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

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