the love and barakah of the words of our Nabi (SAW).

And of course, I couldn’t fully digest this. I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. As I sat there, looking at my family, I was amazed that I could actually see this today. A day where we would be gathered for something that wasn’t going to benefit us materialistically. The day where we would actually put everything aside, for a few minutes, for the sake of Allah.

And I could sense that maybe Mo didn’t want to be here, and maybe Ziyaad’s wife found it a bit strange, but the fact was that, against the odds, they were here, and it was an opportunity that I we couldn’t let go off.

Only Dad was missing, but I knew that Zaynah went in now and then to share something with him, and surprisingly, since he was completely besotted with Zaynah, he just listened with no arguments.

I opened to the marker of the Kitaab that Zaynah had placed, looking at the Hadith briefly before saying it aloud.

You could trust Zaynah to choose something that we needed to hear, because she, of all people, knew exactly what it was.

The narration was an amazing one about Musaa (AS). It was one that inspired hope and love, and made me look beyond everything I had seen all this time. I knew that was exactly what Zaynah had intended.

On one particular account, the paternal cousin of Musaa (AS), Qaaroon, had called him to preach to the people, of course, with an ulterior motive in mind. As Musaa (AS) started preaching, among other verses, he then came to a verse about adultery, and the people then accused him there of. A woman who was paid to slander his name came forward.

They asked her what she had to say about Musaa (AS). Musaa (AS) then asked her to speak on oath.

She replied, “Since you have asked me to speak on oath, the truth of the matter is that they promised to give me such and such amount as a reward and induced me to accuse you in public. You are quite innocent of the crime.”

He immediately fell prostrate to Allah (SWT), Who had cleared his name. Upon Sujood, Revelation came from Allah (SWT).

“O Musaa, do not weep. We give you power over the earth in order that you may punish these people as you like. Command and it shall obey you!” 

And though he was a Nabi, one who was placed among the cream of the crop of creation, he was hurt and wanted these people, who had continuously humiliated him, to be destroyed.

Musaa (AS) raised up his head and commanded the earth to swallow them up. When they were sunk into the earth up to their ankles, they began to implore Musaa (AS) in humility to grant them pardon, but he commanded the earth to swallow them further, and they were swallowed up to their necks. They cried louder and importuned him to forgive their sins, but Musaa (AS) again ordered the earth to swallow them and so each one of the slandered was swallowed up by the earth.

But that wasn’t the entire point of the narration. The crux of it was what our Allah had said, in response to this.

The revelation then came from Allah Ta’ala to Musaa (AS).

“The people were beseeching you for pardon and crying unto you in humility.

By My Honour, had they cried unto Me and begged My pardon, I would have accepted their prayer”. 

SubhaanAllah. My heart literally ached in my chest, and I looked up at Zaynah, already seeing tears in her eyes. I knew her heart must have been crying too. And why shouldn’t it?

It even stirred something deep within the depths of my soul.

That is our Allah. That is Him. That is our Merciful Creator. And that was true love.

After every sin and every wrong that we do, He never turns us away. Even after the worst of Baatil, His mercy never wavers. It never depletes.

I closed the book, remembering the countless Ahadith I had read, when it was the darkest days of my doom, and I had been immersed in despair. I would look for anything to hold onto, or anything just to give me that slightest hope that maybe, just maybe, I could actually be forgiven.

I had forgotten how deep I was buried, when my life was so misguided. I had forgotten where I had come from before I found Zaynah. I had forgotten that no matter what we do, as Insaan, Allah’s ability to forgive is never nullified.

In a Hadith-e-Qudsi, Allah the Exalted says:

“O son of Adam, if you call upon me and place your hope in me, I will forgive you without any reservation. O son of Adam, if you have sins piling up to the clouds and then ask for my forgiveness, I will forgive you without any reservation. O son of Adam, if you come to me with enough sins to fill the earth and you meet me without associating a partner with me, I will come to you with enough forgiveness to fill the earth.” (Sunan At-Tirmidhi)

A pious wife. She knew just what to make out of the situation, and she knew how to set things back in order. Just like the darkness had been lifted out of our lives with her presence, the house I grew up in was being illuminated with the light of the efforts she was making.

I looked up, noticing my family exceptionally quiet, moving my eyes to Mo, who I was actually hesitant to look at all this time. The guy’s eyes were downcast, and though I couldn’t read his expression, I knew that some reflection might be under way. I knew that deep down, some stirrings were well on their way.

Maybe I had been too harsh, but I wasn’t sure if he felt remorse. If he truly did regret. But even me, as I judged him, remembered that  sometimes, out of overwhelming fear of the consequence of our sins, we forget Allah’s mercy.

Mo wasn’t a bad guy. He wasn’t even as bad as I had been. He had just made a mistake. He had just messed up. And maybe he just needed to be shown an escape from what he had done. Maybe he just needed to know that there was a way out of the darkness.

You see, the thing is, we all make mistakes. Prophet Adam (AS) made a mistake. And so did Iblees. Both were Aabids… They both worshipped Allah. But the distinct difference between the two, was simple, yet revolutionary.

Tawbah. It was the remedy for the the disease. The antidote for the poison. The cure for the cancer.

Every moment is a priceless opportunity to press that refresh button, and come back to Allah. To start over. To not only polish the heart to it’s original condition, but actually purify it in a way that makes you focus your life and heart on Him. To have the potential to be even richer than if you’d never fallen at all.

That was Tawbah. And this process of Tawbah, of turning back to Allah and seeking His forgiveness, is not only one of the most liberating Ibadah, but is also something that Allah loves excessively. He loves to forgive.

In fact, it is this act alone, which distinguished Prophet Adam (AS) from Shaytaan. It is by this act, that a man who committed 99 murders was completely forgiven. And it is by this act alone, that some’s hearts will actually be cleansed to such an extent, that they might actually become worthy of that place that every heart yearns for…


Please don’t forget our Super Sunnahs!

It was narrated from Anas raḍyAllāhu ‘anhu (may Allāh be pleased with him): “The Prophet ṣallallāhu ‘alayhi wa sallam (peace and blessings of Allāh be upon him) prohibited that a man should drink while standing.” (Qatadah said) So it was said: “And eating?” He (Anas) said: “That is worse.” [Tirmidhi]

We will be doing more eating and drinking Sunnahs Insha Allah.



#Revive theSunnahofSpeakingGood




Tweet: @ajourneyjournal

Fleeing for Freedom

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem


“Are you serious?!” Zaynah asked, sounding just slightly in shock.

I sighed, turning the steering wheel slightly to enter the driveway of Farah and Ziyaad’s house. Ziyaad and Farah’s. I wasn’t sure which was more correct.

Why?!” She asked me, looking horrified.

It was two months of Mo and I going up and down with the same futile argument, and with him seeing me completely averse to whatever he had suggested, with this call, I understood he had now turned to Waseem as a last resort, thinking that he could get Zaynah to help.

“It’s the only way, Zaynah,” I said, slightly frustrated by her reaction.

She wouldn’t understand. No-one would.

“No, it’s not!” she said stubbornly. “Are you crazy?! You can’t just give up. What if he takes up your offer?”

I rolled my eyes, exhaling slowly. I was, till recently, hoping Mo would come around to my suggestion. Things had just been different the past two weeks. Good. There was improvement. Muhammed had moved back into the main room, and we were being better than civil to each other.

My thoughts ventured back to that afternoon just a few weeks ago, and I clearly remembered the look on Muhammed’s face when I told him about my ‘offer’.

He looked as if I had slapped him. I didn’t understand why at the time.

“‘Siya,” he said, shaking his head. “Why?! No.”

I immediately pulled my hand away from him, now already emotionally withdrawing. Him refusing could only mean one thing, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear it.

“Let’s try harder,” he urged, fighting to meet my gaze once again. “We haven’t even really done all the major stuff. What about the tests and the UVI or whatever you call it?”

I was already exhausted emotionally.

Rounds of IVF and IUI were taxing emotionally and physically. Not having a child was proving to be the biggest barrier we had ever faced.

“Aasiya,” Muhammed said, trying to get me to focus on him once again. I could see him searching my eyes for some kind of hope hidden there. It was just slightly unnerving.

I shook my head away, getting up silently to continue with my work. He followed me promptly, determined to not let it go. His suggestions were good and worth a try, but I was just as stubborn as he was.

He persisted until the entire argument was almost exhausted, and then, of course, I finally couldn’t help but snap.

“Don’t you think it’s enough?!” I finally shouted, spinning around to face him. “This fighting and arguing?! The mind games we play, and the constant bickering? Why can’t you just let it go, Muhammed?!”

Muhammed blinked, but didn’t react.

And then, as if if the wind I’d knocked out of him had finally been regained, his voice was clear as day.

“It’s only over,” he said steadily, “when I say it is.”

And before I could even say what I needed to back, he had turned around, and headed downstairs.

I shook my head in disbelief, wondering what it was that made him so sure that this was going to get better. That there could actually be a happy ending here. At that point, I didn’t understand why he was fighting so hard. I didn’t know what was the driving force.

“Anyway,” Zaynah said now, sensing my hesitancy and wanting to change the topic. She wasn’t the type to pry. “You really haven’t seen Farah in over a month?”

I pulled up the handbrake button as I stopped, looking at her candidly.

“Yes, I haven’t,” I said, not interested in whether she was judging me or not. “Things have been crazy.”

“I understand,” she nodded, reaching for the door handle and adjusting her Niqaab.

I could see Ziyaad waiting by the door, and I couldn’t help but feel a teensy bit sorry for him, despite all my own problems that made me feel like a complete write off. He just had a look on his face that made anyone think that the guy was really in way over his head.

“When I saw her the last time she was a bit sensitive,” Zaynah said softly as we walked toward the door. “I hope she’s getting back on her feet now.”

I smiled to myself, thinking of how typical Zaynah was. She was like the perfect kind of woman and wife that probably never stepped out of line.

Apart from all of that, she still worried about everyone else and their feelings too. I wasn’t sure how she managed the staying with in-laws and everything else that came with it, but despite whatever she may be facing, she possessed an innate quality that many were still searching forever for. A wealth that evaded many that hunted it.

Abu Huraira (RA) reported: The Prophet, (SAW), said, “Wealth is not in having many possessions. Rather, true wealth is the richness of the soul.” (Al-Bukhari and Muslim)

Contentment. Whatever it was that she faced, she took it in her stride. And that attitude can only stem from richness of the heart, and I envied her for it.

I greeted Ziyaad briefly as we stepped in, and we made our way to the lounge where Farah was. The house was bright and airy, and since it was the first time I had been there and because of my attention to detail, I found myself looking around a bit too much. Zaynah, however, didn’t even notice a thing.

I walked faster, hoping it would stop me from being so invasive. Ummi Jaan would be horrified at me. It wasn’t exactly a dignified thing to be scrutinising their home.

As I saw Farah, I was worried that we might see a grief stricken person still moping around, but it was actually such a relief to see her back to her normal self, and looking like the girl I had first met almost a year ago.

In short, Farah was back to her pre-pregnancy weight and looking gorgeous. She wore her hijaab beautifully and the smile on her face was evidence that some recovery was well on the way. I was actually really proud of how far she had come, and I knew that Zee probably was too. I just hoped he appreciated her change as much as I was in awe of it. Looking at her got me humbly realising that I still had such a long way to go.

“I’m so sorry I haven’t come earlier,” I said, sincerely meaning it.

She shrugged, saying she was ready to face the world soon again, and would have probably come to visit us when she was out and about.

We spoke generally about the pregnancy, her recovery and Hamza, even though it was still a sore topic. I had made Zaynah promise to keep this a short visit, as was etiquette, and luckily, the house bell sounded as our escape.

“I think we should go,” I said, getting up to fetch my keys.

Zaynah nodded and followed suit, and though Farah insisted we stay a while to meet her friends, I wasn’t sure if I was in the mood to socialise more.

And then, just as we were leaving, a trio of girls came through the hallway, giggling and laughing incessantly.

Now maybe I was just a killjoy, but I instantly put my guard up, because two of them looked vaguely familiar.

I wouldn’t have ever admitted it, but I had always been a judgemental kind of girl. I often looked at other women, trying to tell their story, and a lot of the time, I was right. On my journey to change, I was trying to be better, but with this dealt right in front of me, I couldn’t help but resort to my old ways.

It was like I could do nothing else but stare, because there they were just those kind of girls. Though one girl wore an abaya and scarf, the abaya was as skin-tight as a costume, and the scarf had the hugest bump I had ever seen underneath. The other two were dressed in skinny jeans and tops, and I spent an extra minute focussed on them and yet another wretched camel hump hijaab, just trying to figure out how I knew them.

I wondered if people in this part of the world even knew that the thing they wore under their scarves was actually accursed.

“Aasiya, right?” The one said unexpectedly, as I took a step back to let them pass.

She smiled almost cynically, and of course, I was actually caught a bit off guard, so I vaguely nodded, looking at Zaynah questioningly. How did she know me?

And of course, when I looked at Zaynah, I could just tell that she knew them too by her big eyes that were opening just a little wider. We both hurried out in a rush, anxious to get out of there.

Those girls made me feel weird. Even poor Ziyaad had probably felt the urge to leave the room when they came, when I knew that he usually had the potential to make the most of the situation and reap the attention he so loved. Unfortunately, Mo and Ziyaad were the same in that way.

“Those girls look so familiar,” I said quietly as we finally got into the car.

“Don’t you remember?!” Zaynah gasped, turning to me. “They were at the wedding! The girls who were talking at the table we were sitting at…”

She trailed off, and I could hear the hesitancy in her voice. Zaynah was not the type to go around repeating stories, especially if they could cause problems.

I could sense that this was going somewhere,  but I was way past that part of my life where things like that really interested me.I had too much of drama in my own life to even worry about it.

In fact, I didn’t have to even ask her, because I remembered the conversation as clear as day.

He must have found out,” the one was saying. “You can’t be so stupid. I mean, if you’re trying to make a fresh start and do the right thing, the least you can do is be honest…”

‘The least you could be is honest.’

I couldn’t believe that these ‘friends’ had actually come over to see Farah after the scandal they could have caused. I just hoped they weren’t there to cause more problems.

Of course, they were talking about Farah, but for me, it was that conversation that caused the whole argument between Mo and I to erupt, and I couldn’t help but immediately dislike the girl for being the one to say it.

I dropped Zaynah off at my in laws, stopping for a while just to show that I wasn’t completely self-absorbed, and then headed back home, thinking that Mo was still out. I never really knew what he did on Saturday afternoons, but seeing his car already there was already a bit of a relief. I didn’t enjoy coming home to an empty house.

I walked in, pausing in front of the hallway mirror to take off my hijaab. It was a new avenue I had ventured down only after Ummi had made her appearance, and I really was trying to keep my dressing in conformance. I didn’t want to be like the skinny jeans clad girls who showed their entire body shape, and wore a scarf. It was kind of pointless, and I knew what people like myself would have to say about it.

I loosened my pony tail and headed to the kitchen, still deep in thought about the girls we had seen.

Maybe I shouldn’t dwell on it too much, I thought to myself. Maybe I needed to lay off people, and concentrate more on myself. Maybe I needed to become more understanding. Maybe I just needed to-

“What are you thinking about?”

I jumped up at the sound of Mo’s voice, immediately holding my hand to my chest, just to be slightly dramatic.

“What is wrong with you?” I said in a huff. “You gave me such a shock!”

Mo grinned and looked at me, almost as if he was uncertain of what to say next.

“What are you doing there?” I asked suspiciously, eyeing him out as he sat on the two-seater couch.

I expected him to be either watching TV or sleeping downstairs.

“I was waiting for you,” he said vaguely, and I immediately narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously.

“I wanted….”

He trailed off and cleared his throat, speaking again.

“Actually,” he said again. “I needed to speak to you.”

Be nice, I urged myself, giving him a small smile and nodding.

I sat on a stool at the nook, looking at him expectantly. I had a feeling that he was going to try and convince me to try for a baby once again, and this time, I actually felt like maybe we might be starting to get back on the same page again.

Maybe I had been too hard and harsh, by not being open to his suggestions earlier. Maybe it just deserved one last shot. Maybe I needed to just give this our all.

And of course, I was preparing myself for another appeal that had become so common in the past two months, so anyone could imagine my shock when Mo hit me with something that I could have never imagined.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and I was immediately confused by his words.

Confusion was short-lived, because in just a short while, it would be the moment that my world came crashing down.

I should have seen the signs. I should have been more in touch. I should have just shown more interest.

Mo’s face looked tired as he spoke, and I now knew that all these months, it wasn’t just me that was eating him, but guilt as well.

Guilt because he couldn’t tell me before. Guilt because he felt responsible.

Guilt… Because there was already a ‘someone else’.

And then, of course, when he told me, it all made sense.

The late nights. The long absences. What I had heard… And finally, why he was fighting so hard.

The girl I had just seen. Her conversation at the wedding, and her words as she spoke.

You can’t be so stupid. I mean, if you’re trying to make a fresh start and do the right thing, the least you can do is be honest…”

I remembered clearly how those words had stung, and how I detested them as if they were aimed right at me. And now that I knew who the girl was, I couldn’t help but hate them even more, because I knew that I was meant to hear that. It felt like the entire thing was a set-up, and planned for me to be exactly where I was when I came clean with Muhammed, and everything just went downhill.

And now, of course, I couldn’t help but look at him with an entirely different kind of hatred.

I didn’t want to ask him what happened. I didn’t want to know how far it went or if he had wanted to marry her. I didn’t even want to know if she had contacted him today, when she saw me, as if prompting Mo to come clean.

Someone else. That’s all I knew. There was someone else. However long ago it may have been, this whole façade was so much worse because he had hid it for so long. I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved that I wasn’t all to blame, or completely betrayed.

I sucked in my breath, my world already spinning in front of me. It was amazing how one piece of information could trivialise every other thing that had seemed so relatively important all this while. Every other worry I had seemed to crash to the ground, when I realised what this could do, even though he tried to convince me that ‘it’ was over months ago.

I felt like I was in some kind of dramatic series, and the whole thing was out of a movie. I had always believed that this kind of thing could never happened to me, and my worst fears had been confirmed in the most vicious way. I felt like I would probably never live to accept how a man like Muhammed could ever go so far to break me like this.

I took a step back, and as my legs caved beneath me as I fell to the floor against the tiled kitchen wall, knowing that I needed something as a support. My entire frame felt like cardboard, as I crashed down, closing my eyes as I leant back and took in the biggest breath I could manage.

Tears wouldn’t come. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t even give him that much at least.

This is what happens when we are caught up. This was what happens when we are living our own separate lives. This is what happens when I never took it seriously enough to try and live the right way, until now.

Zinaa. The disease of our society that we just sweep under the rug. There’s no cure for it, because it hasn’t even been properly diagnosed. The treatment was temporary and it’s effects were addictive. It was something I had always abhorred from before the day I had got married, and Mo was well aware.

It was really the evil amongst many other evils, and often, when you let yourself indulge in it, it’s easy to get caught up in every other wrong.

It explained the gambling, deceit and who-knew-what-else Mo had been up to.

“And those (the servants of the Most Merciful) who never invoke any deity with Allah, nor kill the soul that Allah sanctified – except by right, nor commit zina. And whoever should commit any of that will meet a full penalty. Multiplied for him is the punishment on the Day of Resurrection, and he will abide therein humiliated.” (25: 68-69)

It’s seriousness is always trivialised, but just the multiplication of punishment is an indication of the seriousness of those three sins and the great damage they cause to the human societies.

The thing was, in this day it was a disease of society that was becoming more common and more ‘normal’ by the day.

It disgusted me that any woman or man could actually be so devoid of loyalty and Taqwa to commit such an atrocious act. I could hardly even believe that I could be dealing with this on my own hands.

I paced the lounge restlessly, completely unable to concentrate on a task for more than five minutes.

At least Mo had acceded to my request of leaving me alone, and I pondered in oblivion, just taking in my surroundings. I looked around me at everything that I had always cherished, realising that all of these things could never make me happy, if our lives were not in accordance to the law of Allah.

It was unfortunate that it had come to this, and I though knew that I was partly to blame for our problems, this had happened for another reason that I didn’t yet comprehend.

The thing was, some things in life make you, and some things are made to break you.

Sometimes you feel like you want to give up, and sometimes you feel like the person you gave your everything to will never understand what you’re about.

But it was all in the journey of life…. All in our path to change.

Sometimes we need to crash, before we can fully re-cooperate. Sometimes we need our little hearts to get a bit battered, before they can fully heal. Sometimes life deals  us things that are not fair or make sense, but it’s all within the plan. It’s all within the path. It’s all part of our escape to Him.

And, of course, like for every other situation that has a solution, when you are caught in the turbulence of what this life has brought you, He (SWT) says:

فَفِرُّوا إِلَى اللَّهِ ۖ 

“So flee to Allaah…”

[Ad-Dhaariyaat: 50]

When the pains of the world tire you, and when the worries of this life feel like they’ll never pass, the only refuge left, is to take the route to our Lord. Outside, it may be raining, but inside the refuge of Allah, it’s dry. Outside, it may be storming, but inside yourself, there is calm.

The only shelter was where the presence of my Lord was truly felt. To flee from everything else but Allah, to Allah.

And I knew just where I could find that.

It wasn’t time to run away. It wasn’t about proving my point. It wasn’t even about who won this fight.

It wasn’t time to show Muhammed just how much he would regret what he did. It wasn’t even about Mo.

It was time to find myself, and find what I had been missing. It was a chance for me to think, reflect, and choose a path that was going to lead me to Him. A chance for me to to truly change.

It was time to go back to my roots, and back to the place where I had left my life completely in shambles.

It was time to visit my Ummi Jaan, and time to see my father once again. It was time to catch up with Yusuf, and time to meet the little people that I had already heard so much about over these few months.

It was time to face my past once again. It was time to gain the very illusive ‘Freedom’ that I had been chasing all the years.

And there was only one place I could find it.

It was time to go Home.

Note: Maaf, for the delayed post. AN extra long post to make up for it. 

 With the escalating marital problems and extra-marital relations that have become a norm in our society, I thought it apt to do a post that explored it. Some advices I had come across that are quite awesome.

-Marriage flourishes when the couple works together as a team.
Good marriages don’t just happen. They are a product of hard work.

-Your children are watching you and forming lasting opinions on love, commitment, and marriage based on what they see in you. Make them look forward to marriage.

-Husbands: Instead of drooling over the green grass on the other side of the fence, work on yours and water it regularly.

-A successful marriage requires honesty, undying commitment, selfless love and Allah at the center of it all.

-Pray for your spouse every day; in the morning, in the afternoon and at evening. Don’t wait until there is a problem. Don’t wait until there is an affair. Don’t wait until something bad happens. Don’t wait until your spouse is tempted. Shield your spouse with prayer.

-The people you surround yourself with have a lot of  influence on your marriage. Friends can build or break your marriage; choose them wisely.

-Don’t take your spouse for granted.Don’t mistake your spouse’s loyalty for desperation. Don’t misuse or abuse yours spouse’s trust. 

*Dear wife, Don’t underestimate the power of the tongue on your marriage. The tongue has the power to crush your marriage or build it up.

Don’t forget our Super Sunnahs!



#Revive theSunnahofSpeakingGood




Tweet: @ajourneyjournal

Focus on Redemption

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem


“Why did you tell them?” I asked, my voice riddled with cooped up frustration that I couldn’t fully explain.

“Aasiya!” Muhammed said, his face immediately changing from expressionless to slightly embarrassed.

I could understand. To him, Umar was this ‘Maulana’ that everyone admired and respected, and to me…. Well, to me, he was just ‘Umar’. The brother I’d known so well, that I actually couldn’t fully process who he’d become.

“It’s okay,” Umar said, putting his hand up to Muhammed. He turned to me, fiddling with his beard, as if contemplating what to say next.

I looked straight at him, not even daring to blink. He needed to know that I wasn’t going to back down here.

“Would you believe me,” he started saying, shoving his hands in his kurath pockets. “If I said that I didn’t tell them?”

“No,” I said, clenching my jaw stubbornly. “It could’ve only been you or…”

I trailed off, not wanting to mention his wife.

Haseena was one of the most genuine people I had ever met in my  slightly misguided life, and I really didn’t want to bring her into this. But then again, if I had to… I knew that I would say whatever needed to be said.

“Haseena?” Umar said, as if testing the waters. “You think it was her?”

I immediately looked away, shaking my head almost begrudgingly.

“I didn’t say that,” I spat. “I just meant that no-one else knew. I didn’t want them to find out like that… I didn’t want them to just pitch up here and feel like I had been hiding my life away from them all this time.”

I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it, but a tiny smirk was starting to show on Umar’s face, and it made me even more angry.  But instead of saying what he wanted to, he just shook his head, stretching  out his hand to greet Muhammed.

“I’ll see you, Aasiya,” he said, turning to me with a small nod. “Take it easy. And I’ll check with Haseena… Maybe she said something without realising. She does that sometimes.”

He smiled now, and I immediately felt that familiar sinking feeling in my gut, coupled with something a little more foreign.

The green monster. Jealousy.

It was something I never thought I could feel, but when Umar spoke of his wife, I couldn’t help but feel like I was missing something. When I had met her, it was like there was no-one else that she admired more than my annoying brother, and I just couldn’t understand what it was that put him on such a pedestal for her.

I suppose it was the inferiority complex that I always had as a kid, and now, as I grew older, now with my failing marriage, I kind of envied what they had. It was just so… Rare.

With Muhammed and I… Why did I feel like I was completely missing the plot? Why did I not understand that contentment was something so far from what I had thought all this time? Was my focus completely off base?

Umar was getting ready to leave again, and I knew that I couldn’t let him go like this. There was something else I wanted to ask. Something that had been on my mind, and I never wanted to delve into.

“Umar,” I said, just before he could exit, hoping to redeem myself.

“Jhee,” he said as he turned slightly, waiting for me to speak.

“Yusuf,” I said softly, hesitating for just a moment. “Does he know?”

I waited in anticipation, but Umar shook his head slowly after a few seconds, glancing at me just in time to catch my forlorn expression.

“You just have to give him a call and he’ll be here,” Umar said now, sounding like it was the simplest solution ever. “He still talks about you.”

I swallowed, saying nothing as I watched Umar go. I turned back to what I was doing, but after a few seconds, I heard the door open again, and felt the familiar feeling of someone watching me from behind.

I didn’t have to even check. I already knew it was Muhammed.

“Say what you need to,” I said, preparing myself for the worst onslaught. I knew that Mo had thought I was behaving badly, but I really didn’t want him to say it.

“I’m not saying anything,” Mo said wisely, knowing what he would get himself into if he did.

I spun around, narrowing my eyes at him slightly. How did I attain my dignity once again?

“You think I’m wrong, right?” I asked candidly, trying to redeem myself. “I shouldn’t have hid myself all these years. I should have just been upfront from day one. Is that what you think?”

Mo smiled slightly, and shook his head as he sat down on the couch. I sighed audibly, leaving my organising for later, and joined him on the couch.

He was being odd today. Actually, he was being odd for a few days now,and I knew exactly what it was that was getting to him. I mean, it was affecting me way more than him, but somehow, I just couldn’t bring myself to say the words.

“Is that really what’s bothering you?’ Mo asked after a few seconds, his voice actually sounding more tender than it had for months.

I immediately looked up cynically. Mo knew me too well. I wasn’t sure if it was the worst or best part about him… But he was the only one who could tell my true feelings, just by glancing at my face. He knew that something was bothering me, and I knew that if was the same issue that consumed him as well.

I watched my husband, as if I was looking at him properly after weeks, studying his every detail carefully. His face was drawn and I could visibly see the furrows on his brow deepening. The hair on his face was quite evident now, and although I wasn’t sure if it was neglect or intentional, I couldn’t help but think that my husband actually looked quite good with a beard.

As I looked longer, the few grey strands in his hair caught me completely unaware now, when I noticed them. As each moment passed us by, were we actually getting old? Was all the petty arguing and fighting really worth it in the end?

I shook my head, not sure of how to say what I needed to. Even though he slept in another room, I could tell that he barely was sleeping lately. I could even sometimes him speaking vividly in his sleep, probably consumed by fears that haunted him.

“It’s the baby, isn’t it?” I said, delving into the most heart-breaking thing I had ever mentioned in weeks. That’s what was killing me, and I knew it was doing the same to him.

We never did speak about it, but since the day he was born, I could tell that Mo was already a changed man. It was like Muhammed had himself become the father the day that Hamza was born. It was a whole different dimension to my husband that I had never experienced before.

The whole thing had just caught us in a way we didn’t ever expect. It had somehow found an avenue straight to the depths of our heart and soul, and even though I had only seen him from a window outside due to the strict protocol, the image of his helpless little body connected to countless tubes and contraptions was like an unforgettable illusion in my mind.

And of course… When we lost him, though he thought that no-one knew, while I sat and bawled out my eyes in the privacy of my bedroom, Muhammed sat for hours in his own lower-level section, completely absorbed in a loss that only he and I could understand. Just knowing that he might never have a child was probably the biggest trigger here, and realising that he would probably resent me for the rest of my life was what scared me the most.

I had tried to do as I knew was required, and after agreeing to separate our rooms a few weeks back to give some time apart, the rifts between us were still palpable. At that point, I still felt as though we were just hanging on by a thread.

“And if you fear a separation between the two of them, appoint an arbitrator from his family and an arbitrator from her family. If they desire reconciliation, Allah will bring them into agreement. Verily Allah is Knowing, Knowledgeable.” [Noble Quran 4:35]

And of course, though I incorrectly blamed Umar for telling them about me, I knew that Ummi Jaan had come into my life for a reason.

And yes, I had never been the perfect kind of wife, and I sometimes gave Mo only a small fraction of the respect he deserved, but from the day Ummi Jaan re-entered my life, I really had been making an effort.

I had started the daily Taaleem, and I was constantly trying to improve my own temperament. Although I often failed, I still persisted, but I wasn’t sure how long we could go on with this underlying issue of kids. Allah was making our every effort easy, but however we progressed, I knew that it would always come back to the sore point of not having children. And now, seeing the exhaustion on his face after the loss of Hamza, I knew what I had to do.

I just didn’t know how I could ever break it to Mo… And completely set aside my every fear I had when it came to this final blow. After everything we had been through… And all that this had brought, I knew that I had to do something completely selfless to redeem myself. I had made countless Du’aa to be guided in this matter, and finally had gathered the guts to do it.

I looked up at Muhammed once again, reaching slowly for his hand.

He looked expectantly surprised by my action, and he frowned slightly as if wondering what it was that made me reach out to him.

I could practically see him mentally bracing himself, because he knew that any affection from me was not without some kind of catch. I felt bad that I had always been so cold, but in certain situations, I knew that it was the only way to deal with reality.

Right now was one of those times, and though my mouth was dry and I could barely understand why I was even doing this… I forced the words out as I looked up into those caring eyes that I knew so well, holding onto him just a little tighter to soften the blow of what this all might bring both of us.

“Muhammed,” I said softly, licking my lips nervously, anxious to say what I needed to. “It’s because I love you that I need you to do this…”

His frown deepened once again, and he shook his head slightly and blinked, a bit confused about what I was starting to say. I hadn’t said those three words in so long, that he was probably in shock that I actually still felt them.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a few days,” I said, trying to kill the last bit of dwindling emotions that were stopping me from saying it.

I had to just force it out.

“Muhammed,” I said again, inhaling steadily. The words were on the tip of my tongue, and I finally mustered the strength to let them out.

“I think….” I said, clearing my throat.

Say it, I said to myself, battling mercilessly with every opposing urge within me.

Just say it. 

“I think that you should marry someone else.”

Don’t forget our Super Sunnahs!

And ‘Umar ibn Abi Salamah said: I was a young boy in the care of the Messenger of Allaah (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him), and my hand used to wander all over the platter (of food). The Messenger of Allaah (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) said to me, “O young boy, say Bismillaah, eat with your right hand, and eat from what is directly in front of you.” 

(Narrated by al-Bukhaari, 3576; Muslim, 2022).



#Revive theSunnahofSpeakingGood




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Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

Happy Endings. Everyone loves them.

It’s part of the reason why people get so caught up in movies and novels. The motivation and inspiration for that bubbly, elated and euphoric feeling that accompanies the moment when everything is just so damn perfect.

And yes, I hoped upon hope that somehow, the way out here could be something way beyond my wildest expectations. I wished and dreamed with all my might that somehow, the doctors were wrong, and all this was just going to be perfectly fine. I had hope, and I had faith, but most of all, I knew that whatever had to happen, with the grace of the One who Controls it all, it would be okay.

“It’s gonna be okay,” I said to myself as I sped up the stairs to the unit Farah was at.

The words were like a mantra in my head, just as it was the day Waseem said them to me. I couldn’t help but believe them now, as I scanned the board for Farah’s name, not wanting to waste any time. It was going to be okay. In the end, it always is.

“You’re here,” she said as I sped in, and I looked at her with a small smile.

I could hear the relief in her voice, and visibly see it in her expression.

I nodded, swallowing hard. I could see the doctor prodding her stomach, and my chest tightened at the very prospect of what could happen. This was way beyond what I ever thought I could handle, but somehow, I was dealing with the situation in the best way I could.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, my voice fairly unsteady. It was a question I had become accustomed to asking, but I always dreaded the answer.

The doctor looked up at me, and I could already see the apprehension in her expression.

“We’re going to have to do a caesar today,” she said blandly. “It’s a little early, but it’s the safest option for them both. Whether the baby survives…”

I blinked and sucked in my breath, because the enormity of this just hit me.

Today was the day. Today was probably the biggest day of my life, and I didn’t even know if I was ready for it. The worst part was that we didn’t even know what to expect. With no brain activity, as the doctors predicted, there was a very little chance of survival, but of course, we weren’t in control of that.

Cigarette. I needed a cigarette.

I knew that it was my body’s way of dealing with stress right now, but there really was no time my childish cravings. I had to man up.

They prepared her for the operation in record time, and I couldn’t be anywhere but by her side. If I wanted to prove just how much I had really changed, I knew that I had to be there for her right now.

Time was in fast forward as they wheeled her in, and I couldn’t even watch as they injected her amidst her contracting pain, and placed a sheet in front. I held her shaking hand with all the strength I could muster, because right now, it felt like even I had none.

Too fast. It was just happening too fast.

My palms were sweaty and my legs were wobbly, and as I bounced up and down in pure agony, I awaited the moment that every first-time parent does. I waited for the announcement, and for the first cry of the infant that I hoped would take over our lives, but with each millisecond that passed, my hopes were dashed, one by one.

“It’s a boy,” I finally heard, but the voice was stagnant.

I knew what it meant, and I squeezed Farah’s hand a little tighter, not daring to look down.

There was no cry. Just a tiny muffle that gave me the tiniest tinge of hope, and I held my breath in anticipation.

“Go,”  Farah whispered finally, letting go of me, and I eventually got the guts to look at my wife.

Tears. Maybe of hope, or maybe it was just plain despair. The tears were relentlessly streaming down her cheek as her face turned to the right, and her other hand was hastily wiping them away.

I blinked back my own emotions, not sure of anything any more. The whole thing just caught me so unawares, that I wasn’t sure whether to leave her, or look at my son before they took him away for examination.

“Go,” she said again, and I immediately got up,  trembling legs and all, to catch up on what I had missed all this time.

The two doctors were talking in muffled voices as I approached, and they both moved aside as they saw me coming near, trying to explain in some kind of hectic terminology what was going on.

“Basically, he’s alive,” the paediatrician said in simple terms.

My spirits momentarily lifted.

“But not stable.”

And then they plummeted all the way back down again.

I knew that I would have to see the little guy to believe it, and I immediately looked beyond the contraptions they had on the table to see the tiniest baby I had ever seen, wrapped and laying on the blanket they had placed underneath. His miniature eyes were closed, but his little chest was still heaving oh-so-slightly, almost as if it was a battle for him to take a simple breath.

It was like a kick to my system.

Just seeing him made me completely crumble inside. I bit back emotion, wanting to know what they would so with him now.

“We’ll keep him on the tubes,” they said. “In NICU. You can see him anytime.”

And with that, they placed him in a wheely crib thingum and wheeled him away from me. I was torn.

I wanted to stay with Farah, but somehow, paternal instinct was stronger. It was like a driving force that got me to place one foot in front of the other, and drive myself toward the place they were taking him.

It wasn’t far away, but once I got there, I knew that I couldn’t leave his side. He looked so helpless and dependant, that I couldn’t help but tear when I looked at him.

Doctors were sceptical about him making it, but my little guy had already surpassed expectation by living for nearly half an hour. The fluid in his brain was much less than they thought, but it was still there. From his appearance though, our baby looked like any other baby in the unit. He was, obviously, perfect.

This was it, I realised, emotion taking over once again. I couldn’t believe that I had so much of emotion going on right now. It was so unlike Zee.

This was the moment that my life, my role, and my entire existence was supposed to change.

I looked at little man, as I began to call him in my head, immediately realising that we would have to start to think of a name. We didn’t expect this… We didn’t even think so far.

I messaged Farah and we decided on a name, hoping it would inspire our son to be more of the little fighter that we knew that he was.

Hamza. After the Uncle of Nabi (SAW), the Lion of Allah.

And it immediately stuck, and since Farah couldn’t come in independantly to see him, I constantly updated her as I sat there, almost unable to physically remove myself from his side. If I ever felt love before, I knew that it was probably completely futile, compared to this.

This was… Well, this was sublime. It was all encompassing.

My every instinct was to protect him from whatever happened, and to shield him from the harsh reality of the world. I wanted to keep him safe from anything that could ever harm him, or anyone who would ever hurt him. It was a feeling so overwhelming , that I couldn’t shake it off.

The next 24 hours were like a dragged out scene from the one of most dramatic series I’ve watched.

Little Hamza’s lungs were not fully formed, and we almost lost him about five times, as his heartbeat dropped, and then stabilised once again. My brothers both made it in to see him, since my father had no way of getting there to see his first grandchild.

It was a long battle for our fighter, but eventually, our little Hamza breathed the last of his few breaths the following morning, as I sat and watched him struggle with his little life.

Even though we expected it, the shock was something I didn’t anticipate. I was right there, but I could do nothing. I watched my son die, without an inkling of how to counteract everything that this brought.

I held him gently for the first time as they handed him to me, now free of any cords, contraptions, tubes or masks that served as a barrier between us before. He was still warm, but I knew soon, he would be cold, and we would have to let him go completely. Soon, we would lay him down, to return to his Creator.

I placed him down for the last time, and the worst moments lay ahead of me as I trudged to Farah’s ward, knowing what I would have to tell her. It would break her, I knew, but I also knew that part of healing was accepting Allah’s will. I knew that she would have to, eventually see it the way I did.

My heart thudded as I entered and she was already awake, looking at me expectantly, almost as if she knew. It was as if she was expecting it. Maybe mothers just knew.

I swallowed the saliva that gathered in my mouth, completely speechless for the first time in my sordid life. I just couldn’t find the words to break her heart.

And then, of course, she whispered it, almost as if she was afraid to say it loud. As if saying it aloud would somehow make it more real.

“Is he gone?” the last word was almost sucked out of her, as her voice completely broke.

And of course, I couldn’t hold it back any longer, as I nodded just once, blinking furiously to stop myself from being all emo.

There was no need to even say the words because the expression on my face could only mean one thing. She turned her face away immediately, and her chest heaved almost involuntarily as she clenched her fists in agony. There was nothing as I could think of doing, and so I went to sit next to her, hoping to be at least a little bit of a comfort. All I could do was reach out for her hand, because at this time and place, words completely eluded me.

“Inna Lillahi Wa Inna Ilaihi Raji’oon.”

It was she who said it, and along the overwhelming grief consumed me, I felt an immense joy because I knew she understood. And then, grief overcame again for a few minutes as I let myself give into it, knowing that this was probably the worst feeling I’ve ever felt in my life. Worse than losing my car. Worse than breaking my sound system. Worse than even coming down from a high, when I would feel like the whole world was against me.

I eventually had to leave my wife who lay in tears, because I knew that someone needed to sort out the arrangements for Hamza.

Everything was done in record time, and as my family gathered around me after the Janazah and at the cemetery, I waited for the the turbulence within me to finally erupt, but it wasn’t on the cards. Instead, as I lowered the tiny bundle of white into the small pit that had been prepared, my shoulders heaved with grief, as I watched my son leave to his eternal home.

I never thought I would see this day… The day I would bury my own child. I sat on the edge of the grave while they started to fill sand, just pouring out every emotion that I had held back for the past year.

He was gone. In the ground. Never to come back again.

Everything had happened so fast, but now… Now, it was the end. What I thought was the greatest curse in my life had turned out to be the most enormous blessing, and I just couldn’t fathom why it had been snatched away. Grief consumed me until I thought there was no more left, and finally, as a strong arm gripped me from behind, just as suddenly as it began, it all just ceased.

The words of the Du’aa that had been said just moments before came back to remind me, as Waseem repeated the words that had stuck. It was something that only some could comprehend, and now, as I heard them again, like Divine inspiration, I just got it.

 “Ya Rabb… We are ignorant. We don’t know why You do what You do… But we only make shukar…. That You blessed us with Imaan.”

And then… Only then, did it all hit me.

As I lifted my heavy body up and allowed myself to be led away, the darkness I was immersed in slowly lifted, and the feelings of doom came to pass.

I didn’t know if it was even right to feel this way, but an unexplainable feeling of immense relief sunk in, and though the guilt plagued me, I couldn’t help but welcome the light amidst the anguish.

Because now, finally, I got it. I got this. It wasn’t a punishment. It wasn’t meant to hurt me and cause me more grief. It was meant to be an ease, and an alleviation. An escape from the pain… And basically, a way out.

“﴿وَمَن يَتَّقِ اللَّهَ يَجْعَل لَّهُ مَخْرَجاًوَيَرْزُقْهُ مِنْ حَيْثُ لاَ يَحْتَسِبُ﴾”

And whosoever has Taqwa of Allah, He will make a way for him to get out. And He will provide him from where he never could imagine. (Surah At-Talaq: 2/3)

And of course, I knew that now. I knew that sometimes, relief comes in ways we don’t expect. Sometimes, the most painful things are the things that are what we will eventually appreciate. Sometimes, we just don’t understand grief, because we are too caught up in what it does to us.

But when we look beyond the obvious, and read between the lines, then we see what’s true. We see that we have so many blessings, beyond what we can’t comprehend, and we realise what it was all about.

This was life. It moves us, and makes us who we are. It inspires us, and sometimes, through everything that happens, it’s little miracles even change us.

But through it all, only one thing keeps us safe. The belief that beyond it all, Allah is in control and knows exactly what He does… That is what keeps us in check.

Happy Endings. Everyone loves them.

The silver lining… The cherry on the top… The sprinkles on the icing.

They’re awesome, I know.

But undeniably, in real life, there are very few. And there’s a simple reason for that. This world was not created to be that final abode that we are meant to cherish oh-so-lovingly. Our happy ending is meant to be somewhere beyond this meagre life.

As humans, we crave ease, although the path will always have challenges, tests and trials. There will be calamities and hardships, and there will be rain and storms.

But, with Imaan, automatically, you will be given ease within the hardship. You will see the light amidst the gloom. You will remain dry within the refuge of Allah. You will now begin to create your own Jannah, not within this Duniyaa, but within your inner being.

That’s what will keep you safe. That’s what will be your sanctuary. And that, folks, is what will keep you grounded.

Don’t forget our Super Sunnahs!

And ‘Umar ibn Abi Salamah said: I was a young boy in the care of the Messenger of Allaah (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him), and my hand used to wander all over the platter (of food). The Messenger of Allaah (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) said to me, “O young boy, say Bismillaah, eat with your right hand, and eat from what is directly in front of you.” 

(Narrated by al-Bukhaari, 3576; Muslim, 2022).



#Revive theSunnahofSpeakingGood




Tweet: @ajourneyjournal

Empty Spaces

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

The thing about new beginnings is that you have a chance to make them happen all the time. With every new day, month, or year, you can choose to start afresh. You can choose to just start over.

But there’s just something different about a year coming to a close, and knowing that another one is about to begin. A ‘New Year’ just has a different buzz to it. And as the Hajj season came to a close that year, I found myself reflecting over the past ‘year’, in Islamic terms. Contemplating over achievements, goals and losses, and dwelling over events that might or might not have had different outcomes, if I had just done one thing a little differently. I just had to do some reflection.

But, despite that, all I could think was:

Damn, it was a roller-coaster. From way off track, Zee made it all the way to sanity and stayed there. I wasn’t sure how it all happened, but Divine intervention was definitely somewhere on the board. When I looked back, I could believe that it was only through miraculous innovation. And of course, the feeling, even if only fleeting, was unbelievable.

“D’you want anything to eat?”

I looked up from the day chair I was relaxing on, squinting my eyes to guard them from the sunlight.

“Nah, I’m okay,” I said, shaking my head, and gazing outside the patio once again.

It was an awesome day. Just the day that I would usually be inspired to jump into Mo’s pool, but my mood wasn’t exactly conducive to the whole kicking-back-and-taking it-easy thing. I had so many other worries on my head, it was like a volcano of emotions that were just waiting to erupt.

Even food, surprisingly, was the least of my priorities in this frame of mind.  I never thought that I could ever feel that way.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard him say that,” I heard Aasiya telling Mo from inside. “He’s always hungry. There must be something wrong.”

I wanted to chuckle, but all that escaped was a tiny smile.

They wouldn’t understand. No-one could.

I mean, don’t we all think that whenever we’re going through anything? Even though I knew that this was all a test, as each day passed, I could just feel my world crumbling a little more. I was fearful, anxious and basically, just afraid of what lay ahead in the future for me, my wife and my child.

And I knew I was so off-track in my thinking, but more than once the thought had crossed my mind. To me, it was something that crossed our minds often because our faith was so weak.

Why me? Why did it have to be my punishment? I mean, I knew that I was majorly messed up and all of it… But what about other people? What about Waseem? He was much far gone than me. Before he had got on track, he was so lost… So why didn’t he have to suffer all the consequences like I had to? Howcome he didn’t have to get such a major trial to deal with?

The thing was, though in my heart of hearts, I knew my thoughts were ill-founded, Shaytaan had these brilliant ways of making us doubt our faith. It did so to the extent that thoughts of my previous life kept appealing to me, as if that was the only way out. It was actually quite unnerving, but the warnings were all there. He literally ran through our veins, so severe was his influence.

“Bru, are you okay?”

The voice cut through my thoughts swiftly, and I tuned into the present once again.

I nodded blindly, offering a half smile with my iconic wink. Just to prove that there was still part of Zee left somewhere beyond the ambush of pensive thoughts. Deep thinking was like foreign territory for me.

The thing was, no matter how much you had in your life, no matter how many things, and no matter who you filled it up with, there is still an empty space that can only be filled by only one thing.

“You don’t have to act like you’re suicidal,” Mo said. “You’re even making Aasiya worried. And you know Aasiya. If she’s worried, there’s definitely a problem.”

Aasiya was the most undramatic chic I knew. I hated to say it, but she was cold. She barely showed emotion, and when she did, it was always a shocker.

“How’s your vrou?” He asked after a while, curious to know what I had been avoiding all this time.

I sighed, thinking about it.

Farah. The girl of my dreams. Mother of my child. Although she was being positive about the pregnancy and outcome, I couldn’t help but see the underlying battle she fought, as if she was trying to accept the truth of what was happening.

That first day, at the hospital, we talked for ages, and for the first time, I actually felt that we were connecting the way we should be. And though the circumstances were far from pleasant, at least one good thing had come from it. Farah had become someone I could actually relate to, and possibly love unconditionally. Learning to look past her thickening waist line and hormonal body changes was a task, but this situation was something of a blessing in disguise.

Zee was actually learning to look past superficial characteristics, and have a little substance. I was finally becoming something of a man. I might have thought it before, but now I knew that it was for real.

“So you’re gonna be a Dad, huh?” Mo said, adding another whole dimension to the reality.

I paused, because there was something I had missed, all this time. I might have seen it before, but right now, I could actually hear the despair in his voice. It was actually so subtle that I had to look up at him to check if I was right.

And right there, in his eyes, I saw it.

Sadness. Despondency. That empty space. And a deep yearning for something more.

And, I swear, until that moment, I never thought of it that way. My older brother was married for over ten years, but I never once thought about why there were no kids. I probably just assumed that they never wanted, or ignorantly assumed that they were enjoying themselves as a high-flying couple. I never looked beyond the obvious, to think that maybe, despite everything that Mo had materialistically, there was something out of his hands that evaded him completely.

And then, of course, I thought about how funny mankind is. We live in this world, looking at everyone around us, as if they were so much better off than we are. Like how Mo looked at me now, as if I was so lucky to be having a child, despite the circumstances, I was looking at Waseem just moments before, envying his life and what he had made of it.

But the undeniable fact is that no-one knows anyone else’s story. We can never know what each person has been through, and that’s precisely why we are advised to be cautious when looking at anyone in a light that can ever make us feel ungrateful. The greatest advice that I ever heard is what I remembered right then.

“Look at the people beneath you (in wealth and worldly affairs) and do not gaze the ones above you (in this matter). By this, you will not underestimate the bounty of Allah bestowed upon you.” (Narrated by Bukhari and Muslim)

And of course, my whole focus shifted because I realised that everyone in life is always wanting more. Discontentment stems from ingratitude, and the more you want, it just never stops.

But when you follow that simple advice, you realise just how much you have. When you turn to Allah and what He can offer, that empty space inside can be filled with more than you can ever imagine.

And I was about to tell Mo that he had no reason to be even minutely envious, because everyone’s battles are just a means of getting us to realise just how temporary our stay here is. That with each passing moment, and each test, another day has gone to pass, and soon, none of it will matter any more.

And yes, there is pain… But there is only pain in partial submission, like what my weak mind had engaged in. When we enter Deen fully, and wholly submit, then only do we get some kind of relief. Then only do we fill that empty space with what needs to be there. Then only do we get to Allah, through Allah alone.

And so, caught up in my world of reflection, I knew that Mo could also do with some insight.

“Life is not meant to be smooth sailing,” I said philosophically, trying to demonstrate my newly found maturity. “Don’t run after what’s out of your hands. Trust Him, and He’ll make the way out. ”

A way out. I know it was coming, and it was like that was just what I truly needed to believe to make it happen. Because no sooner did I say the words, and wholeheartedly mean them, my iPhone vibrated in my pocket, and I took it out hastily to answer.

Seeing Farah’s name made my mouth dry already, and I immediately knew that this wasn’t just a regular call.

It felt like the seconds were hours, and I sat with bated breath, hoping for the best. Was it labour? Contractions? Something worse?

My life was in turmoil at that point, as I hesitated for those few seconds, before touching the screen to answer. Who knew that in a just few minutes I would be racing to the hospital for the final time that year?

Everything was already unfolding, and after the long drought of hope, those empty spaces were on the way to slowly being filled. Sometimes everything doesn’t pan out the way it’s supposed, and sometimes it’s all not as great as we think

But that empty space… That yearning that keeps us restless, and always scrambling around in some kind of search… This need has been put in us by our Creator. And every need created by our Maker, has been created for a purpose. The need to give, receive, and be fulfilled, is created as a driver. A driver that guides, advises, and eventually, that pushes us back to Him.

You see, once upon a time, in a valley where all souls were made to gather, we began with the Lord of the World. We started with Him, and He wants us to come back to Him in this life—even before we come back to Him in the next.

So He puts within us these spaces, and hurdles along our path,  intended to bring us back. Intended for us to find the way out. And intended to bring us back Home.

Assalaamu Alaykum readers. Just a reminder for us to also do some reflection and set some ‘goals’ as the Islamic New Year dawns upon us. Lets’ make it a good beginning at least, and try to follow through Insha Allah. Please don’t forget our Super Sunnahs!

It was narrated from Anas raḍyAllāhu ‘anhu (may Allāh be pleased with him): “The Prophet ṣallallāhu ‘alayhi wa sallam (peace and blessings of Allāh be upon him) prohibited that a man should drink while standing.” (Qatadah said) So it was said: “And eating?” He (Anas) said: “That is worse.” [Tirmidhi]

We will be doing more eating and drinking Sunnahs Insha Allah.



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