When there is still Hope

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 42 

Mohsina

In one of the most significant events in his history, after the death of our Nabi (Sal- lallaho alaihe wasallam), people of weak Imaan, especially among wandering Arabs, began to desert their faith and become renegades.

And it was the perfect opportunity for Musailamah- the false Prophet- to take advantage of the situation and cause a large number of people to fall a prey to his seduction. It was at this point that Abu Bakr (Radhiyal- laho anho) decided to put a stop to this onslaught on Islam.

And so, a fierce battle was fought, and with the help of Allah, Musailamah was killed. Unfortunately, along with him, a good number of Sahabah, including many Huffaz, lost their lives. It was after this battle, Hadhrat Umar (Radhiyallaho anho) went to Hadhrat Abu Bakr(Radhiyal- laho anho), immensely worried, and asked him to start compiling the Qur’ān into a book.

About this task, it was said by Zaid bin Thaabit (Radiallaho Anho):

Zaid (Radhiyallaho anho) says:
“By Allah, if Abu Bakr (Radhiyallaho anbo) had asked me to shift a mountain from one place to another, it would not have been so hard for me as the compilation of the Qur’an. I said, ‘How do you both dare to take up a thing which was not done by the Prophet (Sallallaho Alaihi Wa Sallam)
They explained to me their point till Allah made the truth dawn on me, and I also was convinced of the importance of the task. I then started going to the people and collecting the Qur’an from those who had written it and from those who had learnt it by heart, till the final collection was ready.”

Just recalling that, had made my heart shudder. Not one could imagine what may have occurred, if these esteemed sahabaah had not executed this ardent task, 

And for me, I often wondered, at that point in my life, where I’d hoped to never lose the connection… how the Glorious Quráan suddenly meant so much to me. And while I stumbled across it’s amazement, the reason for my preoccupation with the beautiful words of my Creator was much more clearer. I mean, it’s well known that if those words were to be placed on a mountain, then that very mountain would crumble due to its sublime weight. Why not then, you may ask, can it not penetrate even the most dead and obstinate of hearts? 

You see, because of Quráan that Nabi (SAW) could cope with the trauma in his life. He found answers in their verses. When his patience may have worn thin, he was reminded that Allah loved the patient. When pangs of hunger struck his blessed stomach, he was reminded of the provisions of Jannah. When anxiety struck him, he was reminded of the sunrise and what is going to come after the darkness. It reminded him that there is still hope.

And for me too, it brought for me a whole new world of promise. There’s something about new beginnings, and the promise that every day brings, that speaks right to my soul. 

We can’t undo our mistakes, or take them back. 

But when you humble yourself, sometimes you really do get more than you bargained for.

And as I made my way up the stairs, silently closing my room door, there was never a moment in my life when I saw things clearer than I did.

I felt awakened. As if someone had jolted me out of slumber. As if a new beginning was awaiting me.

As I paced my room, I knew that the next best thing was to start taking steps to correct my life, and I couldn’t do it with a simple message.

And knowing that Faadil was the main reason for my reservations, I knew that I had to sort out the mess with him first. I drew in a deep breath as I dialled, my heart thudding incessantly as I waited for his familiar drawl.

It was time to end it, but I knew that I had to take it one  step at a time. Faadil didn’t take well to sudden changes in his life and schedule.

There was a bit of shuffling and I could hear low murmurs, as he answered.

I could literally picture him, in his Armani shirt and suit pants, pacing in the penthouse balcony, the bustle of city activity in the background, even at that hour. The view there was always spectacular.

Stop thinking, Mos, I commanded myself. Get to the point. 

“Just wanted to tell you that I’ll be in the Monday after Eid to fetch my stuff. I’m handing in my resignation.”

There. I said it. I was prepared for his reaction, whatever it may be, but I cut it short. 

He was upset. Convinced I was letting an innocent baby cloud my judgement. Told me that I knew that I wasn’t just his employee. 

After all, I was the front he needed to marry to appear responsible and worthy of his position, and I knew it.

“See you, Faadil,” I almost whispered, as I ended the conversation, not wanting to get into any of it that day. “Salaam.”

Speaking to him had stirred up old emotions, and I didn’t want to visit that place. 

It would probably come up at some point, but for now, I knew that I needed to close the doors to my past sins. I needed to take a step back, and I needed to break all the ties that were binding me to my old life. There was so much I needed to change, but I was finding it so hard to conjure up the strength to even move myself off my bed. All I could do right then was bury my head in my pillow and sob my heart out, my heart aching over life and losses and all the previous time I wasted, as I wondered how I had gotten it all so wrong. 

And to add insult to injury, Jameela had just made her way up the stairs to reveal that Hamzah’s sister had been in contact to say that Zaid was asleep and they didn’t want to disturb him, so they would bring him in the morning. I knew this sort of thing my happen at some point and that’s what Maulana was talking about… but I clearly wasn’t coping with the situation very well. There had to be some way to work around it. 

And just as I had positively yelled blue murder at my siblings who came to check on me, so I could wallow in my sympathy, it was at that point when Maahira’s message lit up on my phone to say she was on her way.

And in my emotional state, feeling like ten truckloads of bricks were all raining down on me, all I could say was that sometimes  you have to step back and see what Allah has prepared for you, to really appreciate his amazing plan. And yes, I had taken a step to make amends with Nani, to cut off with Faadil; and I intended to with everyone else but it’s possible that things don’t always fall into place straight away. Sometimes you have to wait it out and bear a little discomfort for a short time, to earn a greater reward…

And despite my feeling like there was no more hope, in my bulldozed state of mind, as Maahira arrived and I clapped my eyes on her, like a breeze of serenity, a huge wave of relief overcame me, as I realized just how much I had missed my oldest friend. 

I squeezed her with all my might, taking in a subtle scent of jasmine spritz on her Hijab as she held me back, unable to breathe for a minute as I clung onto her as if my life depended on it.

“My word,”she whispered. “I didn’t realize how much I missed you, dammit.”

“Ditto,” I said back quietly, not trusting myself to say more.I wanted to spill everything out and let her know how painfully heart-wrenching this past month had been for me. I wanted to bear my heart and soul once again, to relieve the weights that were burdening my shoulders.  

I was all emotional and mushy inside and I knew if I said one more thing, I would probably burst into embarrassing torrents of emotions. 

As for Maahira, her eyes were glazed over as she looked at me, and as I smiled back at her, I took in how  great she was looking. Peaceful. Content. She didn’t look like the girl smiling candidly for Insta snaps. She was most definitely altered… and it showed in her appearance.

She had also lost almost 10kgs on some Keto diet she found on the gram and her parents had set up a host of Samoosa runs for her for straight after Ramadhaan, before she went back. 

Unlike me, Maahira was actually wanting someone to keep her grounded, look after her and all the rest. Simply put, she was done with the Hashim’s and Faadils of our lives.

I just wished that I could get there…

”Don’t you feel like just sleeping in on some days?” She had said when I asked her if she was serious. “Like not doing all the macho and insane things we do every day? Getting up early at the crack of dawn even though we have, like, zero kids. Dressing up like fashion dogs and making our way to the office so we look the part the boring accountant? Going to work and doing a job that everyone hates us for?
I don’t know about you Mos, but I’m telling you, my days as an auditor are numbered.”

And I agreed with her. I really did. But man, I’d worked so hard to get where I was.

She stepped back now, giving me a once over as she plopped on my bed and gave me a questioning look. 

“So spill it,” she said, after I gave her a short low down about Ramadhaan and work. “I didn’t come here to hear about boring budgets. You know what I’m after. You gonna tell me why you were bawling your eyes out or must I squeeze it out of you?”

“Jameela told you,” I said, rolling my eyes, and she raised her un-shaped eyebrows slightly.

The bushy eyebrow look actually suited her. I supposed shaping my eyebrows was something I had to grow them out of. I made an intention to at least try.

“Why cant she just shut her mouth?” I mumbled, shaking my head. Jameela must have told Maahira all the unsightly details. Siblings are way too revealing for my liking. 

She grinned as I rolled my eyes.

”Has some bloke broke your heart?” She said with a wink. “And is he handsome? Because honestly, all I’m getting are Shrek-alikes and I’m not sure if there’s hope anymore.”

I grinned. 

“He is,” I said surreptitiously. “But I’m afraid looks count for nothing here. You were right. Faadil is a tiger on the prowl. There’s no other way to put it. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be enough for him…”

“So now you’ve come to your senses and told him to fly a kite?” She said with a hopeful face. 

“Not exactly,” I said guiltily. “I haven’t been able to prove anything. I’ve heard a few things, but nothing incriminating. Maahi, I just need to let it go and leave it behind me but I can’t seem to call it off…”

She glanced at me briefly, before cocking her head. 

“It’s a tough one,” she said, shaking her head pensively. “I’ve been there, love. I know how it is. He’s hot, handsome and he’s powerful but he’s toxic for you. That’s what made me go on so long with Hashim, and I’m so sorry that I ever let it happen…”

She looked genuinely pained as she said it, as if it had broken her, but by bit, as she recalled every poisoned part of her past relationship. I couldn’t imagine how it must feel to be the trigger to someone else’s marital problems. It was a time when I least admired my friend, and I was so glad that she had repented from that sin.

”I just want him to move on completely, you know?” I said quietly. “I feel like I have. I feel different. Something’s happened. I’m not sure what, but I don’t feel that insane attraction to him anymore…”

I couldn’t believe I had just said that. I was giving away more than I intended but I needed to tell her how I felt, because I didn’t quite understand it. 

Maahira looked at me, and gave me a small smile, as she placed her hand on her heart.

“It’s here, babe,” she murmured, closing her eyes momentarily as if she was savoring a heartfelt emotion, as she flashed me a gorgeous dimpled smile. “Your heart’s changed. That’s what Ramadhaan does to us. It opens your heart and your mind… and if the guy doesn’t have Allah in his heart, you’re never going to be able to be with him. Honestly, I’m not asking for Mr Perfect. I myself am far from it. An honest but flawed man, who loves his Lord… For me, that’s the real stuff.”

She had hit the nail on the head. Maahira had pulled off her Hijab and was now propped against my continental pillow, watching me from the corner of her eye, while I digested what she had said.

She was right and I could feel it. My heart had changed, my perception had been altered and I was seeing everything so differently.

I nodded, my eyes feeling moist at the corners, and I just realised why.

“I feel everything so much deeper now,” I murmured, looking up at the ceiling now as I spoke. “If this is not a sign then what is? Shouldn’t I want to change my focus because there’s a little baby involved? I want to start spomething different. To do something worthy, not in the eyes of people, but on a bigger scale. I want to start Hifdh classes. Do you think I’m mad?”

It was the first time I had said it aloud, and I wasn’t sure what the reaction would be. 

“That’s amazing,” she said softly, lying next to me, as our shoulders touched. I remembered doing this countless times in our childhood and teenage years.

The room light was dim and the men had both left for Salaah, so the house was much quieter than earlier. I could heart Maahiras breathing as I thought about what she was saying, and a deep urgency suddenly filled me as I turned to her. 

“Can you even believe that I didn’t know he was a Hafidh?”

She looked at me and blinked.

“Are we talking about ‘he who does not exist’?” she said, suddenly turning and looking at me in the eye, as she propped her head up on her hand. 

I grinned, despite my emotions. We both knew who she was talking about and my heart beat faster when she mentioned him. I wasn’t even sure how I had got to this stage, where I was suddenly on the other side of the fence.  Who ever thought that I would fall for a guy because of his Deen? It sounded like one of those cliched memes.

“Yup,“ I said, swallowing my emotion once again. It was like my heart was suddenly set alight and I wanted to change my entire life. 

”So much has happened, Maahi” I said, voicing my thoughts, as my voice trembled. Why did everything make me want to cry? 

A vague memory instantly filled my thoughst as I remembered:

There’s a reason why Allah  loves those who have sinned and repented, for they have the softest of hearts. 

“Mos, is anything beyond repair?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at me.

“I feel like it is,” I admitted quietly, my chest feeling tighter as I though of it. “None of my family know the story with Faadil. I shut them out completely. I didn’t take their advice seriously. I’ve made bad decisions. I let the wrong man get close to me, and I feel so sick when I think about it. I don’t want to get back there. My family will forgive me. But what about everyone else, Maahi? What about everyone else I hurt?”

There were so many people who I had hurt in the process but Hamzah was the one person I never gave an explanation to.

”Mos,” she said comfortingly. “Dont despair. Just think it over, you’ll need to talk it through and maybe he’ll need some time…”

“But what if there’s no time?” I suddenly cried, cutting her off. “So many people didn’t make it here! Look at Layyanah. At Liyaket. They were lucky to have seen the light… And here I am, just trying to find my way out of my darkness, out of those gloomy pathways… but still I’m struggling to take that step? Why, Maahira? Why am I still struggling? Why can’t I just let go? I expect provisions in my life, I expect my debts to be resolved, I expect the doors of marriage to be open for me, I expect loving relationships, I expect and expect…”

My voice dropped as Maahira looked at me, tears filling her own eyes. 

“But I fail Allah, Maahi. I failed to even fulfil my obligations.”

The tears were streaming down, in all their glory, as Maahira turned away and bit her lip. She was obviously a little stumped for words.

“You’re not the only one, love,” she said, so quietly, that I barely heard her.

But it wasn’t even about anyone else. I was so off track. Instead of seeing hijab as a means to get closer to my Creator, it was a mere fashion accessory. Instead of filling my days with Ibaadat, I was dwelling on ways to make more sins. Instead of trying my utmost to be grateful to Allah for his infinite bounties, I took great pleasure in posting my entire life on social media for the whole world to gawk at. And I still wondered why I was lost?

“It’s not the end,” I heard her say, after a few seconds, almost as if she was holding onto an iota of hope that was left.

“But will he forgive me?” I asked candidly, my spirits lifted slightly. If he had to know about Faadil…

”Its not your job to worry about that, love,” she said quietly. “You take the step and apologize. Be honest. You try and set it right. Once you take a step towards Allah, He makes a way for you, even when you can never imagine. Don’t you ever despair of his mercy, it’s really far more than you can ever imagine. There’s always a way to pack your past into a suitcase and start over.”

And as I looked at Maahira’s solemn face, it just so happened that it was that very moment her phone let out a shrill ring, and I already knew that the moment had passed for now. 

I just knew that I had to take something from it if I wanted to make a change. 

And as Maahira left that evening, after our intense heart to heart, somehow, I was feeling lighter than usual. I tried to submit as much work that night as possible, knowing that since I’d resigned, I still had to pull my weight till the notice period was over. Working from home was not ideal, but it worked for now. Going into the office would be an emotional disaster right then, and I wasn’t ready to take it on yet. 

As promised, Zaid arrived with his uncle and Saaliha, early the next morning, consuming us all once again, with his cuteness and daily needs. Not a person in the house was immune to his charm, and somehow, he livened the the entire household. It wasn’t long before there came a time when I could not have imagined life any other way, especially as preparations for Eid came up, and I took a trip to the local mall to choose three different outfits to show him off in. 

He was, obviously, looking like the handsomest young guy as I dressed him in a little Kurta-romper thing my obsessed parents had found near Fordsburg, just before breakfast on Eid morning.

Ramadhaan seemed to have flew by, but I knew that the real test would be that day. Would I be able to maintain all the resolutions I had made? Would I be able to keep up the good deeds I had promised to? Would I maintain that beautiful connection with the Glorious Qur’aan, that I vowed to?

And for all that grief that Liyakets mother had felt, her grandson was a small compensation for her. When he wasn’t having tummy issues (which still happened often), he was a ball of laughter and fun.

It was for this reason that Eid was particularly spectacular that year, and it wasn’t even about that or the Matilda cakes or Nani’s famous burfee. There was a peace that surrounded me, coupled with a mixture of sadness as I realized that now that Ramadhaan was over, everything was going to come at me at full-force, while I struggled to get back into my old groove.

Having Zaid, as we agreed I would, was my cherry on the top, and everyone ooh-ed and aah-ed over him as if he was my child. I held him tight to me, for the moments that I had him with me, feeling a little aggrieved but also absolutely in awe of this gift that my beloved friend had left for me.

I didn’t want to get back into the mundanities that had consumed me. All I wanted to do was immerse myself in the beauty that I had found, but I knew that I couldn’t. While I enjoyed family around, ignored my mean girl cousins who never ceased to mention something offensive every Eid day, and sat in my own bubble of bliss where no-one could touch me, I didn’t expect that evening pan out anything like it did. 

And it was all good that day. I mean, I was in an amazing mood. I was all prepared to knock out all those bad habits for good, and as I sat on my Musallah, just after maghrib Salaah, trying to hang onto those last remnants of Ramadhaan bliss, I couldn’t help but feel jolted out of my tranquility as Muhammed Husayn tapped me from behind. 

“Mos,” he said, a slight frown on his forehead visible as I glanced at him. “Come down.”

I looked at him questioningly. Maghrib had just finished and I was immersing myself relentlessly in a short Du’aa as I hoped to hang onto the feeling that still existed within me.

“Hamzah is here,” he said, and I was little taken aback by mention of him. 

But yes, of course. They didn’t have to let me know, right? I had to be easy. He had come to see Zaid. It was Eid day, after all.

“He asked me to call you.”

---

 

Mission Sunnah Revival

The Sunnah of Quraan Tilawat…

Whilst we grapple to keep that connection alive out of Ramadhaan, I it’s recommended to set a certain amount of Quran to read every day.

Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said: “Stick to the reading of the Quran, as it is Noor for you in this li free and treasure in the Aakhirah.” 

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

Advertisement

The Simple Things

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 41
Mohsina

Sometimes we get so caught up in life that we forget that we don’t always need to be busy, to be rushing to the next thing or to keep on checking our phones or e-mails. Sometimes we need to remind ourselves that it’s okay to slow down, to pause, to take a break and to take notice of the little things that aren’t so little.

Sometimes we don’t realize someone’s prayer that saved us from falling deeper. Or a smile that came through for us when we needed it most. Or a a simple kind word that made a difference to someone’s difficult day.

The simple things, sometimes, can take us a long way.

And yes, for me, there was a time in life when I stopped worrying about the simple things, and stopped caring what people think. When I shifted my focus, when I got detached from people, and built that wall that kept me an arms length away… at any given time.

Watching my father being held, at gun point when I was 18 years old, when nothing we had was good enough to invoke any mercy, had shifted something within me.

It was from that point on that I decided that I would be fearless. Unyielding. Unattached. I supposed that was my coping mechanism.

When it came to suitors, to family, friendships, and to Hamzah too… I never risked digging my hopes in so deep that coming out would prove to be any sorts of painful.

I always knew that people could leave. Come and go as they pleased. Leave each other, and never return. It was something I’d realised from listening to friends talking about relationships or being a little too cautious for my own liking. 

And so, instead of focusing on the One who never leaves, that’s when I shifted my focus to things. Shoes, handbags and accessories were easiest to deal with. People, to me, were the problem. 

So when the blues got to me, as I sat in my room, one day in Ramadhaan, it took me a little by surprise.

And maybe it was a combination of my mind finally attuning to reality, and also being the time of the month and the emotions that came with it… all I knew was that it felt like she had left me and the light had followed her. Simply put, whichever way I saw it, there was a gnawing ache in my body which translated to me missing Layyanah immensely.

Suddenly, the world was filled with so much of darkness that it was almost impossible for me to see at all. And as I trudged along, a flickering torch lighting much less of a path than I’d hoped, there were moments when my heart gave in completely.

How much my heart yearned for her advice, her laugh and just her general two cents, I wasn’t even able to fully comprehend, but being so busy with Zaid had filtered it for me, so it wasn’t so obvious.

But then there were the moments. Moments at night when I couldn’t seem to drift off to sleep, where I would stare at the ceiling and wonder how she could  leave me like this. At such a dead loss, completely clueless as to how to even sort out and live my own life, nevermind her little boy’s…

It was the day after Maahira had messaged, when Zaid was still with Hamzah and family, when I had gone down to see if there was anything to munch on (it was that time of the month and I was feeling a little spiritually low, and Maahira was also coming to visit after iftaar so I could explain the whole marriage saga), so I grabbed a packet of cookies just as Nani walked into the kitchen, and gave me one of her eye-balling looks.

I was being my usual unbothered self, as I strutted around the then empty kitchen, looking for something to munch on and to do whilst I heard her voice from behind me that made me jump.

“No roza?” She said with a frown, looking at me, almost accusingly. Nani was looking at me accusingly as I hid the stash behind my back.

I pulled my face slightly because next, I already had a plan to head straight to the shelf near the stove, due to the fact that for some reason, someone had left a huge slab of Cadbury Bubbly chocolate (that everyone knew was my ultimate favourite ), right in proximity of my wandering eyes.

But with Nani’s eyes now fixed on me, I slunk back to the bar stool, determined to leave my chocolate-cravings for later.

“No, Nani,” I said with a small smirk. “I’m not fasting.”

”Oh,” she said, obviously peeved that I would have the guts to even admit it.

And I got the old traditional thinking but after explaining to my brother that women take a break from certain forms of worship once a month, he now obediently turned the other way if he ever saw us sneaking a treat to our rooms. Nani obviously, thought it was appalling that he knew, but I thought it was important that he knew that we weren’t cheating.

“You missing Zaid?”

It was Nani again and I knew that was her way of asking why I was still sitting there, because it was the first time I had set foot on the kitchen after ages.

And to tell the truth, though the short break definitely had helped with my sleep deprivation, I was actually missing him so much that I pottered around my room trying to deal with myself in the best way possible. As much as I wanted to call every minute and see how he was doing, all I did was message Saaliha (maybe a bit too many times) to ask how he was… but despite her being polite, her answers were always brief and to the point.

For all I know, she had probably been given instructions by Hamzah not to over indulge me and I got that. Well, a little, except for the fact that I still thought that he was behaving like a selfish brat.

I sighed audibly, unable to contain my annoyance.

“You okay?” Nani asked bossily, and turned back to mixing the batter she had put in the metal bowl in front of her.

“Just tired,” I said half-heartedly. I still had piles of work to do and I just couldn’t seem to get around to it. Faadil had messaged me about six times this morning for follow ups on budgets but I just wasn’t feeling like getting into it. I knew that my job was on the line too, but for some reason, it didn’t even faze me.

Sure, I missed some aspects of my apartment but sitting like a lump and getting spoilt rotten had been absolute bliss.

Besides, Nani was in a particularly good mood because she hadn’t once even commented on my laziness. Maybe she was feeling sorry for me or just wanted to be nice, but when Nani actually missed an opportunity to hound me about learning to cook, I knew that the odds were in my favour.

And as she turned to look at me, a slight frown on her forehead, I couldn’t help but notice how different she appeared. It had been so long that I had really taken her in, that I didn’t quite realise how much she had aged.

Although she was still highly capable for everything that she had carried out over the years, her back was now slightly hunched and her movements were a little slower than before.

There it was. Another reminder that time was running away with me and if I didn’t say anything it would forever be lost…

And I suppose that’s why, although it was probably the best time for me to head back upstairs and either do the work Faadil had mailed me this morning, or just some general adhkaar and Ibaadat (worship) that I’d kind of made a habit of to ground me, I knew I shouldn’t.

It was just that, somehow, after the general cleansing and lightening and purifying of my heart over the weeks had taken effect, there was nothing else that I really wanted to do than bear my heart and soul and that was exactly why I sat there for another five minutes and wondered how exactly to approach the topic that I’d been avoiding with Nani for over a year.

”Nani,” I said finally, watching my grandmother whisking her mixture vigorously while the extractor hummed above her, ready to fry her mixture.

“Nani, I’m sorry,” I blurted out, already feeling embarrassed about how emotional I was already getting.

Nani glanced at me and frowned, her face slightly perplexed as she probably tried to figure out if I was just making a joke or what.

She said nothing, but as she looked at the sincerity on my face, I could see her expression ease, while she chopped carefully on the chopping board, before she finally broke into a small smile.

“What are you sorry for?” She said roughly in Guji, looking at me enquiringly.

“For everything,” I said quietly. “For not listening. For disappointing you. For causing problems. For making the wrong choices. For telling you that you have favourites…”

Yes, I had. I had accused Nani of having favourites. And I made it clear that she never treated me as one of hers.

I understood now that Nani was coming from a place where she was worried. Immensely worried and concerned that I wasn’t going all out to settle down and make a life for myself. And not get married, but that was beside the point.

Nani looked like she was shocked. But now that I was into it, I might as well go all out.

”Also, I’m sorry that things with Nadeema got so bad. Nani, I didn’t want it to be that way, but she was doing something that I couldn’t tolerate.”

There. I said it. I didn’t tell Nani what she did but I gave her an idea. I didn’t tell her that she had been speaking to the guy I was proposed to, and was even meeting him. I didn’t want to bring it all up now. It was the unmentionable things that we never mentioned.

But now I had just mentioned it.

“It’s okay,” Nani said in Gujarati. “Khair. He wasn’t right for you anyway.”

I narrowed my eyes slightly at Nani, wondering howcome she suddenly changed her opinion.  She had been so furious when I called it off.
Convinced that I would never find anyone better.

My  entire adult life had been spent hearing about how I can’t be so fussy and picky and no-one likes educated girls, and now she was saying that he wasn’t right for me in the first place.

I wondered if the change of heart was the current situation I had found myself in. Maybe Nani had finally realised that I didn’t really need a man to have a baby. Ah. The relief. At least it will save me from more soppy, spineless Sameers.

“Really?” I asked, curious, wondering if she was for real.

She shrugged, glancing at me as she dropped spoonfuls of batter into the hot oil.

The smell of freshly fried bajias was making my mouth water. Now let me tell you, my Nani didn’t just make a simple bajia.

Hers was the type with all the best stuff in it. The type that made you do metaphoric circles around trees in your mind as you bit into their crunchy texture. The type that made you salivate embarrassingly, just by smelling them.

The type I knew I had to learn to make, when I eventually decided to get married.

She was silent for a while, while the oil spluttered and simmered, and then turned and looked at me.

“His mother didn’t like my Samoosas,” she said with a serious face, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

Nani’s samoosas were legend. There clearly was something wrong with his mother.

“And he wasn’t right,” she continued. “Not your type. Too ‘small-build’ for you.”

“What?” I said, widening my eyes.

Haaibo.

Was Nani saying I was too fat for him? Okay, I know he was on the smaller side but it wasn’t like I was that huge.

She shrugged.

Oh great. I couldn’t believe her.

She had turned back to the bajias, almost as if she hadn’t just called me fat.

It was at that point when Jameela entered the kitchen, and I knew I should have just let it go, but I was quite offended, so I couldn’t just be silent.

And fine, maybe Nani had forgiven me for my past mistakes but saying I was fat wasn’t exactly a good way to end the conversation.

“Jameela,” I whined, as my sister started taking out a jug for the milkshake. “Nani said I’m fat.”

Jameela had forgiven me for my outburst about her teenage-inspired-badboy-crush but she hadn’t mentioned it since. She still blushed awkwardly if anyone mentioned him or we saw him going past.

“I didn’t say she’s fat,” Nani said, not in the least bothered. “I said that boy was too small for her. Not right for her size.”

I looked at Jameela pointedly, while she grinned.

”I told her the truth,” Nani said pointedly. “I didn’t say she was fat. She mustn’t become like your Choti kala. Weight goes up and down like yo-yo. How will she find a boy when he won’t know who she is the next time he sees her?”

I spluttered as she glanced at me, wondering what Choti Kala would say about this. I knew Nani was just messing with me but it was fun to have something else to worry about.

Besides, I knew there was a stage when I was a little on the chubbier side, but being a lot more conscious of my weight now had brought me down pretty well. I knew that this Ramadhaan, unlike others, I had actually lost some weight. I was looking better than before. I also knew that I had been through so much recently that maybe I needed to just go with the light humor for now.

And as Nani went on about “makko” men (she probably meant macho), I couldn’t help but think of what Nani would think of Faadil. Despite the fact that he was ‘office men’s’ with big, big business, he had a good build. Plus he was super handsome and charming, that he could even charm the socks of me, in the most challenging of situations.

But then again, no-one quite knew about all his other antics that he got up to when he thought he had covered his tracks so well.

Okay, trash the thought. That was my utopian mind taking over. Nani would probably have a heart attack if she got wind of who he was.

Jameela was snickering silently to herself, and I stuck my tongue out at her.

Muhammed Husayn, evidently, had also smelt the famous bajias  and had just sauntered into the kitchen to investigate.

I already knew what was coming. Great. A family affair at my expense.

He sat silently and listened, while Nani explained her very intense whole theory about how sizes matter and opposites that attract. About how size determines the type of selection available and how girls who are thinner have a better selection of the opposite gender to go with. The theory went something like: The larger you are, the less selection is available for attraction.
It was like magnetic fields all over again in high school physics, which thankfully, I had dropped in grade 10. No regrets.

Shew.

”For Mohsina,” she said, matter if fact. “She can’t have one skinny small mens. She needs one with… what you call this thing?”

She tapped her upper arm and gestured at Muhammed Husayn while he smirked.

“Muscles, Nani,” he said blandly. “Muscles.”

”Yes,” she said, thrusting her spoon in the air. “He needs muscles. Can’t marry one bichaaro boy who can’t even pull you out the car seat.”

Great. Now she was suggesting that I get stuck in car seats. I loved my grandmother to bits.

My mouth was still hanging open, but as I watched my siblings grinning at me, I just shook my head at them and rolled my eyes.

The laughter was much needed, even though I wouldn’t admit it. I stayed silent though, as they went off to get ready to break fast, and I sauntered off to the lounge, knowing that my slight disconnection was probably due to the fact that I hadn’t been immersing myself in Ibaadat as much as I wanted to.

I had pulled out my phone from the shelf I had placed it on early, looking at another reminder from Faadil, and decided to ignore it for now, opening my Instagram after what seemed like days. A host of direct messages stared at me as I closed the app again, not yet ready to go into the mundanities of that kind of life yet.

Make up tutorials. Daily care routines. Trending memes that would cause a bit of a stir and create some much needed humour…

It all seemed so far away from me.

While I was searching everywhere for peace, I didn’t know that it was right in front of me, within this glorious message that was sent from above.

There are certain things that come only from the magic of His closeness, that you are privileged to seek. I had taken pride in the wrong things. I had taken pride in my fake life, that I was trying to make greater than it really was.

Because if there was one thing that I had learnt in Ramadhaan, it was that time was something I wouldn’t get back. I knew that if i didn’t make the most of this time, I would certainly be stupid. This was the time when I had to invest. The time I had to beg, steal, borrow and make sure I take advantage of, no matter what.

And for that time, I sought refuge in Allah, battling to find that place where I could connect with my Creator m once again. I sought refuge in Allah, in His mercy, and on the hope that He may see something within me to forever make me His bosom friend.

And as I had been waking up in the wee hours of the morning to seek Him, I found myself once again. I had tasted the sweetness of Quran. Of salaah. Of Duaa.

I sought refuge in it, even though I didn’t always have the words. In conversing with my Lord, even when I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I bore my heart and soul, so much so, that my parents and siblings had actually begun to get worried.

Our beloved Nabi, salla Allahu ‘alaihi wasallam, is reported to have said:

“There are three characteristics, whoever they are found in him, will experience the sweetness ofIman; that he loves Allah and His Prophet, more than he loves anyone else, and that he loves another person, not for anything, but for the sake of Allah, and that he hates to return to infidelity, like he dislikes to be thrown into fire.”

And it was that sweetness, a bliss that had consumed me, that I couldn’t seem to get enough of.

And I didn’t know it yet, but there was something quite noteworthy that it was all leading to.

Ever heard that saying, sometimes what you’re looking for comes when you’re not looking at all? 

It just so happens that there’s nothing that rings truer than that, for that particular day.

And having my family around me that day was all part and parcel of what was to be revealed. It lightened the mood. Made things simpler. Lifted my hopes.

I knew they were just poking me. Getting me to lighten up. Maybe even make me laugh. And I almost had. Nani was in good spirits, and still at it as we made our way to the iftaar table after salaah. I had been diligently frying the samoosas,  without even grabbing any testers, while Papa and the rest took a seat and made usual small talk.

Nani was going on about teaching Jameela how to make round rotis, and that’s precisely when I spotted Muhammed Husayn making his way to the kitchen shelf and grabbing the alluring Bubbly chocolate that I had set my sights on earlier.

And I know it a simple chocolate, but for a chocolatarian like me, it was the worst thing that could happen if Muhammed Husayn had just grabbed it at 6.30PM when all other chocolate stocks were low and even the slots on the Checkers app were  fully booked. With my brother, any edible would be devoured in 3 seconds, flat. For me, this was disaster.

I mean, chocolate was the answer to all my problems, especially when I was in fragile states like today.

And I really didn’t mean to stare him down so accusingly, but he must have noticed because he suddenly looked at me, and then said, almost apologetically:

“’This yours?”

And I couldn’t lie. It wasn’t really mine. But Jameela had noticed my annoyed expression and frowned at him, always quick to pick on my brother who had a bottomless pit as a stomach. Especially when it came to the finer things in life.

”Hey greedy, you had yours earlier this week,” she said accusingly. “That was Mosee’s.”

And of course, I was annoyed with him, but what else could I say besides the usual:

”Shame, no, it’s okayyy! Let him have it.”

But Jameela was like the our personal Haraam house police, and wasn’t going to have any of it.

“No,” she said, turning to look at me. “It’s really yours. Like, it’s legit haraam for him to take it without asking you. When you didn’t come down since Zaid left, I forgot to tell you. He brought one for each of us.”

”Who, Papa?” I asked, thinking of how sweet my father was. He knew just what my favourite chocolate was.

“No,” Jameela said blankly, glancing nervously around the table, while Ma and Nani watched her. They both had that look on their faces and I wasn’t even sure why, until she spoke again.

“Hamzah’s mother sent it,” she said quietly. “When they fetched Zaid. She sent a few things. The last time she came to the shop I sent a few things and… Shame, she didn’t have to.”

Jameela flushed slightly as she said it, probably thinking I might be angry about her entertainment of my ex-in-laws. I wasn’t though. It just felt strange.

”So nice of her,” Nani said, missing the awkwardness completely. “To send for all of us. I thought maybe for a special occasion like the masjid sent last week.”

“They had sent for completion of Qur’aan,” Jameela was saying. “This she sent with sooo many other things. Plus, that mosque does two khatams in Ramadhaan. Most people are only finishing their Khatam next week.”

I was secretly a little happy that Hamzah’s mother had actually sent something for me. It made me feel all fuzzy inside.

I was losing interest in the conversation but I couldn’t believe how fast Ramadhaan was going. I was just glad that by next week I would be reading again and be able to make the most of my Qur’aan. It was the one thing I truly missed during these few days.

My heart was feeling a very palpable void.

”Hamzah will finish tomorrow,” Muhammed Husayn said, almost out of the blue.

And I must have had a confused look on my face because as Jameela looked at him too, I couldn’t help but wonder what my brother was on about.

“Finishing what?” I said, still slightly confused.

”He’s reading his last part for tonight. At the house behind the new Masjid in JHB North. I went there last week. He was also talking to Papa the other day when he came and he confirmed it.”

What? My heart literally skipped a beat as he said it.

Why, oh why, didn’t I come down when they came to fetch Zaid? I was being stupid and emotional because I didn’t want him to go. But now, I missed out on this whole conversation that had happened and I couldn’t believe I had acted so childish.

”He’s a Hafidh?” I said dumbly, and Muhammed Husayn looked at me like a I born on another planet.

“Duh.”

It was Jameela’s turn to look at me in surprise. She probably didn’t know either. I mean, she would only know if I had told her.

And why on Earth was my heart beating so fast?

”Wait,” she said, looking at me again. “You telling me he’s a Hafidh and you didn’t know it?”

“We never discussed it,” I said quietly, as if that explained it, barely even believing it myself.

How could we have not even spoke about that?

How could we have never discussed that he was a protector of the most beautiful book? How could we have not spoken about what an amazing gift he had been blessed with? How did I not even see the value of that, before this…

I breathed in, not even seeing clearly anymore. For some odd reason, tears were blurring my vision, and I wasn’t even making an effort to stop them.

Of course, my brother was still giving me the kuku look, Jameela was just shaking her head at me and Nani and my mother were sitting there, with a shocked expression on their face, as if they couldn’t quite believe what had just been revealed and my odd reaction.

To tell the truth, neither could I.

This wasn’t just big. It was huge. And everything just seemed so clear now, depite my oscured vision,  and it was like everything single thing that had happened till that very point was all leading to this. It was a huge discovery that was somehow so much more important in my life than it had ever been before.

Yes, this wasn’t anything unique. There were thousands of Huffaadh around here. A blessing that each of them had, to hold the Holy Qur’aan within their bosom. It was a seemingly simple task that took years of effort and practise and healed even the most obstinate of hearts, but till that day, I hadn’t realsie the true amazement of it.

There was a huge lump in my throat that seemed to be obstructing my breathing canal. I looked up at them, with blurry vision, taking in a deep breath, and knowing that this was no coincidence. Sometimes the simple things in life are really not so simple at all.

“Excuse me,” I almost whispered, swallowing as I pushed my chair back.

I didn’t need to tell them where I was going.

I think they all already knew.

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

The Sunnah of Duaa…

Whilst we grapple to keep that connection alive out of Ramadhaan, I think the Sunnah of Duaa is one that we need to keep with us… InshaAllah

The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said, ‘Du’a is worship itself’. Then the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) recited this verse, ‘Your Lord says: “Call upon Me and I will respond to you. Verily, those who disdain My worship will enter Hell in humiliation” [The Noble Qur’an, 40:60]’. [Tirmidhi]

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When the Game Begins

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 40

We are a pretty lost generation. Toxic, if you ask me.

We have taken self-entitlement to another level. We are obsessed with self-care. We are closed off to all advice, even when someone has good intent.

We forget that accounting is also an act of integrity. We end up throwing around lines like ‘I don’t owe anyone anything’, when in fact, we forget that there are things bigger than numbers, things like actions and their consequences that we need to account for.

We owe those we hurt, an apology. You owe those who support you, some gratitude. You owe those who you disrespected, some respect.

And we are so off track that if we’re not destroying the relationships we already have, we have become unable to build any new healthy ones. We lose what is real chasing over what appears to be.

You see, whilst previous generations would indicate their nobility by their lineage, their family or similar traits, for Gen Z and the Millennials, the ball game is a completely different one. For the ‘digital natives’, we value our worth on comments and inbox messages filled with colorful words that have no depth.

Nowadays, when relationships get hard, all we do is log on and get high off the false sense of security and appreciation.

Our version of worthiness is now defined by the money we could spend. How many followers we have. Which virtual celebrities we could tag whilst living our best life, because our lives were only the best when it warranted outside validation.

And the game didn’t end. I had been all caught up in it for such a long time but I was coming somewhere back down to Earth when the situation had gotten a little stressful at home and I got caught up again in my different kind of delusion.

“How could you?!” I shot at my sister, pulling over one of her newer abayas with a teal-coloured zip, and spinning around to face her. “How could you let Nani fry them?! Do you even know how bad this looks?”

It was all about me and my expectations and how I felt about the entire thing. About how embarrassed I was. I glanced in the mirror, shaking my head at her as I tried to slap on at least a little make-up, just to appear human.

The foundation I had layered on was looking drab and too much already. Over a week of sleep deprivation was not looking good for those bags. My skin was almost dry and disgustingly flaky. I desperately needed to get to Sandton to purchase my Hydro-facial products but I hadn’t gotten a single chance.

My life was an official and crazy mess.

“I couldn’t help it,” she mumbled, looking extremely tense as she watched me. “I was busy with Zaid and I couldn’t leave him.”

Was that all she had? She couldn’t help it?!

Well, I couldn’t help losing it.

“But I told you to watch Nani with those samoosas!” I hissed, seeing red. I did tell her. Before I went to shower. “If you weren’t so caught up in stalking that ridiculous boy, we could have avoided all these damn problems!”

Jameela looked hurt, and remorse immediately overcame me as she mumbled an apology.

And of course, with all that pent-up frustration, I couldn’t help but immediately see an opportunity to take some of it out on her.

I breathed in as I removed my thick line of eye-liner from the day before that I hadn’t had time to remove and I just wasn’t feeling anymore, now convinced that all my Qur’an reading for that day was completely void because I had lost it with my sister.

That was uncalled for. And it wasn’t nice.

There I was, faulting her for not controlling her gaze when I was ten times worse than her.

But she didn’t know that, did she? My Nafs was reminding me.

She doesn’t know what’s really going on, and she wasn’t going to find out.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz Buzz.

And there he was. The reminder. And right now, when I was getting ready for one of the most important meetings of my year, was when Faadil decided to call, after almost three days of no communication. How great was his timing, and what on Earth was he busy with all this time?

I instantly pressed down the side button of my iPhone, silencing the vibration that was becoming a little too disruptive for my overactive mind. No need to give him the time of day right then. It takes two to tango, right.

Guilt was slowly creeping in, as I watched Jameela’s flushed face, and that, was something I didn’t expect. Usually, saying mean and degrading things had no effect on my heart. Usually, I wouldn’t even feel an atom of remorse for the ugly words I would utter. But this time, my conscience was already gnawing at me.

Something had changed my heart and I had no idea as yet what it was.

But there was no time to even digest it because we had to be downstairs within a few minutes and make good impressions and brace myslef for the unknown.

What I didn’t quite know about change was that they were already creeping in, from the time Zaid had come into my life.

And boy, had he really taken over my life. It was like the wind was knocked out of me, and all I ate, slept and dreamt about was all things Zaid.

In fact; as I looked in the mirror one last time, I even looked like all things Zaid. Imagine if people from the office saw me like this. Thank goodness Faadil hadn’t video called. Imagine if he was exposed to this. He would very possible run for the hills if he did.

I speedily draped my sheila, making sure I looked semi-normal, and then sped down the stairs to hear the sound of jovial chatter already in the lounge. In all fairness, there was no need to be over-morbid, but the whole thing was just making me so unsettled that I really wished that everyone would just get on with what they came here for and get it over with.

Ans it was getting to me because now, I had to deal with Hamzah and family. And of course, it made me extremely nervous to think about it.

I held my breath as I entered the lounge, purposely keep to the extreme left, as I glimpsed Nani, my mother, and three other ladies on the other side. They looked up as they saw me, and though I expected them to be civil, as Hamzah’s mother came forward to greet me, I really did not expect her to hold on to me so tightlly, that I felt like I could barely breathe.

“It’s so good to see you,” I said to her warmly, and I was surprised that really meant it, as I held her back.

And though she was silent, as she pulled back, it was only then that I saw tears in her eyes as she looked back at me, probably not trusting herself to speak. Behind her, sitting on the chair beside the couch because of her troublesome back, was Liyakets mother, who I had been seeing when I took Zaid to see her every second day.

And though it was different circumstances, the entire thing was like dejavu. Meeting his amazing mother. His lovely sister-in-law. Hearing Hamzah’s unfiltered voice talking from behind the screen.

But in other ways, it was different. This time, there was no forced-smiling necessary.  No chuckles and light-hearted humour. No attempts at cornering me in the kitchen.

Hamzah, in fact, didn’t even leave his seat, even as we called the men to the dining room table for some tea and Nani’s famous samoosas.

Not even for those, and to tell the truth, despite my dramatic performance, I think I may have been just as disappointed as Nani about it.

The daunting Maulana Umar, who I’d heard of through the grapevine before, was a friend of Hamzah’s older brother. And as I sat, trying to calm my nerves as Saaliha played with Zaid, who had been back and forth several times and now also needed a change of nappy, I couldn’t help but overhear the talk that was now starting on the other side.

Amidst it all, there was a tone of grief within the quiet chatter that ensued that day, as we both said our piece  and tried to be civil about what we wanted out of this arrangement.

And my heart was thudding in my chest as we spoke,  me in lower tones, mostly through my father, because I knew that Hamzah wanted full custody of Zaid. I actually couldn’t believe him. He felt he was entitled to it, since Liyaket was his best friend for nearly two decades. I knew that he was persistent in whatever he did, and I knew that he wouldn’t back down about it.

It was just that the Maulana who was here was talking so casually and calmly, that I really had no idea what to make of it anymore. Was he going to push me to the edge for this or give me a break?

And if things had ended on a good note with us, or even a slightly amicable one, it may have been easier, but the tension between us, even though it wasn’t direct, was very much evident.

As for the suggestions put forward, I disagreed (maybe purposely) with everything he said, and he, in turn, argued everything I put forward.

It was evident from the emotion in both our voices that we very palpably felt the loss of our two closest friends, who would have probably banged both our heads together if they’d been there.

There I was, trying to be civilized, behind the screen, but I literally felt like yelling my head off at him. And okay, I couldn’t blame him for my crazy, but I could tell that even the Maulana was a little in over his head with us, as the tension rose and fell, when finally, I could tell that it was time to call it a day. And I’m sure he was glad to be done with us too.

I really did feel quite sorry for him.

“This is a unique situation,” someone said, trying to dissipate it. “Very little family is involved and that was the case when the parents were around too. It may just take a few more meetings to come to something amicable, right?”

Yah right, was all I could think. Let’s see how amicable Hamzah can be. 

There was a series of ‘Jhee’ and general tones of agreement, before the maulana spoke again.

“So we know that this baby needs a good upbringing,” Maulana started. “Any child does. I cannot stress more on the importance of upbringing and how much this can mould a child.”

Okay Maulana, I thought in my head. Enough with the Bayaans. Just give us a solution that will be good for us both.

”With this in mind,” he continued. “There are many things that can be designed. Rosters, on who will keep him when, for the interim. Proper planning as he grows, for daycare or for his schooling, and also, it requires commitment from both sides to keep to the agreement. If this can be done with little problems, then Allah Ta’ala will put barakah in the arrangement.”

Ja, neh. Now he was talking. I was starting to like him. Finally.

“But,” he said, after a few seconds, and I held my breath, wondering what he was pausing for. “We need to also remember that disagreements are inevitable. When there is a dispute and no understanding between the parties continuously, children suffer the lifelong consequences. Even though this is a very heartbreaking situation, the advantage of this baby being very small if that whatever foundation is built now, will be the only one he knows. My best suggestion is to make it as normal as possible. Form a home for the child. A healthy child is one who has been jointly reared by two parents.”

Haaai. Now what?!

I could literally hear Jameelas breathing next to me, but no-one dare say a word, in case they had gotten the wrong end of the stick.  Was the Maulana actually suggesting what I thought he was?

“Maulana, I’m sorry,” someone said from the men’s side. It must have been Hamzah’s brother. “Just to make it clear…. What exactly are you suggesting?”

He cleared his throat, gave a small chuckle and I held my breath.

“There can be an arrangement,” he said, and my own breathing quicker as he said it. “Either hand the child over to a couple who has made a home and is willing to take him-“

”Maulana, that won’t work,” Hamzah’s voice said swiftly before anyone else could get a word in edgewise.

I agreed, for once.

”Or you take my best advice and make your own…” Maulana finished off.

My cheeks flushed as he said it, even though the message was ambiguous. Did he actually even say that?

Did he mean Hamzah must make his own home? Was he trying to kick me out of the equation completely… or was he suggesting something else that entailed us both?

Did he know the history here? I was almost certain that he did, and was just taking the mickey out of us. None of us were thrilled, and I could hear the ominous silence from where they all sat.

I breathed out, not even realised how long I had been holding my breath until I felt the relief in my chest, coupled with a ache in my gut that I couldn’t quite comprehend.

There was silence, because I knew that it was directed at Hamzah and I.

“Hamzah?” He said, from where he sat behind the screen across the room. “Sister Mohsina? Lets forget the disagreements, and try to make something work, alright?”

I could hardly breathe easily right then, looking from my mother to the three ladies who were sitting there with her, still unable to focus.

I mumbled a half-hearted reply, and so did Hamzah, but the guilt I had been feeling was now overwhelming.

Liyaket’s mother was still sitting there, a little unfocused but silent. She probably didn’t quite know what to make of the whole thing.

Losing her only son must feel like your entire world is lost. Imagine not being able to see your only child, ever again. Imagine not being able to hold him, to touch him, to hear his voice calling her. Imagine having that loss, which feels heavier with time, and each passing day.

I prayed every day for Allah to fill that huge void she felt… that we all felt, so much more, now… with His amazing Love, until we are reunited in Jannah, one beautiful day.

I closed my eyes for a minute, wondering, not for the first time, if this was really happening. If Liyaket and Layyanah really left this world. If this little baby had really become my responsibility. If Hamzah and I really went through so much, only to be back here again.

Murmuring and hushed tones continued for a bit, before Maulana started speaking again.

“See, Allah Ta’ala has designed us in such a way that any child will thrive best, given both parents together,” he said carefully. “Circumstances are unavoidable. Every child needs a mother desperately, with her comfort, emotional understanding and compassion. Together with that, the father is also as important, as he holds an amazing space in defining the child’s direction, for financial support, in setting boundaries and in keeping a family aligned on the path of Allah Ta’ala.

I’ll leave you one last piece of advice that you both should take very seriously. To avoid court, we have to work together and be selfless. And I know that everyone will have their own opinions and objections, but when you two truly stop thinking about yourselves and start thinking about the child and what’s best for him, then you both will see sense and I know that you two will make the best decision. You’ll are welcome to come to me when you do. Inshaa Allah….”

And with that, Maulana Umar greeted my stunned father respectfully, before I turned to Hamzah’s mother and sister in law, who I also greeted, feeling just a little embarrassed and out of place.

Yes. I had been a bit difficult. A bit pushy with how much I wanted to control.

I wanted most of Zaid’s time. I wanted to choose schools. I wanted to make sure he had the best care. But wasn’t that because of him? I just wanted the best for him, right?

I didn’t even think that it may have been my ego talking for me.

I knew that I hadn’t been easy, and neither had Hamzah. Both of us had our preferences and our criteria but what Maulana had said had nailed it on the head. We weren’t really thinking about Zaid. Everything we had said was centered around ourselves, and there was no way that it would make any difference to Zaid if it was one way or the other.

I desperately wanted to make things right, even as I greeted the ladies, but it was too late and there was nothing that could be done. What Maulana had said had hit a nerve, and there was no way I could make it all right then.

And with less than a week away from Ramadhan, office work still pending, after everything sunk in, I found myself retreating more into my own world, and caring less about the old one.

The messages kept coming. The posts kept flowing. The game continued, but I wasn’t really playing.

And I’m sure it was the combination of the blessings of Ma’s famous haleem (yummiest lentil soup), Nani’s multiple-filling samoosas and all the general goodness that homemade luxuries had brought… but somehow, something within me had shifted and while I would, in the past, jump at an opportunity to spend time alone with Faadil as soon as he messaged, any day he wanted to see me, it just didn’t appeal any longer…

I had spoken to him briefly, filed in for some unpaid leave and asked for a break to think about what I really wanted to do.

Of course, to say he was livid, was an understatement. He was convinced that I was throwing away the best opportunity I ever had. Thinking with my heart. Wasting my intellect. Deluded by emotion.

But he didn’t know what changes my heart had been though. He had no idea how much I had been altered. I knew exactly what it was that I needed, because something had happened to me, and though I wasn’t yet quite sure what it was, I already knew that I didn’t want to lose it.

As much as I wanted to at least make amends and redeem myself with Hamzah’s family for the sake of Zaid, I wasn’t going to contact him. Although I needed to swallow my pride, I wasn’t quite ready.

Too much had happened, and as I entered Ramadhaan and a journey into myself, I realized that I had a deeply-rooted arrogance, that was keeping me away from Allah Ta’ala all this time.

It stemmed from the fact that my heart was not in Him, and He was not in my heart. I discovered that a heart that does not have it’s Creator within it, is not clean, but tarnished, and I wanted that to change.

You see, for me, my pride was in my career. My 15k followers. My degree. My feminist position at work. My insta-worhy photo skills. My amazing Instafam, and the name-dropping that I was entitled to do because of it.

And then Ramadhaan came, with a beautiful breeze of serenity, and with the softest tugging at my heart, as I lost myself in it, my altered heart was going to undergo much more than I’d ever bargained for.

Something had changed and I wasn’t sure what it was, and like iron is exposed to water and develops layer upon layers of rust, likewise, the heart too does.

But when it is polished, one would be shocked to notice that it experiences a shine like no other.

And once I realised that, it was like nothing else mattered. Not Netflix. Not Instagram. Not Snapchat. All I wanted to do is fix myself, with the wealth I had just found.

And there are certain beauties that only come with the peace of turning to Him, for indeed, Allāh Azza Wa Jal never ceases to be as His slave expects of Him.

On the authority of Abu Hurayrah, may Allah be pleased with him, that the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said: “Allah the Exalted, Says, ‘I am as My slave expects Me to be, and I am with him whenever he remembers Me. If he remembers Me to Himself, I remember him to Myself, and if he remembers Me in an assembly, I remember him in a better assembly (i.e., the assembly of angels). If he draws closer to Me by a hand span, I draw closer to him by an arm’s length. If he draws closer to Me by an arm’s length, I draw closer to him by a fathom’s length. And whoever comes to Me walking, I go to him at speed.’” [Al-Bukhari and Muslim]

And the more I immersed myself in the words of my Rabb, the more I craved. The peace and contentment that I felt that Ramadhaan was like no other. It was like discovering a secret gem, that was right under my nose. The Qur’ān was my secret refuge and my utmost saviour, altogether, taking preference above everything else, and winning me over into a world where I was truly absolved of any worldly desires.

Where I would be restless before when I opened it, now I was restless without it. Where my peace and contentment lay in everything besides it, now I could not seem to find any peace without it. I couldn’t think properly, if it wasn’t with me. It was like an attachment that was growing within me, purifying and healing me as it my heart opened more and more, and engulfed its superb magic.

I wanted to immerse myself more and more, and while Zaid slept, most days, instead of trying to catch up with the work Faadil had asked me to, I would sit with my Mushaf and soak in the serenity it gave me.

And that particular week, Hamzah had come to take Zaid away for three of the days that week, I didn’t yet know that a little more than just a greeting had ensued that day.

The game though, was still to unfold, because as life often goes, things are not always what they seem.

And the thing is, I had surrendered to Allah’s plan for me. Utterly and completely. I wasn’t fighting anything anymore. I was going with the flow and letting it all just take over, but with the ups and downs of life, when something knocks you sideways, sometimes you just dont expect it.

It was the sign for me. A reminder that most certainly, there is a Greater Power who knows and sees much better than you do.

And that’s when I realised:

This world cannot break you unless you allow it to. And it cannot own you unless you hand it the keys, and you hand over your heart. And so, if you have handed those keys to Duniyaa, you have to claim them back.

And I was still on that journey, the part that entailed taking the keys back… when to top off the jumble that my mind was in, my phone started buzzing away, and seeing the caller ID, I knew I couldn’t ignore her completely.

Maahira had been updated briefly on what was going on, but being Ramadhaan, I wasn”t particularly intent on speaking to her right then, so I opted for a generic, “Can’t talk right now, can I call you back?” message, and tapped send.

Her reply, as always, was instantaneous.

Hey love, I’m here for Eid! Now, r we having that wedding or not?

---

Dearest Readers

Hope everyone is well ❤️ It’s my favourite part of the story… the part when the plunge is taken and that change takes place and im just trying to hang onto it as long as I can. Okay, okay… not too long, I know.

Love reading your comments… thoughts on wedding preps?

Much love

A xx

Mission Sunnah Revival

The Sunnah of Duaa

Whilst we grapple to keep that connection alive out of Ramadhaan, I think the Sunnah of Duaa is one that we need to keep with us… InshaAllah

The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said, ‘Du’a is worship itself’. Then the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) recited this verse, ‘Your Lord says: “Call upon Me and I will respond to you. Verily, those who disdain My worship will enter Hell in humiliation” [The Noble Qur’an, 40:60]’. [Tirmidhi]

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

A Change of Heart

---

Bismihi  Ta’ala 

 

Jameela 

Part 39

I once heard a beautiful something that went something like this:

 

The heart is like a mirror. If it is not cleaned properly, it will not properly reflect the recognition of it’s Lord.

 

And it may not seem like a game-changer, but you see, everyone thinks they are fine, until they realise that they’re not.

 

And only once I experienced this for myself, did I realise what it truly meant to have a dead heart. A heart that sees nothing beyond what is layered on top of its dust. A heart that is beating, but has no connection to the one who fashioned it. 

 

Because before this, I was alive in body, but my heart was drenched in ignorance. I was experiencing a spiritual drought. I was desperately in need of some showers of mercy. 

 

But every once in a while, there comes a time in life, a period of intense need, when the thirsty hearts of man are aching for a spiritual change of season, but need a little push to get there. 

 

And as Ramadhaan approached that year, I could already feel my heart yearning for its solace. The souls were stifled. Hearts were undoubtedly ill. The buzz in the air was palpable as Mummy did the usual mundanities of bulk grocery shopping and samoosas galore.

 

And don’t get me wrong, okay. I’m not saying that it was Nani’s samoosas …. but what I did know was that the samoosa filling that happened at the onset of every Ramadhaan did play a really vital role in this particular development, as much as Nani tried to deny it, but that, I’ll come back to later.

What I could say for sure was sometimes when you least expect it, life can do a 360 on you. 

 

A change that can change the hearts, like never before. 

And what changed it, you may ask? 

Well, all I can say is that there’s a time in life when you come to realise that there are certain things that can only come from the wealth of Allah Ta’alas treasures. Through dusting of the layers. Through cleansing the hearts. Through starving the Nafs. Through nourishing the souls… through Dhikr, through Salaah… and most of all, with Quran…  

Quran Shareef was the reason that Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was able to cope with his life.

 

I mean, who can claim to have a life worse than him? No matter what our beloved Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) experienced, he was never hopeless, because he had the Quran.

 

And the same can ring true for us too. The cure from the Curer. The Healer of Hearts. With Him, with His sublime message, the storm can never be too fierce, and without him, surely we will get knocked by even the slightest of a breeze. 

 

But sometimes we need a little stumble, to seek our Lord again.

It was still the week before Ramadhaan when it all started, when we should have been preparing spiritually but we obviously hadn’t, as I walked into the room, I had no idea whatsoever about what lay ahead, but what I was seeing before me was already giving me a little clue…

 

“Hey pretty mama,” I whispered to my sister as I walked into the spare room of our double story home, which undoubtedly had the best view of the plot that my father had inherited from our late grandparents. 

 

There she was, my gorgeous sister. Even in her frumpy  clothes, she was still a stunner.

Nevermind, she was lounging in her scruffy grey gown and pink fluffy slippers. It didn’t matter that her hair was dishevelled and make up completely trashed, Mohsina was the step-in mother who was just trying to pull through. 

 

She was rocking Zaid vigorously as she tried to settle his squirming body, which seemed to be particularly restless that day. I honestly did not know she had this in her.

I could see her grape-coloured burka I had gifted her for Eid the previous year placed next to her, over the chair, and the Quran she had used since madrassa days lying next to the crib, on a higher shelf. It had probably been a while since she opened it, but I knew that recently, since we had lost Layyanah, she had made it her daily routine to read a few Juz of Quran, and I could literally see the effect on her heart. 

That was the beauty part of reading for the deceased. There’s no one in the equation who does not benefit, and neither does it remove from the reward of the reciter. In fact, it was probably her salvation from the craziness of this new life…

As for Zaid, Mohsina was really trying everything to keep him settled, but it wasn’t easy. Nani was trying too, putting all her past skills to good use, while she embarked on this great role of alleged great-grand parenthood. 

“Did you try the gripe water mixture Nani made?” I asked, looking at the empty bottle next to the bed, and feeling a teeny bit sorry for her.

 

“Yasss,” she said enthusiastically, plopping down on the rocker while she held him tightly. His eyes were still wide open as he looked at her. “Tell her to make more. And then she can maybe massage him like she did last week. And put him on her knee to sleep. He hasn’t made a poo in two days.”

 

Oh gosh, TMI. Like why do mothers say things like that? 

Zaid was sucking on the pacifier in his mouth, but looking far from contented. 

 

And I knew it was the formula battle that was causing it. It was why Layyanah had been breastfeeding so persistently in the first place. I remember her once saying that she found that he twisted and turned in his sleep when he drank huge amounts of formula. 

 

She stifled a yawn as she tried to place him down as gently as she could, but he immediately gave out a moan, making her scoop him up and cradle him once again, pressing his stomach to keep him from squirming.

 

“Where is Nani, by the way?” Mohsina sighed, frowning slightly. She was looking a tad bit frustrated. 

 

I knew she wanted the help but I wasn’t good with Zaid at all. He always bawled in my arms.

 

“Filling samoosas,” I said with a small smirk. “From before Fajr. We’ll have samoosas coming out of our ears by the end of Ramadhaan.”

Mohsina’s eyes widened.

 

“I hope she is not planning on serving Samoosas today,” she said in a warning tone. “I ordered the woolies cookies and cappuccinos and Ma says she baked, and that’s all I was planning on giving them. Samoosas would just give them the wrong idea…”

Samoosas. Well, Nani’s entire life at the moment revolves around samoosas, and about that, there was nothing much I could say.

 

“Talking about woolies,” I replied with a tiny smile. “Nani wasn’t too thrilled about the nappy purchase from there last week. Or the formula. Said you’re wasting your money. She said next time to give you her list and she’ll get you a pensioners discount from the supermarket down the road.”

 

Mohsina grinned. Nani’s reaction to the whole situation was something that was pretty awesome. It was probably due to the fact that my sister was adopting an entirely new kind of role in her new-found life that was very much like the role Nani had always imagined for her… minus the husband. 

And of course, it was a shocker for me too. For the first time in years, Mohsina’s phone was barely in her hand. Work had taken a backseat. Her entire life had changed and Nani was noticing it too. Most of all, despite the heartbreak in the backdrop, it had almost completely healed their rocky relationship.

 

Almost. Except for the unmentionable things that Mohsina or Nani never mentioned. 

 

“Nani,” Mohsina mumbled lovingly with a shake of her head, and a humoured look in her eyes. “How can we explain to her the value of convenience? It’s the click of a button, and everything is here. Now I understand why new mothers always look like they do. Honestly, Jamz, I will never look at a stay-at-home mother the same way ever again. They are the new royalty.”

 

I never thought I’d hear the day that Mohsina would say that. And I was so, so in awe of her too. 

As for Nani, besides being thrilled about everything else, since she had heard about the new development this morning where Hamzah and family were due to come this afternoon to see the baby and discuss options on how to care for him in the best way, Nani’s entire purpose in life seemed to alter.

 

”Ohhh, he’s coming here?!” She had said disbelievingly as she heard my mother talking.

 

She said ‘he’ as if he was some kind of royalty or A-list celebrity. 

 

Her half-filled Samoosa was in mid-air as she stared at my mother inquiringly.

 

She was all anxious and excited as Ma explained to her that he wanted to spend time with the baby and was coming with a Maulana, and some of his family who wanted to talk about guardianship of the baby. Ma had made it clear that it was meant to be very professional and serious and no funny business was possible, and asked Nani to make special Duaas for them to come to an amicable decision. 

“Duaas are always there,” she said with an interesting glint in her eyes, but said no more as she continued stuffing the samoosas with chicken mince once more.

 

I walked toward the window, almost automatically, as she smiled back at me, glimpsing a kurta-clad figure in the yard and knowing exactly who it was. The kurta was uncharacteristic for a normal morning, and as I watched, not realising just how long I was standing and unashamedly staring, her voice sounded behind me.

 

 “Who you looking at like that?“ 

I blushed, knowing she had caught me red-handed as I quickly turned away.

Ah yes, the hearts were certainly ill and needed some intense healing…  

 

Especially mine. Tarnished and blackened by all the sins.

 

We tried, a lot of the time, not to cross paths… but sometimes it was unavoidable. 

 

Also, the way Mohsina was looking at me was even more unavoidable.

 

And as I looked at her too, I could see this changed woman who was nothing like self-centered one I had thought she was all these months. She had gone from someone that I could barely relate to, to an amazing woman who I looked up to and greatly admired .

 

Now, to add fuel to fire, she was mercilessly scrutinising me, with a sly smile as she raised eyebrows. 

“I know that look,” she said, shaking her head. “You like him, don’t you?”

 

I shook my head and she sighed. 

Well, not exactly. His name was Zubair and it was a few things that had come to my knowledge recently that had made me … understand  him a little better.

How he had gotten into trouble with his uncle. Why he had maybe resorted to what he had done. Why he needed to earn extra money in the first place, because he hadn’t finished school and his options were so limited, he just had to do all the dirty work that had got us into so much of trouble too…

 

“He’s not exactly usyaar, is he?” She said with raised eyebrows. “The complete opposite of you. Nani might have a thing to say about that.”

 

I swallowed and looked up at her.

 

Usyaar. The Gujarati equivalent of innocent and sweet-natured. Exactly what every mother-in-law was looking for in a son or daughter-in-law.

 

I knew that. And that was precisely the reason why I wouldn’t ever think of him as anything more than just an employee.

 

If only I could control my unruly heart.

 

“You got that look on your face,” she said with a cock of her head and warning glance. “Don’t get caught in that trap. Of feeling like you need to sneak around because ‘he’ is not what people expect of you…”

I blushed, even though I wasn’t guilty of being in that kind of trouble. I knew the rules. No furtive glances. No unnecessary chit-chat. No passing each other’s paths, even by ‘mistake’. 

 

My traps were only in my mind, but they were just as dangerous. As dangerous as he was, in fact. 

What I didn’t know was the Mohsina was only trying to ensure that I wouldn’t make the same mistakes that she did.

 

“I haven’t ever spoken to him,” I said, not wanting to entertain any further thoughts about the ‘he’ in question. “He keeps his distance even though he stays here.” 

 

The thing is, when we had first met him, in the coffee shop that day, we didn’t know that his mother was late and his father had kicked him out of the house after he started working for his uncle. His sister was married and in the UK for a few months… so he didn’t have much family here for support either. And that’s how he came to stay in the front house. 

 

”Papa seems to like him,” Mohsina conceded, glancing at me as she said it, rocking baby Zaid a little slower as he seemed to be nodding off. “I’m surprised.”

 

“He was the one who told Papa about his uncle and how he fooled you into paying him so much,” I said quietly, purposely changing the topic to slightly safer avenues. “I’m so sorry that you had to dig into all of your savings …”

 

I knew that Papa had finally spoken to her about it yesterday and it wasn’t until now that I felt confident to talk about it openly to her too. They had a long chat and spoke till almost midnight, before Zaid woke up bawling and Mohsina had to abandon the heart-to-heart because she was the only one who could pacify him.

What exactly they spoke about, I wasn’t sure… but from the way Mohsina seemed today, I could see that a lot of baggage was off her shoulders. She looked so much more serene.

“It’s only money,” she said quietly as she held Zaid closer to her. “And Faadil helped me. A lot. I paid him back most but there’s a little outstanding. I suppose it wasn’t the most ideal solution but one good thing is that it left less money available for all of his dodge extra-curricular activities…”

 

A slightly pained expression flashed over her face as she said it, and then she shook her head, swallowing hard as I looked at her inquiringly. 

“Activities?” I asked questioningly. 

“Just a few things I found out about him,” she said with a shrug. “A while back….”

 

I smiled sadly as she looked away, but not wanting to ask anymore questions for fear of the answers. The fact that he had given her so much of money and saved us from a horrible situation did make even me feel indebted to him too…

 

The entire thing was just messed up and it was his fault.

 

My heart sank because she spoke almost as if she liked him, yet my sister was way too good for that self-obsessed twit. What she even saw in him, I had no idea…

 

Mohsina turned to me, her hands tightly wrapped around baby Zaid as she stopped rocking him, a serene smile on her face as she glanced at me victoriously and finally bent to lay him down. 

 

My heart contracted slightly as I could picture Layyanah doing this umpteen times before, biting back tears as I watched as she placed him down in the little cot she had bought from the baby shop yesterday.

I smiled amidst the grief, a little in awe of how Mohsina herself had done this whole new transition. Something in her had shifted.

 

And though I expected Mohsina to be all possessive and impossible, she was actually being pretty level-headed in her approach… and though I could see that it was stressing her out, she had really taken it in her stride. 

 

Well, until now, when she looked at the time and did a double take. 

“Oh my word, I didn’t realise the time!” she squealed, widening her eyes and looking panicked as she realised that she had half an hour till they were scheduled to come.

It was actually what I had come to tell her before I had seen her in her maternal glory and got completely distracted. 

 

“I still have to get dressed and read my Salaah! Jamz, please stick around here and tap him back if he starts to move. Or just call Nani. At least it will stop her from frying any samoosas…”

 

And with that, in true crazy-mum style, my sister had already zoomed off to shower and I hovered around and watched the little sleeping sweetheart, wondering how such a tiny human could bring about such a huge change in so many people’s lives.

 

Change, huh? I never thought I’d see it. Till that point, to be honest, I had really given up on my sister. Despite knowing that I should never give up on anyone… I had shelved the idea of ever trying to see eye-to-eye with her until now. 

Instead of the superficial and selfish sister I had been accustomed to the past few months, and amazing, selfless and maternal side of her was make its way to the shore and it gave me goosebumps to see the potential she had.

 

I was so, so proud of her, for putting this above everything, and not just fitting it in like I thought she would. 

 

After the strange behavior she had exhibited over the past few months, pushing us away and distancing herself further and further… somehow, it was like something had clicked into place when she had lost Layyanah. The arrogance she had previously displayed was no longer a part of her. Instead, there was a simmered down, completely contented version of herself that had come to the fore once this new situation had become apparent.

 

And I didn’t even think of her last words to me as I got busy with Zaid and my babysitting duty. I wasn’t even sure how time ran away with me, because the next thing I knew, car doors were slamming outside and Mohsina was sprinting out of the bathroom, scrounging around in my cupboards for something decent to put on.

 

I couldn’t imagine how she must have been feeling at that point, if I was stuck in my own kind of frenzy about what the outcome of this entire meeting was going to be.

 

No matter what she said or how tough Mos acted… It was obvious that this was important. What was happening right now meant a lot to her. Not only was she dealing with someone who was once quite important to her, but all over again, for other unprecedented reasons, she had to make a good impression and build their trust once again and this was a meeting that would hold so much of weight.

 

And of course, it was precisely at that time when Zaid decided he was hungry again and started bawling his head off. Mohsina was yelling at me to take him when I pulled open the room door to head downstairs and be my best version of politeness, when I caught the whiff of freshly fried samoosas in the air. From Mohsina’s unimpressed expression, I knew she did too. 

 

I also knew that she was probably going to kill me for letting it happen but the truth was that when Nani was set on something, especially when it came to samoosas, there wasn’t much else anyone could say to stop her. 

What we didn’t know was that this whole Samoosa Saga was probably going to bring about a lot more than anticipated.

 

Sometimes, changes are gradual. Steady, slow and easy, sometimes the changes give us time to be accustomed to them and give us some sort of warning.

 

Sometimes the changes need to be within us, and we have to work on our inner selves. Sometimes the changes start directly from our filthy hearts, so we can finally see Allah Ta’alas magic in everything once again. 

 

And yes, we were all waiting for Ramadhan that year, to bring its peace and comfort, but what we didn’t know was that our entire world was already starting to transform before that.

See once in a while, with the realisation of life and death, when the hearts are altered and our souls have been moved through the beautiful sustenance of worship, it’s like the ground beneath has shifted. You see things with a new eyes. It’s like your whole world has changed, and things will never be the same again 

 

See once in a while, once in a blue moon, people can surprise you.

 

And once and a while, the ones you least expect, they may even take your breath away…

 

 

---

Assalamualaikum 

 

Dearest Readers 

 

I sincerely hope that everyone had a beautiful Ramadhaan. May Allah accept all our efforts, and grant us istiqaamat. It’s quite a transition, getting back to the old routine.

Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said: “The most beloved of deeds are those that are performed consistently even though they may be little.”

 

May Allah guide us to maintain our efforts. 

May it be a means of change, not only for now, but also a means of us continuously improving.

One sign of acceptance is to be able to maintain our efforts and do more. InshaAllah. 

Mission Sunnah Revival will continue- let’s try and bring all the past ones back into practise InshaAllah, especially trying to stay off social media and guard our gazes…

 

Please do remember me in your duaas

Much love 

 

A x

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah