Miracles

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

Aasiya

Miracles.

Sometimes, the only thing you can do is stop. Stop thinking. Stop contemplating. Stop deliberating. Stop wondering. Just breathe, and believe that miracles really do exist.

Though I was a born cynic, I’ve always believed in them. Of course, it’s what we were taught as we grew up, and what we are meant to believe.

Because from the inception of mankind, Islamic history reminds us of what others may call a coincidence or fantasy: The stick of Musaa (AS). The cool fire for Ibraahim (AS). The ascension of Isaa (AS). The splitting of the moon for Nabi (SAW)…. Just to mention a few.

From the beginning of time, miracles were a proof of what was above and beyond the naked eye. What was greater than everything that we saw, and gave so much of authority to. The strange thing is, even in medicine… And even in science… There are things that even the doctors can’t explain.

Strange things happen. Disease can suddenly fade away. Tumours can go missing. The cancer can disappear. Wounds can heal themselves. It’s unexplained, and it’s rare, but it happens.

The professionals don’t like to believe miracles exist, but they do. They call it misdiagnosis; or something they never saw it in the first place. Something unexpected, or a medical mystery. Any explanation but the truth that there is something greater than their complex theorising. That life is full of vanishing facts, and can change at any given moment, if we just believe.

Things happen. They can’t be explained… We can’t control them… But they do happen.

And that’s of course, where the Greatest Power comes in. Where faith comes in. Where our Deen comes in.
At the end of a day, it’s like this; we take our miracles where we find them. We take the plunge and drink it  in. We grab every one that comes along, because we never know when we will witness it’s ‘illogical’ appearance, once again.

“It’s a miracle,” my mother-in-law was saying, her eyes wide. “And of course we make shukar. But we just wish she would remember.”

I nodded sympathetically, really feeling bad for my in laws. I had finally decided to visit, and it was the first time I had heard the good news of Zaynah waking up.

Of course, I was ecstatic, and despite her expected memory rift, I had full faith that she would recover completely.

“But how are you, sweetheart?” She suddenly said, her worried eyes looking at me sympathetically. I could see that she was genuinely concerned.

I nodded, swallowing hard because I didn’t trust myself to talk. All the emotions that I had been feeling through the recent events were exhausting for me. I just couldn’t seem to stop tearing up.

“Muhammed Zaheer misses you,” she said, frowning slightly as she shook her head sympathetically, and then clicked her tongue in frustration, as if she remembered how he had messed us up.

It was too late though, because my eyes were already welling up with tears. I sniffed loudly, quite embarrassed about my unusually erratic behaviour. It was so unlike me, but the memories kept resurfacing in my mind, almost to taunt me.

I love you.

The three words that were meant to magically fix everything. I knew that Muhammed would pull out that weapon, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear it. That was why I had made sure that he wasn’t here at the house when I came, to save myself the discomfort once again.

And of course, when he had seen me at the hospital, it wasn’t exactly the perfect opportunity for chit-chat. I couldn’t help but cringe slightly when I rememebered.

“Please,” he had said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper as he almost broke down in front of me. “Just come home.”

I looked back at him as his eyes searched mine, probably looking for a hint of emotion that remained. Of course I wasn’t emotionless. I knew that I wouldn’t leave him behind me completely, but neither was I ready to just let it all go and take the plunge once again. My heart was still a little bruised. My emotions were still very raw.

“I need space,” I said, looking away momentarily. His face immediately fell.

And then, of course, he insisted that I stay at the hotel down the road, probably so he could keep tabs on my whereabouts. I knew all about Mo’s ulterior motives by now, and I was aware that he was well hooked up. There was nowhere in Pretoria that I could be without him having a contact in the vicinity.

I acceded to his request, because after all, I was still married to him. The thought of asking for the thing that would break us completely haunted me. Umar had advised me to try and move forward, no matter how hard it was, and my mind was slightly convinced. I just didn’t know how much of the past I could forget.

And then, of course, as the days passed by, I focussed on other things that were more important. Seeing Zaynah was a relief in some ways, but extremely emotional in others. Seeing her attached to all those machines, with pipes through her nose and mouth, was an eyesore. I wasn’t sure how Waseem could bear it, but I supposed though I was strong emotionally, certain things just freaked me out.

I had no idea that after a week, Zaynah would surprise us all and wake up from her comatose state. Of course, everyone was excited, but the cloud still loomed above.

“Are you staying for lunch?”

My mother-in-laws voice cut through my thoughts, reminding me that I needed to get going.

I shook my head at her, hastily wiping my tears away. My mother-in-law took out a few prepped dishes, and looked at me hopefully once again. She wasn’t exactly the cooking type, but I knew that she tried to at least add her personal touches to the dishes that she asked the cook to make. Muhammed would always complain, even though she tried.

“He won’t be here,” she said, and I knew who she was talking about.

I nodded, trying to explain to her that I really didn’t feel like eating. Everything that happened so far just made me feel like I was drowning.

Besides, I had an appointment that Yusuf’s wife had made for me, with someone her sister-in-law knew. Someone good. Although I tried to tell her that I wasn’t interested in trying for a baby again as yet, she insisted that I had to go. I supposed it was worth a shot if there was any hope for me, and I didn’t want to break her heart by refusing.

I hugged my mother-in-law, even though we didn’t exactly have that kind of relationship before. I could see she needed it, and I really wished that I could make her feel better. With Ziyaad’s marriage also falling apart, I’m sure she was wondering what else was going to go wrong. Of course, it’s hard to explain to some people that everything has goodness in it. Even though we wanted everything to be perfect always, sometimes you just needed to assure people that tests and tribulations are merely a way and means of us gaining closeness to Allah. Merely a cleansing for us.

My mother-in-law hugged me back firmly, and I could feel the emotion in her short breaths. Of course, we’ve had our minor fall-outs in the past, but at this moment, I knew it wasn’t important. There were greater things that needed conquering right now, and I knew it could be done, a step at a time. It was time for our family to build up our faith once again. Time for a spiritual make-over.

I left promptly, knowing that I needed to focus on something else. Despite everything, I was glad that this appointment was a small diversion. Maybe I needed to get some hope. Maybe they would have some miraculous treatment that they have just discovered.

I sighed as I entered the slightly overdone waiting rooms, leaving my name at reception, and looking around as I went to sit at a nearby chair. Many women were there with their partners, and though I felt slightly odd, I held my head up, just hoping I wouldn’t meet anyone I know.

There were plenty of Muslim ladies, and though one looked vaguely familiar, I knew there was no direct connection. I finally got up as they called my name, walking as swiftly on my new heels as I could.

Retail therapy. I had kind of buried my sorrows in Mo’s credit card, but I knew that he wouldn’t mind. I mean, of course, I had despised him at the time, but now I actually found myself wishing that he was there with me as I sat and waited at the table. Fortunately,  my fears immediately eased as the doctor came into view. He was so easy-going, that I kind of forgot that he was the first male doctor I had actually consulted with in recent years. It had been a rule for me, but good references and extreme situations had told ne that maybe Allah can put shifaa through him.

He quickly sent me to another room for a few in-house tests, and I took my phone out after, wondering if I should contact my husband so we could talk. Maybe we just both needed some closure on the whole issue. Maybe we needed to decide how to move forward.

I typed out the message as I waited for the nurse to come back and tell me I could leave, but she gestured for me to wait in another room for the doctor.

I was just slightly confused, but sat patiently, wondering if I should just rather call Mo. All sorts of thoughts of what the outcome of our marriage would be plagued me, and I forced myself to shove the thoughts out of my mind as the doctor came into view once again.

I needed to focus on what he was saying. Maybe, by some miracle, he would have a good prognosis. Maybe he could give me a little hope.

He asked a few more questions that I was sure he had asked me before, and I honestly wondered why this man was wasting my time again. I shifted slightly uncomfortably in my seat as he looked down at the paper once again, thinking that he was behaving slightly strangely. I just hoped that I didn’t have another problem on my hands.

I inwardly sighed, mentally preparing myself for the worst.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lookong easily at my frightful expression. He was probably used to scaring patients. “I just needed to double check. We need to know if you’re at risk for complications or not.”

At risk? 

I looked at him, even more confused.

“Doctor, what’s going on?” I said, my voice slightly shaky. “Is there nothing we can do?”

He smiled again, and I held my breath.

“There’s nothing that we need to do,” he said, raising his eyebrows at me.

I looked at him, frowning deeply. What did he mean?

I knew that strange things happen. Disease can suddenly fade away. Tumors can go missing. Cancer can disappear. Wounds can heal themselves.

It’s unexplained, and it’s rare, but it happens.

The professionals don’t like to believe miracles exist, but they do. They call it misdiagnosis; or something they never saw it in the first place. Something unexpected, or a medical mystery. Any explanation but the truth that there’s something greater than their complex diagnoses. That life is full of vanishing facts, and can change at any given moment, if we just believe.

Things happen. They can’t be explained… We can’t control them… But they do happen.

And that’s of course, where the Greatest Power comes in. Where faith comes in. Where our Deen comes in. Where we remember Who truly controls everything that happens.

Sometimes, the only thing you can do is stop. Stop thinking. Stop contemplating. Stop deliberating. Stop wondering. Just breathe, and believe that miracles really do exist.

“Ma’am,” he finally said breezily, putting his folder down on the desk. “I’ve seen your records, and from what you’ve told me, I’m sure this is nothing short of a miracle. Congratulations. You’re having a baby.”

---

Lots of Durood on thus Jumuah morning. I don’t usually post on a Friday but I’ve been meaning to post this for two days and it’s been a bit crazy. Request for Duaas.

Don’t forget our Super Sunnahs!

Beautiful Sunnah: 5 Sunnah in one action. SubhaanAllah!

The Sunnah way of drinking water:

1. Drink with the right hand. 
2. Drink whilst sitting
3. Say Bismillah before and Alhumdulillah after
4. Look into the glass when sipping
5. After 3 sips of drinking water, say Alhudulillah Wasshukru Lillah.

There are many bodily benefits to these Sunnah as well. Let’s try and practise regularly!

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

#RevivetheSunnahofEating

#RevivetheSunnahofDrinking

#Revive theSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofSmiling

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofDu’aas

Tweet: @ajourneyjournal

Back in Town: Nabeela

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

“Is she awake?”

I looked up to see my brother hovering over me, his hands stuffed into his pockets, while he gazed right into the book I was reading. He had a obnoxious look on his face, and I couldn’t help but find him a bit intrusive.

I shut my novel, looking at him and pursing my lips.

“She’s asleep,” I said indignantly, though I wasn’t really sure. “And even if she wasn’t… I don’t think she would want to see you.”

Raees pretended to be hurt, but I knew he wasn’t dissuaded so easily. He had been in his best spirits since yesterday morning, when the message about Zaynah being awake had come. The fact that she wasn’t fully able to remember everything didn’t really faze him.

“There’s something on your face,” he said, smirking slightly, and tapping his own cheek.

“Where?!” I said, immediately slightly alarmed.

I rubbed my cheeks incessantly, while Raees walked away, grinning to himself. I shook my head, rolling my eyes at the back of his head. He seriously needed to get a proper job, or something that activated his brain better.

Ugh. Brothers. They were so annoying. And there was something even more annoying about Raees, because he didn’t even try and stop his immature behaviour. He thought it was funny, but it really wasn’t.

I shook my head to myself, wishing silently that I was an only child. Hassan didn’t really bother me much, but Raees made up for the both of them. He was definitely a pain that wouldn’t go away.

“Where’s Waseem?”

“Uncle Waseem,” I corrected Hassan, wondering where he had come from. My father had taken him somewhere because we were a bit concerned about him making a racquet in the hospital waiting area. He was at the age where virtual technology was his only entertainment, and my parents were just a tiny bit concerned.

“Where is he?” Hassan persisted, his little face looking more impatient. He badly needed some friends. My parents should think of sending him to school early.

I shrugged, signalling for him to come sit next to me.

I wasn’t sure where Waseem was. I had seen him pacing around earlier, but since Zaynah didn’t want him around, I couldn’t help but feel his loss. Of course he would make himself scarce, right? Maybe he was gone home.

“Uncle Waseem is busy now,” I said, trying to explain that the man probably had bigger things to worry about than entertaining Hassan.

“Where’s Zaynah?” He asked, his attention diverted to something more complicated. “Can I see her? I miss her.”

I smiled, hugging my brother close to me, thinking how easy it was to be that age. When you are so blissfully oblivious to reality, and can just tune out of it whenever you want. It was great to be a kid.

“There’s he!” Hassan’s voice shouted, cutting through my baseless thoughts.

“Hmmm?” I said absently, wondering who he was talking about.

I looked up to see Hassan pointing out the hospital window, just catching Waseem handing over a cup of what looked like a hot drink to one of the guards. He chatted casually to him, as if they were actually good friends.

I was actually quite surprised.

Sometimes you don’t realise who is who until Allah reveals it to you. I knew it was probably his way of giving Sadaqah while he was here, since there weren’t really any other ‘less fortunate’ people around. I remember my Madrassah teacher once telling us about giving out Sadaqah and treating ailments and calamities with it. An everlasting Sadaqah was a deed that continues to benefit a person even after death, and so esteemed was the act of giving charity, that Allah Ta’ala mentions it in the Qur’an several times.

Basically, it’s like this: An opportunity to spend the wealth your Rabb gave you to bring great benefit to yourself… By benefitting others as well. By making someone else’s day. By bringing a smile to their face. By providing a morsel for their hungry mouths. On too of if all, giving charity is something that is also truly heart-softening, and of course, it is about Sadaqah that Allah mentions:

“Who is he that will lend to Allah a goodly loan so that He may multiply it to him many times? And it is Allah that decreases or increases (your provisions), and unto Him you shall return.” [Surah al-Baqarah: 245]

Spending in the Allah’s way is called “a beautiful loan”, and when this verse was revealed, Abu Ad-Dahdah Al-Ansari (RA) said:

`O Allah’s Messenger (SAW)! Does Allah ask us for a loan?’

Nabi SAW said, (Yes, O Abu Ad-Dahdah.) He said: `Give me your hand, O Allah’s Messenger’ and Nabi SAW placed his hand in his hand.

Abu Ad-Dahdah then said, `Verily, I have given my garden as a loan to my Lord.’

He had a garden that contained six hundred date trees; his wife and children were living in that garden too.

Abu Ad-Dahdah then went to his wife and called her:

`Umm Ad-Dahdah!’

She said: `Here I am.’

He said: `Leave the garden, because I have given it as a loan to my Lord, the Exalted and Most Honored.’

She said: `That is a successful trade, O Abu Ad-Dahdah!’ She then transferred her goods and children. The Messenger of Allah said: “How plentiful are the sweet date clusters that Abu Ad-Dahdah has in Paradise!” In another narration, the Prophet said: “How many a date tree that has lowered down its clusters, which are full of pearls and gems in Paradise for Abu Ad-Dahdah!” [Tafsir ibn kathir]

Hearing that hadith for the first time was like a shock to my senses. I mean, knowing me, if I had to be told that my home and source of provision was being given away in charity, I would probably throw a fit. But the spirit of the Sahaba (RA) was something else, and of course, it had taken a simple and noble deed from Zaynah’s husband to remind me of that.

The thing is, even though I had been previously semi-obsessed with him, who I hadn’t thought of in a few days now, I had always thought of the entire family as these stuck-up, elite people who looked down at everyone, and I just never expected anyone from the family to be considerate in that way. I guess it kind of made sense to me now why Zaynah was so obsessed with her husband. A change in perception was just what I needed at this point.

I sighed to myself, thinking about how I despised them, just because my obsession with him led nowhere. Of course, I spent pointless days and nights torturing myself over how he had chosen some modern girl over me, because I just would never be good enough, rich enough or fancy enough. I had spent sleepless nights wondering what it was about this girl that he even liked, that he had never even considered me.

But over the months, I had partially forced myself to forget, realising that he was probably well and progressing with life and marriage. I gradually shoved away the ridiculous thoughts of being whisked away into the sunset by the supposed ‘guy of my dreams’, because him already being married just didn’t mesh well with my idealist view of a future life.

And of course, when you get carried away with fantasising and Haraam feelings, you are bound to go a little crazy. I didn’t stop to think that maybe it was probably never on the cards for us. I didn’t think that maybe Allah might have a better plan for me, somewhere along the road. Zaynah was adamant that I needed to look into myself and my hostility, and she was right. I needed to just get over it, and get over him.

“Can I go?” Hassan was nagging, tugging at my Abaya. “Pleeeeaaassse!!”

I nodded numbly, not in the mood to explain to Hassan that the man was probably not really in the mood to entertain a five year old. Hassan scooted off at record speed, and I watched him tap Waseem from behind. Waseem immediately turned, and as he recognised him, greeted him affectionately, seating him at the bench next to them. The two of them were having a proper conversation, and I couldn’t help but wonder what they really spoke about. It wasn’t like Hassan was the best conversationist.

I wondered if he ever left the hospital, because both days I had been here, he seemed rooted to it’s foundation. He kept loitering outside the ward Zaynah was at, probably waiting for her to call him in. The problem was, she never did. She refused to even see him.fs

I sighed again, getting up to see my cousin as I saw my mother come out of the ward.

“You can go,” she said. “She’s awake. But don’t tell her anything that might upset her.”

I knew what that meant. Don’t mention her recent past, or married life. Don’t talk anout her doting husband, who was practically waiting with bated breath for her to remember him. Poor guy.

The doctors had suggested trying to jog her memory, but they also recommended not pushing her too much in case she started panicking about what she had forgot.

“How are you feeling?” Someone was asking her.

I walked in slowly, listening to her respond to my uncle who was already there to see her.

Zaynah said she was feeling a bit betted, but still groggy, and as she saw me, I saw her eyes light up slightly. It looked like she was glad that I was there. My spirits lifted.

She actually offered a slight smile today, nodding at me slightly. Seeing her the previous day was probably a bit of a shock to her, because besides the fact that she hadn’t seen me for a while before her accident, how she remembered me in her mind’s eye was completely different to what she saw.

“I can’t believe you look so different,” she said now, her eyes almost popping out of her head. “You look so grown up!”

She was probably still getting over the shock of the recent events that had to be retold to her.

Being back at home and in the farmtown lifestyle once again was a bit of a downer for me, but it also meant that I had to make a lot of decisions about my life, and what I wanted to do about it. Besides the usual hobbies I did with my family, I needed to start making some bigger decisions about my future and whether I was ready to get married. Sixteen was fairly young, but back home many girls started their married lives at that age and I supposed it wasn’t that bad. Maybe.

Besides, I supposed that I had grown up a little since a year ago. I knew this because I didn’t look at Zaynah’s in-laws with the same eye. Instead of rich, self-obsessed, irritating people, I realised that maybe they did truly care about my cousin. When I had to tell Zaynah’s mother-in-law yesterday that she probably might not recognise her, she actually looked genuinely devastated.

And now, as I saw Waseem hovering outside indefinitely, I realised that he probably did love Zaynah more than I had thought. He was moping around like his own life was at risk, and I couldn’t help but feel really sorry for him.

“We’ve missed you,” I said, smiling at her. I really did. Hearing Zaynah might not survive had killed my buzz for three whole weeks. I could barely even sleep, just thinking about what would happen if she had to die.

She nodded at me, smiling slightly.

“Everyone missed you,” I said, knowing that it was true. Especially her husband.

Zaynah looked away, still looking slightly displaced. Of course, she still looked like the amazing sister I always knew, but something about her was different. She looked unsettled. Uneasy.

“Is he still outside?”

Uh-oh.

I didn’t want to upset her, but she was the one asking about her husband, right?

“Zaynah,” I said, stepping forward and lowering my voice. No-one else was there, but I was being extra cautious.

“He hasn’t left,” I said, sitting on the high nurse stool next to her. “And I don’t think he will.”

Her expression changed, and I could see her shaking her head, whilst she blinked furiously. It honestly looked like she was about to have one of those breakdowns that I had become accustomed to in the past, and I really didn’t need that right now. She knew that I couldn’t deal with dramas, and I had no stash nearby.

“Don’t cry, Zay,” I pleaded with her, reaching out for her arm.

She shook her head, blinking back her tears and trying to stop her lip from trembling.

“I don’t know him!” She exclaimed, her hands flailing in the air. “I don’t even know who he is… Or why I married him! How can I just act like I do?”

It was heartbreaking to see her like this.

I understood her point. I did. But if only she remembered all the deliberating she had done, before she chose him. If only she could recall how he had just ‘got’ her, the first time they had met after Nikah. If only she could remember how viciously he loved her, in just less than a year of marriage.

I wished that his own memory and longing for her would fade too, because it was just too difficult to see this.

I swallowed, not knowing what to say back to her, and trying to stop myself from tearing up. Maybe she just needed some time, I comforted myself. Maybe she would remember.

“Sorry.”

The voice broke the formidable silence, and I spun around to see a slender girl standing at the entrance of the private ward Zaynah’s husband had arranged for her, shifting slightly uncomfortably on her high heeled shoes.

She wore a pinkish, long loose fitting top, and the ripped-look skinny jeans that were visible from the knee till just above her ankle. I had actually always thought that it looked kind of cool, but I had an idea that the Zaynah I knew would have never approved of the new Hijab fashion. Now I knew why. If kind of defeated the whole purpose if the ankles,wrists and neck were exposed.

I looked questioningly from ‘hijaabi’ chic to Zaynah, not knowing who would make the introduction first.

Obviously, Zaynah looked just as confused as I did, and just stared at her, as she wondered who this girl was.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again, taking a step forward, still looking slightly hesitant about coming in.

I looked at her expectantly.

“I just wanted to see Zaynah,” she said, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Maaf, but how do you know her?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m Farah,” she said, offering me a slight smile as she stepped forward. “I’m Ziyaad’s wife.”

---

Please don’t forget our Super Sunnahs!

Beautiful Sunnah!

Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) said:

“Nothing is worse than a person who fills his stomach. It should be enough for the son of Adam to have a few bites to satisfy his hunger. If he wishes more, it should be: One-third for his food, one-third for his liquids, and one-third for his breath.”

– Tirmidhi & Ibn Majah

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

#RevivetheSunnahofEating

#RevivetheSunnahofDrinking

#Revive theSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofSmiling

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofDu’aas

Tweet: @ajourneyjournal

Future Unknown

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

Waseem: The test...

At times, the unknown future changes so quickly and completely, that we’re left with only the option of what to do next. And that’s when we have to make a choice.

We can choose to be afraid of it… To stand all uncertain and trembling, assuming the worst that can happen… Or we step forward into the unknown with our hopes flying high, and assume it will be brilliant.

And through this, you understand that there are times in life when you are tested purely according to your capacity. Purely according to your ability to withstand it. At times, you are tested to limits that you would have never imagined before, and somehow, you still manage to make it through.

And yes, it’s a helluva load of sweat, blood and tears, but at the end of it all, you come to realised that maybe you really are stronger than you knew. Maybe you can face the storm. Maybe your inner being is mightier than the tornado that hasn’t yet come to cease.

And then, you realise that it’s no use burying your sorrows in the sand, or throw it up on someone else’s shoulders. It’s not going to help if you find refuge in anyone else. It will only relieve you to go to the place where you will find your Lord. It’s only befitting to find refuge in the place where your lips will kiss the ground.

Like it was a comfort to our Nabi (SAW), I finally found the refuge, and there was no other time that I had realised that, than the time when I needed Him the most.

When I sat on my Musallah, and faced the One who always remained, then only did my entire being feel at ease. When I let that ‘Allahu Akbar’ echo within my very body and soul, to realise that there truly is no other strength and power besides what He can offer me. It was a moment I truly found Him. A moment I found what I had lost. A moment I had found the gold.

Sometimes we walk around in frightful oblivion, until a major obstacle comes to set us immediately back on track. On our heedless journey, Allah places a trial which is precisely what turns us back to our purpose. There comes, sometimes, an unprecedented occurrence that finally gets us to find our true purpose once again. To focus, yet again.

Focus, I chided myself, just trying to contain the anxiety that was bubbling within.

What was wrong with me?

Instead of the calmness I expected, seeing Zaynah again, as if it was the first time ever, was making me feel like I was a newly wed. I remembered the feeling of being a stranger to her once again, like the first few days we were married… And I couldn’t help but always feel on edge when I was around her.

At that time, it was like I was in awe of this woman who had somehow completed my life, and I was waiting for the whole fairytale to suddenly just end. It was like I was just waiting for her to find out about my big, dark secrets, and discover what a degenerate human being I had always been.

Obviously, she would run for the hills.

“Waseem.”

I could almost still hear how her voice had called out, all those months ago. The first time she had actually called out to me. I immediately straightened up, caught a little unaware.

I could clearly still remember the last day of our early marital getaway, and I could see she had warmed up to me, instead of blushing and always feeling uncomfortable with me around.

I  cracked my fingers as she had sat next to me, looking at me without moving her eyes away, like for the first time ever. I was so glad.

“Jhee, sweets,” I replied, wondering what she was thinking about as we both sat there looking out onto the spectacular view. Of course, it was gorgeous out there, but seeing my wife lifted my spirits in a way that nothing else could.

She looked back at me, a slight smile forming on her slightly flushed face, and asked me the exact question I wanted to ask her.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, looking slightly inquisitive.

I grinned, shaking my head. Not because of her words, but because what I had been thinking was actually quite unbelievable.

“I’m thinking….” I started, breathing out and biting my lip slightly nervously.

I was barely ever so aware of myself, but under her scrutiny, I couldn’t help it.

“That I’m very lucky,” I finally said. “Because you haven’t run away as yet.”

She giggled softly, and I smiled back.

“Why would I do that?” she said, looking perfectly innocent in her question.

She really had no idea. I could already see that she was on an entirely different spiritual level, and she still wondered why I kept questioning it.

I had to just tell her. I had to let out my fears.

“You don’t know who I really am,” I said, shaking my head and looking away.

I could feel her looking at me, but I didn’t dare look back.

“Maybe I don’t want to know,” she said softly, and I looked up at her questioningly. She had a slight frown on her face.

“You don’t know the real me either,” she said, winking at me, and trying to lighten the moment.

I chuckled, knowing that she was only teasing.

“But what we do know,” she said, her face turning serious again, “is that before this… Our paths have crossed, more than once.”

I looked at her, remembering the first time I had seen her, over the barrier fence.

At a time when everything in my off-track life had felt so empty, it was sure sign that I was been shown whatever I had asked for. I spoke to Allah about her, and I’m sure she had asked Him for me. So, of course, eventually, our paths had collided… And of course, after much hanging onto from my part, our once separate journeys eventually became one. That was the way Allah had planned it.

I looked at her, and I couldn’t help but smile at her expression now. So grave, yet she looked so sincere as she spoke next.

“I know you sometimes think about your past,” she said, looking at me openly, for the first time. “And I don’t know much about it. But I’ve thought about it… And I truly understand and believe that your past, is your past. I don’t need to know what you’ve done, whose hands you’ve held, or who you’ve been with. I only care about your today… And if I have your tomorrow… And if Allah Ta’ala is at the centre of it all… Then we know that we move forward together… To the future.”

And of course, like she knew exactly what I was dreading, my fears were completely eased by her words, because I knew that she meant them with every ounce within her. She had a right to dissect every bit of my dark history, but she chose not to.

And as we progressed in our marriage, I didn’t have to worry about anything, as we moved forward. That’s what made our love increase. It’s said that loving for the sake of Allah Ta’ala is the fastest way to gain Wilayat. When the Friends of Allah Ta’ala (Ahlullah) begin to see someone with an eye of affection, then this is a sign that, one day, this person will become a Wali of Allah Ta’ala, or will at least repent before death, and be raised from amongst those whose repentance was accepted.

More than anything, rather than her overlooking my faults, she had plain bowled me over by the mere fact that she had opened her heart to me, and let me in. I actually couldn’t believe that she had done me this great favour. It was an doorway to the unlimited treasures that our Lord always promised.

“Bha,” a voice said, back in the present, catching me slightly unawares.

I turned to see Riyaadh’s crooked smile as he stretched out his hand, greeting me with affection. They came often, but I didn’t expect to see them here at this part of the morning. We had grown quite close as a result, and I was glad to see his face here. I’m sure that they must have been called in as well, to be updated on Zaynah’s condition.

I swallowed, just slightly disappointed that I wasn’t the first to see my wife. Zakiyya was her sister after all. I should just stop acting so stupid and meet my wife.

I paused, wanting to know more before I headed there. I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect.

“Is she… Okay?” I asked, needing some information before I actually took the plunge and met her..

“Zakiyya’s been there for a few minutes,” he replied, frowning slightly. “I think they’re talking…. Or trying to…”

He didn’t elaborate further, but edged me on

I nodded, slightly relieved. If she was having a conversation, then it was probable that she was actually okay. I knew that there would probably be difficulty in her speech and maybe  slight disorientation, but I was positive that my wife would be fine. I was certain that I wouldn’t be completely disappointed.

I told him I would catch him later, slowly building up my spirits and courage to face what would be the most anticipated few moments of my life.

I went in to the ward, unfazed by nurses fussing around, and the early morning buzz. I could see Zaynah’s sister catch a glimpse of me, and she got up, looking down at the bed while she said something. My wife still wasn’t visible to me as I slowly treaded forward, finally turning the corner to glimpse the black burkah that she had been wearing all this time. I could see a pipe in her nose, but to my relief, the other ones seemed to be removed. I was already on cloud nine, knowing that it could only get better from here.

I looked at her, actually not able to take my eyes off her for that time, realising that it was like she was coming alive for me again after all these weeks. Like she was a completely new person once again.

It was only when I got closer, did I realise that while I was focussed on my own relief, I barely noticed the looks of anxiety that were in her face. She seemed completely perplexed by my mere presence, and I looked questioningly at her, trying to offer her the most comforting smile I could.

“Zaynah,” I said softly, unexpected tears forming in the corner of my eyes.

Instead of what I expected, all I saw was Zaynah shaking her head at me, trying to muster up the strength to say something. I knew that she couldn’t respond well. I knew that talking was probably difficult for her, but I was aching to hear her voice.

I reached out for her to offer some support, but I immediately saw her stiffen, amidst her rapid breathing. Although Zakiyya was trying to leave us alone, telling her that she would be back, Zaynah was clinging onto her like there was no tomorrow.

I looked up at her sister questioningly, wondering why my wife was turning away. Her whole body was in a sort if panic, and I could see her trying to hide herself from me, as if she just wanted me to leave her alone.

Of all the things I expected, I definitely didn’t expect this.

What was going on?

A few seconds later, between slight gasps of breath, she finally managed to use her voice. The shivers ran through my body as I realised exactly what was going on, and my heart sank to somewhere below my knees. Zaynah’s next words sent me into complete oblivion. My future just seemed like an entirely unfathomable concept, as she spoke.

“Please t-tell him to l-leave,” she finally uttered, still not even offering me a simple glance.

“I don’t know who he is.”

---

Dear readers. Please make maaf for the delay in posting, as there was a family emergency. Request for special Duaas to heal all our loved sick ones.

Please don’t forget our Super Sunnahs!

Beautiful Sunnah 

Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) said:

“Nothing is worse than a person who fills his stomach. It should be enough for the son of Adam to have a few bites to satisfy his hunger. If he wishes more, it should be: One-third for his food, one-third for his liquids, and one-third for his breath.”

– Tirmidhi & Ibn Majah

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

#RevivetheSunnahofEating

#RevivetheSunnahofDrinking

#Revive theSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofSmiling

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofDu’aas

Tweet: @ajourneyjournal

Expectation

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

Expectations. We all have them. We all cling onto them.

We all think that everything will be okay, get better, or even be amazing. And of course, with expectation, we feel a little bit robbed when our expectations aren’t met. We feel like we were cheated when it all falls short of what we wanted.

The expected is what we live for, and what we sometimes never think beyond. It moulds us and shapes us. The expected is just what keeps us steady… standing… still.

But with expectation, also comes hope. And with hope, is desire. Desire for what we want, and desire for what we feel we need. And desire is what can drive us, but a desire can  also destroy us. It can slowly kill every ounce of what is within us, even when we think that we are immune to the effects.

Only then, do we come to realised the reality of it all. That life is really not about who’s who, and what they can get you. That the best things are really not the most expensive ones. And that money, really and truly, cannot buy happiness.

I had seen it time and time again, in my journey, despite what I had been brought up to believe.

By having everything of the best as we grew up, Dad had always taught me that I could fill any gap in my life, with a click of a button or swipe of a card. He had made me believe that life was only about what you get… And seldom about what you make of it. But now, while he lay in his bed, his legs refusing to work despite doctors from all over the world trying to figure it out, I think he had finally seen the truth.

And of course, while I sat, wondering what had gone wrong in my life, I realised that this life really wasn’t about stuff.

And eventually, when I got serious about turning my life around, and focussed on the right ‘stuff’, then I could understand.

As it came to the ‘silly season’ once again, I remembered where I had been a year ago, and I couldn’t help but feel eternally grateful that I had been removed from that dark place. That the temporary, out-of-synch feeling had been eradicated. That I had taken the ‘world’ partially out of my life. That I had amended my focus for this journey. That I had gained a little bit of intelligence as I grew through my probably failed marriage.

The advices from the previous Friday’s bayaan came back to me, reminding me of what I needed to focus on for the next few weeks. To kill the urge to get out there with the gang. To keep to myself even when I felt like a complete alien in my friend group. To attain the true salvation that our beloved Nabi (SAW) had told us about.

Uqbah bin ‘Amir (May Allah be pleased with him) said:

I asked the Messenger of Allah (ﷺ), “How can salvation be achieved?” He replied, “Control your tongue, keep to your house, and weep over your sins.”
[At-Tirmidhi].

We looked for it all over, but the simple recipe was right within our reach, yet we do everything not to abide. I hoped that I could reach that stage. I first needed to put Salaah back as the priority—before smoking, work, fun and ball games.

I also knew I needed to work on my tongue, and sincerely make some thorough tawbah… But staying indoors might actually hit the spot for me. Maybe I might actually get some sleep.

“Do you ever sleep?”

What a question. 

I turned to see Waseem staring at me. I had missed him at Fajr Salaah, leaving quickly after the Jamaat was over. He was now looking at me like I was some kind of alien being.

Well, I didn’t blame him. I was in the kind of exact position that I had been in last night, reclining on the chair on my balcony, now watching the sun slowly try and find it’s way out again.

“I can ask you the same question,” I said blandly.

Waseem looked like he barely slept either, and when he was here, I could hear him shuffling around the house the entire night. Lucky the section that my parents were in was completely isolated, else they would probably get freaked out by our nocturnal activities.

“Habit I got into,” he said, shaking his head. “And just as my body gets tired… My mind can’t stop thinking about how Zaynah was always adamant about never sleeping through Tahajjud. She was like a rebel to sleep at those times.”

Tahajjud. It was like a foreign concept to me. I probably had read it once or twice on the odd occasion, but even with my insomnia, and worries consuming my mind, I had actually forgotten that at that part of the night, when it unveils it’s curtains, the connection between a worshipper and his Lord is sublime.

Besides the fact that the Du’aa at Tahajjud time is like an arrow that never misses it’s target, even as I lay in my bed in an attempt to catch a few winks of sleep, I knew that even simple Dhikr at that time was like gold. I just hadn’t fully realised the benefit of that time until Waseem brought it to my attention once again.

And of course, even from Fajr, to stay awake till after Ishraaq (sunrise) and offer the two rakaats Nafl is like attaining the reward of Hajj.

Stupid, I berated myself, shaking my head.

All this time I was busy mourning Farah’s loss, and thinking about her last words to me, when I should have been focussing my thoughts elsewhere. Like her drunk guy at the club line, Farah’s words had  a way of sticking with me, and I couldn’t help but feel like a fool when I remembered how she had literally baled on us last week.

“I don’t need this,” she had said, when I had asked her what she was going on about. It was like I was begging her to stay in the marriage. “I’n a grown woman. My life is my life. All this stuff about following Deen and that… We can’t be so hectic, Zee! I need a break.”

She looked at me with hostility, and I could see tears in her eyes again.

What the hell was with her? She was kicking me out.

“I just can’t take this pressure,” she finally said, looking up at me again, sniffling away dramatically. Her eye make-up was smudging and I was so glad. “I want to go out. I enjoy people’s company. It’s not like I get much conversation at home, so why can’t I have friends? You have no idea what it’s like to be in a marriage that feels like a prison.”

Sheesh. Guilt trips, anyone?

A prison? Is that what our marriage was for her?

I knew that I was letting up too soon, despite promising myself that I would fight for us, but I didn’t need to be made to feel like I was some kind of ward. I wasn’t her care taker or some kind of security guard, and I hated to feel like that. I mean, I had some dignity at least.

I shook my head, completely speechless. I had no idea that she even had such strong feelings about us. I had no idea that she was close to writing us off. From the inception of the entire Haraam relationship, I wished that I could just re-do it. The illicit intimacy. The obvious Haraam at our reception. The battles we fought just trying to stay afloat.

I wished that we hadn’t been so misguided in the past. I wished that I wouldn’t have to see the ugly consequences of my thoughtless actions now.

Damn adolescent hormones. Who knew that it was so overrated?

“Last week, I thought that you were finished,” Waseem said now, breaking through my thoughts as he spoke. “I thought you had drug issues again. I didn’t realise that your married life was messed up. I wish I could have helped. Maaf, bru.”

I turned to Waseem and smiled meekly, shaking my head.

“No stress,” I said to him, still half smirking. “The thought crossed my mind a lot. Boet, I even almost dialled the dealer a few times. But something always stopped me.”

“Taqwa,” Waseem said simply, as if he knew exactly what my battles were.

I shook my head. I wished I was on that level that I could actually be recognised as even remotely pious.

I mean, my brother had probably been in the same position once or twice. I wondered if he ever looked back? If he ever battled with the cravings that I did.

He had gotten lucky when he got a wife who kept him on track, and I wondered if I would ever score the same way. Or did I give up on Farah too soon?

“You think you’ll get married again?” I asked, not even thinking properly about what I was asking Waseem.

He looked like I had struck him, as he swallowed, and processed what I said.

I mean, I didn’t want to be the one to say it, but my big mouth was a bit  of an over-kill.

I had to work on the guarding my tongue issue.

“I dunno about you, bru,” I said, quickly trying to lighten the mood. “But I need a vrou. I can’t keep eye-balling the chics like this… It’s just not healthy.”

Waseem displayed a shadow of a smile, and I looked at him, raising my eyebrows.

“You think I’m a good catch?” I asked seriously, and I could hear him chuckling to himself.

Dammit, it was good to see the owe laugh. Even if it was for a few seconds. He badly needed to cool off, and stop stressing. I wondered if he ever stopped thinking.

“I miss her,” he said softly, after a few minutes, his smile fading again. “Like all the time.”

I looked at him, wondering what he really was going through all this time. I knew I had always been the selfish type, but it shocked me to think that for the past week I had been living in the same house with him, but I had been so self-absorbed to even ask if he was cool. I was actually a little sickening.

My problems were nothing compared to his. What I saw in Waseem’s eyes were completely foreign to me.

Yeah, I was hurt by everything that had happened, and I really felt battered around… But what I saw in him was pure… Pure loss.

“I feel like I’m floating,” he said. “Until this ends. And then I’ll know what to do. If she wakes up, I know that at least life can get back to normal, and I’ll be completely over the moon. But if she doesn’t…”

He trailed off, and I couldn’t look at his face.

If she had to die, I knew it would be like Waseem’s world was crashing. His love was a different kind. I wasn’t sure if I would ever know how that felt, because love and Deen had always been separate entities for me. I had never learnt about loving someone purely for the sake of Allah, but I knew that he had. I knew that his wife had made him the best kind of person that he could be. If he had never seen her from over the fence, he would have probably been aimlessly scoring chics, with no conscience at all. Hell, if he hadn’t seen Zaynah, we probably would have all been even more messed up than we were.

He paced his own balcony as he ran his hand through his hair unconsciously, eyeing the horizon as the sun shone on us. I watched my brother carefully. No matter what, he was always on top of the game, and it was only due to the fact that he probably had great genes. On the other hand, I knew that any crap I went through made me look like some kind of war-torn victim. It was actually slightly unfair, because now I knew that he wasn’t even interested in scoring another wife.

I shook my head to myself, smirking slightly as I watched him pace. He finally settled, and we sat in silence on our separate ends of our neighbouring balconies, just watching the buzz of traffic beginning in the gated community.

Who knew how long we would have sat there, if it wasn’t for the vibration of Waseem’s phone laying on the table. He picked up the phone and scanned it, frowning slightly as he studied the ID, almost looking hesitant about answering.

“Hello,” he said, almost nervously, running his hands through his beard, and watching me with a certain fear in his icy eyes. I frowned at him, wondering why he was so on edge.

“Yes,” he said expectantly into his phone, biting his lips nervously. I leaned forward, trying to catch an idea of who was at the other end.

His eyes suddenly widened, but he didn’t say anything. He silently slid the phone down to his lap, and looked up at me, almost like he was seeing an alien once again. Actually, this time it was a bit freakier. Now he actually looked like he had seen a ghost.

“What?” I had to ask, now frightfully curious about what was going on.

He shook his head at me, raising his eyebrows slightly,  blinking at me blindly.

“Zee,” he almost whispered.

I think his voice was caught somewhere between his oesophagus and tongue.

He cleared his throat, still looking baffled and slightly freaked out.

Expectations. We all have them. We all cling onto them.

We all think that everything will be okay, get better, or even be amazing. We all think we’re going to be great.

And of course, with expectation, we feel a little bit robbed when our expectations aren’t met. We feel like we were cheated when it all falls short of what we wanted.

But, sometimes, our expectations sell us short. Sometimes, the expected simply pales in comparison to the unexpected.

The unexpected… Is what changes our lives.

“That was someone from the hospital,” Waseem said simply, looking like he finally grew the guts to get up. He grabbed his phone, stuffing it into his kurtah pocket.

“They say that Zaynah’s woken up.”

---

Please don’t forget our Super Sunnahs!

Beautiful Sunnah 

Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) said:

“Nothing is worse than a person who fills his stomach. It should be enough for the son of Adam to have a few bites to satisfy his hunger. If he wishes more, it should be: One-third for his food, one-third for his liquids, and one-third for his breath.”

– Tirmidhi & Ibn Majah

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

#RevivetheSunnahofEating

#RevivetheSunnahofDrinking

#Revive theSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofSmiling

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofDu’aas

Tweet: @ajourneyjournal