A Wake Up Call

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 21

Mohsina

Often what makes us fall into despair is focusing on the wrong things. As it often happened, in my warped state of mind, when I was in trying situations, my mind tricked me into doing things that I knew were never going to benefit me, but regardless of that knowledge, still sucked me in.

And I knew I got it all wrong. And many of us do get it wrong a lot of the time. When we’re feeling a little broken, instead of focusing on the one who can fix us, we focus on the break. Instead of focusing on ar- Rahman, the Most Merciful, we focus on our sin. When we’re in pain, instead of focusing on the One who removes pain, we dwell in the pain. In this way, when dealing with problems of this Duniya, we focus on this life, but not the perfection of Allah Ta’ala. All of our pain, our despair, our heartache… is only because we focus on creation, instead of the Creator Himself. Sometimes we have to check where our heart is at and I knew that I had some serious introspection to do. I just couldn’t drag myself out of my rut yet. Sometimes we needed a wake up call to pull us out.

And as I sat on the bench, waiting for more feedback about just father, while Ma and Nani sat diligently reading their Yaaseen, there I was, flipping the camera on my phone, taking a picture of the clinical tiles of the hospital, convinced that it was just the diversion I needed.

This needed some live footage. Plus, this was a real drama. My father was actually not critical anymore, but he was still under observation and so with the pressure easing, a quick post and update was just what I needed. I had initially posted in my stories, requesting duaas, asking for prayers… hoping and praying fervently that Papa would be okay when emotions were at their most overwhelming  .. but now that the wait and desperation was over, I knew that a good soppy post and dedication would be just the thing to fix me… right?

”What are you doing?” Jameela asked, looking slightly annoyed as she saw me tapping away.

By the time I reached the hospital, Jameela had given me the news that Papa was stable. It was a relief, of course, but it didn’t mean that Papa was in the safe zone. The doctors were running some tests and we’d know for sure in the morning if he would have to ubdergo an op or not. Ma and Nani were having dhikr-reading marathons and using their WhatsApp groups for the best while I fulfilled my own attention cravings.

“Catching up on Insta,” I replied indifferently. In my mind, it wasn’t even flagged as a a problem. I continued to type.

You always encouraged me to pursue my dreams.

You taught me that there is no substitute for hard work.

You told me to fly and I knew I could do it.
My Papa, my hero. The one who motivated me. Who helped me to get where I am today.

I love you so much and wish you the speediest recovery so that we can have you here, edging us on again. Can’t imagine life without you 💔

It was a great post and it captured my emotions perfectly, but something was missing. There was just something about social media… something that devalued the dedication… and the truth was that it just didn’t make sense because Papa wouldn’t ever see it because he didn’t have Instagram and didn’t really care much about social media.

But, that wasn’t the point. It was my refuge. I was feeling pretty battered. Broken and tired and all sorts of stressed out. Social media and people had always been my answer, my refuge and my solution, no matter what situation I found myself in. Although I had improved in some aspects, it was still very much a part of my life. Sometimes someone’s comment or words of motivation would just kind of hit home for me. Maybe someone’s DM would inspire me. But today… well today, I wasn’t sure what it was but it seemed like nothing was working.

Jameela was still throwing me weird glances as I typed away, but I didn’t care. It was easy for her to act all righteous and judgemental. She didn’t have the responsibility of work and a career and having to deal with annoying people every day. She didn’t have to come home from a long day and feel the need to zone out of reality for a bit.

I respected her for way of doing things (even her weird ideas that she was convinced about) and she needed to respect mine. My sister and I were complete opposites in terms of our coping mechanisms. Often, she would assess things quietly and then talk them through, while often for me, I would say nothing to anyone but almost everything on social media. It was my way of dealing, but this incident was testing my limits… just a little.

I sighed as I finished my long post about the past hour, sitting here, full of anxiety and slightly exaggerating how we were dealing with it, when Jameela spoke, sounding relieved.

“There’s Layyanah,” Jameela said, and I glanced up as I saw my friend and entering with her hand over her little baby bump. I was already swooning. She was so cute. “And Liyaket’”

I didn’t think they’d come. But wait, who told them?

But it didn’t matter because as I glanced again, I instantly felt a little better as I saw them … and then a few seconds later, Hamzah was following, entering behind them both.

And I did a little double take because Hamzah was wearing a light-coloured kurta and prayer hat which shocked me, but then I kind of figured that he had probably left mosque and rushed here. He had these Thursday night programmes that he had started attending that were part of his whole new journey and it was quite inspiring. Well, in theory.

For a moment my resolve weakened and I felt like crumbling, knowing that I could finally offload onto someone.

“Hey doll, Salaam,” Layyanah was already in front of me and I got up, allowing her to wrap her arms around me so I could bury my face into her shoulder, even if it was just for a few moments of comfort and salvation, while I attempted to gain my composure once again.

I had to admit, even for me given the situation, it was extremely difficult to keep it together, because at that moment, even though my father was stable for now, all the possibilities that had overwhelmed me were still very much playing on my mind. I had become all kinds of snotty and emotional for a few minutes as I drove home, breaking previous records for tissue consumption and really just going all out this time.

To tell the truth, I really could not bear the thought of life without my father. My life would be crumbling if that thought was a reality…

I greeted Hamzah briefly, a little surprised that he had come, and I could see something on his mind, but he could see Ma and Nani watching him and expecting his attention instead. And I ignored the idea of something being amiss because we weren’t married or anything and it wasn’t exactly important to me but as he passed me, going over to greet them, I could see the hurt in his eyes as he unmistakably shook his head at me.

I swallowed hard, not quite sure how to deal. He seemed upset. Disappointed. Why though, I didn’t understand.

And maybe I wanted him to say something. I mean, I was demented like that. I liked a challenge. Someone who questioned me. Disagreed with me. Pointed out my faults and fought it out. I was a unique kind of crazy but he said nothing and then went back to where Liyaket was while Layyanah stood with me for a while before the doctor came, asking simple questions about what happened and making small talk.

She was just there to comfort me but the cold shoulder from Hamzah was very palpable. After speaking to my brother he had briefly greeted Nani and Ma and left. He had basically come for them, not me. And that was okay. Who cared? 

“What’s Hamzah’s deal?” I asked Layyanah, seeing them getting ready to leave too. Layyanah just shrugged and said something about him finding out about my father’s condition from his sister, and told me she’ll chat to me later again.

And of course I didn’t want to keep her and give her my pathetic explanation, so instead, I knew just the person to bug.

And when I plopped down next to Jameela again, I was all aggro and annoyed because I obviously felt like he was overreacting and I was pretty fussed up and l let Jameela know just that.

”Can you believe Hamzah?” I said, clearly miffed. “Acting all holier than thou and then getting fussed up like I owe him something? I’m the one whose supposed to be having a tragedy here. What is his deal even?!”

Jameela glanced at me, almost as if she was unsure of what to say. Or whether she should say it.

”What?” I said, frowning. “Stop giving me that look.”

What I didn’t know was that my sister was just a little less tactful in telling me exactly what I needed to know when I did.

”You told Instagram before anyone else,” she said pointedly. “You do know that? It’s like those people who find out their family member passed away via a broadcast or WhatsApp status. Do you even know how that feels? A private and personal thing that happened… maybe you could have let him know some other way?”

I scowled. She was on his side, duh.

”Did you even tell Layyanah?”

Layyanah? What did Layyanah have to do with this? Everything was okay. Papa was going to be okay. And I didn’t get it.

“Think about how they feel,” she said. “How we feel too. It’s my father… a family matter… and you put it out there for all your followers who know nothing about our lives to see. I messaged Layyanah. She said Hamzah wanted to come but not on his own, so he asked them to come too. You should be happy someone cares about your family as much to actually come and check. He even spoke to the doctor, do you even know that?”

After a few minutes that I realised how stupid I was and how I kept on putting myself in the bush over and over again. I could share the entire details with the social media world, give them the time of day, be so open and divulging where no one truly cared… but for the people who did care… well, I didn’t care two hoots about telling them.

“We have so much to make shukar for,” she continued, sounding like she was about to launch into a Bayaan. “Ma was just saying that it could have been an instant life-changing event. We lucky it’s just a warning. To make shukar to Allah is the least we can do… by being obedient and thanking him.. by recognising what part He played here to make it all turn out okay. I suppose we all have to make changes in our life.”

I knew she was hinting at my social media obsessions and it was a low blow. I didn’t even tell Layyanah. Who was I even looking for what from?

But now I was feeling guilty. Terrible, in fact.

What I didn’t know was that hardships were not meant to overcome, blinded, just to cross the bridge and get it done with. It turns out that hardships, trials, difficulties… Allah places at certain points in our life when we need Him most, and so we could turn to Him. And yes, I was trying to be better recently. Choosing Allah’s pleasure above my leisure. Weaning myself off Netties. Trying not to be so obsessed with reels.
But the fact was that when we choose Allah, when we become closer to Him, when we put Him above everything else, when we submit… it wasn’t always an easy life that we were promised. And the story of Umm Habibah (RA), wife of the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) was one that always stuck with me, when I thought of how sacrificing everything for Allah’s pleasure often didn’t bring you immediate rewards. Sometimes we have to toil, endure and wait a little longer before we see the fruits we reap through our patience.

Umm Habibah (RA) was one of the emigrants along with her husband, Ubaidullah ibn Jahsh, who was the first cousin of Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam). To her misfortune, Ubaidullah, for some reason or another, took to drinking, and converted to Christianity.
Thus, Umm Habibah had to suffer not only separation from her home and family at Makkah, but she also suffered alienation from a beloved husband. Yet, as a courageous believer, she bore all these difficulties with patience and perseverance, finding solace in the freedom she enjoyed along with the other emigrants in Abyssinia under the protection of Emperor Negus who was an open-minded Christian.

And though this was far from easy, Allah is never unaware of the difficulties of His beloved slaves. He saw to her needs, and honoured her not only by being asked in marriage to Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi was Sallam) but she was also honored by having the Emperor of Abyssinia himself proxy suitor. Her marriage was unique and one of its kind, and Allah Ta’ala beautifully elevated her status through it.

It was a sound reminder for me that when you choose Deen and you put Allah first and look for your solutions with what Allah has ordained, though things may seem difficult and trying, there is always a perfect ending that Allah has prepared for his righteous slaves.

And okay, I got her point. Maybe I was trying to dilute my emotions by drowning them in social media. Perhaps I wasn’t dealing with this in the best way. Yes, it was hurtful what I did, I supposed, but sometimes I just didn’t think. My heart was bursting with emotion. On one side was my father and my family, the one part of my life that had been constant and always there, whether social media featured or not, and then there was Hamzah, this new addition that I was still trying to figure out exactly where he belonged.

And as Jameela got talking to some lady next to us, I knew that the only way to break away and set this right was to stash my phone for now and make my presence felt. Going up to where my fathers ward was, I took a little detour, taking time to think and hoping they would let me in. The hospital wasn’t especially fancy. It had good doctors and their nurses were said to be pretty decent.

I walked through a deserted corridor, slowly looking around, taking in the clinical decor with a dash of colour here and there. The medical ward where Papa was, was about two rows down, and as I passed a middle aged Muslim man with a bulge under his shirt, I didn’t even think much of it, as another guy followed behind.

“Her!” The man shouted. “It’s her. The daughter! Get her!”

It took a split second after for me to realize it was the man in front that was signalling to the one behind, and before I even knew what was going on, the man behind was already slap-bang in my  path, instantly pushing and slamming me hard against the wall behind me whilst covering my mouth with his sweaty palm. I was frozen with panic, gagging as the combination of his body odour and stench of cigarette breath overwhelmed me. My scarf was shifting as he held me, and I felt myself trying to reach to cover my hair at least, as the man held me even more fiercely, but it was no use. I felt paralysed with fear.

“Scream and I’ll shoot you,” he muttered in a raspy breath, as I felt the tip of a handgun press into my rib-cage and my breath quickened substantially. I honestly could not believe what was happening, as tried to look frantically around for someone to help.

How could I be all alone in a public place? Except for the two men, the floor was absolutely deserted.

As panic rose within me, I tried with all my might to break free and run, but he was already onto me, and I was like a trapped rabbit. The guy was too strong and savage, pinning me even harder as he felt me struggle, and before I knew it, I was shoved into a side door and we were going down an emergency staircase that was even more isolated than the hospital corridor.

This was it. No one would hear me here and I could feel the tears streaming down my face as I thought of my parents, family and friends, not knowing what these two disgusting men were probably going to subject me to, or where I was going. Not knowing if they would hurt me, kill me or kidnap me… I knew that this had to do with money but I didn’t want to accept my fathers current predicament until now. There were too many fears that had been confirmed, yet too many questions marks. This was the last straw for them and I knew that these people were brutal enough to get what they wanted by any means, even if it meant hurting someone to get it.

Never in my wildest dreams had I ever thought of this happening to me. I had been so caught up in a world that was so far from reality. Sheltered by my privilege. Delusional by illusion. Unaware of how my situation could change in a split second, if I didn’t watch where I was headed… and that was precisely how it was going down.

Life was taking a deliberately sickening twist and it was an awakening that was going to blow things way out of proportion…

Nothing was ever going to be the same again.

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It’s been a bit quiet and I’m sure everyones been busy… hope to hear from readers soon..

Thoughts on Mohsina? Is a wake up call necessary and will it help?

look forward to reading your thoughts…🤍

 

A xx

Mission Sunnah Revival:

Sunnah of Making Salaam

It’s common nowadays that even when seeing other Muslims out and about, people are hesitant to greet. Let’s try and bring back this beautiful Sunnah and reignite the love ❤️

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

٤ جمادى الأولى

Hazrat أنس رضى الله تعالى عنه narrates that he passed by some children, so he greeted them (made Salaam) and he said: رسول الله صلى الله تعالى عليه وسلم used to do so (greet children).

(Bukhaaree Shareef/Muslim Shareef)

Greeting children inculcates humility, and at the same time, teach children the importance of offering Salaam.
It creates love and affection in hearts.
If there is fear of lust, by greeting a pretty girl or handsome lad, then one should refrain.

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

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