When things Work Out

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 91

Sometimes what didn’t work out for you, really worked out for you.

Okay. I know I sound looney. But when I looked at everything in my life, and how difficult it was to actually get hold of some things, I knew that I was right.

Nothing in this life is perfect. When I cry or lose or bruise, so long as I am still alive, nothing is ultimate. So long as there is still a tomorrow, a next moment, there is hope, there is change, and there is redemption.

What is lost is not lost forever.

So what I always wanted to know was – in answering the question of whether what is lost comes back, I recalled the most beautiful examples that I had read in the books of Islamic history.

Did Musaa AS return to his mother? Did Hajar (AS) return to Ibrahim (AS)? Did Yusuf (AS) return to his father? Did health, wealth and children return to Nabi Ayoub AS?

And yes. Yes, to all. From these examples we learn a powerful and beautiful lesson: what is taken by Allah Ta’ala is never lost.

Being able to say “Alhamdulillah for everything” and “It is what it is” was such a powerful mindset, that when you adapt it, there’s nothing more effective to get you through everything life has offered.

And while Ramadhaan had come as a cleansing, the month after had been a bitter battle of sorts between my nafs and every challenge that I had ever faced, and completely forgot the value of Allahs gifts to me.

The restlessness, the unease. Although my whole life, I was the lucky one, the one who had it together, the one who knew all the answers, the one who had peace.

There’s something wrong when we can’t perform good deeds anymore, due to our own silly hang ups. And that was where I was headed. It was a slow but steady road to destruction, and I couldn’t even seem to take the detour.

Earth to Mos. Are u stil alive and kicking? 

She had included Jameela in on the chat, and though my sister had been a little quiet the past few days, I expected it. She and Zubair had escaped to some villa with sea view and signal wasn’t always optimal when she was out.

I glared at the message from Maahira, feeling only a little annoyed that it wasn’t anything Hamzah related.

I typed out the message with only a tiny sardonic grin on my face.

Me: Pretty much alive. Unfortunately.

Jameela: ah Mos, we love you. You don’t need a man when you have us. *kissey smiley emoji*

I smiled, despite the aching in my chest.

Me: I don’t think Zubair will appreciate that. He might want to start using those weapons again (on me) if I threaten to steal back my sister.

Jameela: *rolling eyes emoji* you’re right. And I love him for that. We’re going to test the icy waters. Catch you guys later.

Jameela has left the chat.

Me: Ob. Sessed. 

Maahi: Duh. Mos, why don’t u come and visit me here? Bring your bro and take some time off. I’m waiting to spoil you with all the yummy treats you need to fatten you up and keep those blues away. I’m worried abt u. 

Enough pity-partying. Time to move on.

Me: Hows Mr Chunkster?

It was the only response I had for her that would shut her up and make her swoon instead.

Mr Chunkster, aka Chunks, whose actual name was Ismail, was Maahi’s Samoosa run that had gone very wrong and then very right. She didn’t like him at first because of superficial aspects. She found him a tad bit overweight and a lot but over bubbly, and judged him because of it. And then, she met him again at a work thing, and somehow, their bickering about the other had turned to some kind of conversation and she agreed that maybe there was something there.

Chunks is good, and completely pulling all the moves right now to get into my good books, how’s Mr Tiger?

I know you’ve been seeing him so it’s no use you hiding your shenanigans from me. I’m the only gal u have so spill, what in the world is going on with the 2 of u?

Not the response I was looking for. And wait, what?

I typed a response as quick as I can.

Faadil and I have a strictly professional working relationship. There are no hidden agendas. And what do you mean, Chunks is good? Are you guys like an it…

I’m wasn’t too sure how I felt about that. This was way too fast for me.

Maahira: honestly, Mos, 4 someone who passed their board exams the first time around, u r exceptionally dense. The man doesn’t want professional with u. He’s after you for the whole package and u cannot see it.

I sighed, knowing I had to differ in her opinion. Lesley (who was now Aaliya) had the same opinion, when I had met her the previous week, after she had messaged me about the situation at hand, wanting the full low down about what was going on. I had humoured her because I wanted to know what she knew and everything that was going on in her firm too. She had filled me in the office news and given me some hope too. To see the change in her after these months of marriage, after she had married Muslim guy from HR, and then started taking Qur’ān classes and learning so much about Deen, was something that made me feel like a fraud. It was like she was ten steps ahead of me.

Me: Im telling you that F does not have any ulterior motives. Not with me, at least. He’s being absolutely gentlemanly.

I wanted to add, unlike Hamzah; who acted like we never met before and he might have seen me on the underside of his running shoe.

I mean, also, I would know if Faadil was really pulling the moves. I had been to the office more than a dozen times in the past few weeks and if Faadil wanted to pull a move, I know he would have already.

He was most definitely not the slow type.

And I had just seen him a few days before. He had very politely stood outside the board room, his daunting figure hovering, watching me from a good distance while I filed away the last of the paperwork that dropped charges against me.

Even though he was no longer officially employed by Hammonds, somehow, he still found a way to frequent the place without anyone kicking him out. I wasn’t even sure what was going on. All I knew was that he had somehow convinced them that I was innocent and I was no longer guilty.

“Hey.”

His voice was  flat and unfamiliar. I hadn’t actually spoken to him since everything went down. Yes, I saw him every day, but it was in passing. Always by the way.

And that’s the way it should stay, I reminded myself. Keep your distance.

I mean, it was awkward because besides the fact that the last time he was down on his knees, asking me to marry him, but also, he was the sole reason for my marriage having fallen apart.

“Hey, everything okay?”

I nodded, hoping that he would turn and leave. Chatting to him felt disloyal to Hamzah, even though said husband wasn’t exactly grovelling at my feet, I didn’t want to give him reason not to.

“Mohsina, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for all this has caused.”

I froze momentarily, a little shocked that an apology was actually coming out of Faadil’s mouth. I definitely didn’t expect that. Not today.

“What’s done is done,” I said flatly, still keeping my gaze down consciously. “I suppose now that my name is nearly cleared, we can move forward.”

I allowed myself a glance at him, seeing an assistant entering the room now, and the way he watched her walk, and taking some comfort in the fact that we weren’t alone, as he gave a curt nod, and then took a long look at her legs before looking back at me.

Could he be less of a perv at least? 

“I’m starting a company. Something small but well networked. It would be good-“

”Faadil,” I said, cutting him off mid sentence, knowing that he was offering me a job but not needing any handouts. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He nodded again, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly, but getting the message. In his eyes, I saw something I never saw before, besides the obvious infatuation with Miss Long Legs.

Was it compassion? No. Understanding. He understood why I couldn’t. And he was okay with it.

And though I didn’t want to tell him this, I knew that I didn’t have to worry because it was just the week before that I got the message from another company telling me that they got my number from Lesley and they were looking for part time applicants to take on positions in their firm. It was an older firm with a new faculty, looking to employ part time CAs, and it seemed perfect for me.

I knew that I should thank Lesley at least, for hooking me up. She had good contacts and I didn’t realise that she would work so fast.

”How is the baby?”

I couldn’t believe that Faadil actually asked about a child.

Small talk. Faadil was never one for that. He was also not one for kids. He was always convinced that he would never really want one of his own, unless he was forced to get one for purposes of having someone to inherit his swindled fortune. I didn’t quite believe that he could be so business like even in those aspects of his life. I wasn’t sure why I had ever wanted to marry him.

He was ambling around, not quite knowing what to do after I rejected his offer. And of course I couldn’t.

“Not much of a baby anymore,” I said with a hint of a smile, still not meeting his gaze, thinking of Zaid and his new wobbles and uncharacteristic conversation. “Walking. Talking. I see him every day- literally cannot live without him.”

I could see Faadil’s posture tense up slightly as I spoke about Zaid and how he had taken over my life, and I assumed it had to do with the fact that him coming into my life had changed what we had, and made it what it was.  Still, I didn’t have any regrets.

And I knew that I was talking a bit too much but I had to make it clear that there was a reason why I couldn’t take a full time job. I didn’t want to miss out on all of that, even if I was missing out on a lot anyway. I wanted to take Zaid home for a night a week, but since Hamzah refused to budge from our arrangement, I knew it was futile to ask. He was being difficult and he seemed to enjoy it.

I loved Zaid more than anything in this world and leaving work for him was the best thing I did.

Leaving Faadil? Well. That too. Especially since it seemed like him and long legs had a thing. I just felt bad now that there was a 0.01 percent chance that he had gotten hurt in the process. It was obvious that when he came back to propose then he had some regrets. I wasn’t sure whether I could ever believe that he had loved me, even remotely.

Now, well… he seemed pretty much over it, and probably onto other things, or rather, people, and it gave me some relief.

Now that Zaid was growing up and I was probably venturing into unknown territories with Hamzah, I knew I might have to think of work again, but most definitely not with Faadil.

”If you need anything,” Faadil’s voice said, and I looked up to see him watching me intently, hands still in pocket, almost as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them, actually looking slightly edgy now. Maybe he was thinking of Long Legs. “Anything. You know you can still ask me right?”

I breathed in, immediately relieved that he didn’t hold any of our past against me. He was being friendly, which was not exactly good, but at least it was not suggestive, and I appreciated it. I gave him a tight smile, closing the folder I was holding and reaching for my bag to leave.

As always, I was there for necessity. Not there for a scandal or his comfort.

”Thanks.”

And that was it. No more small talk that was unnecessary. I was ready to head home. He had nodded, and turned and left, and I knew that Maahira was exaggerating because there was nothing remotely suggestive about the one real conversation we had. The only thing suggestive was the way he ogled the PA‘s legs.

And that’s when I realised that I still loved Hamzah. I know that it sounded sad and pathetic, but I did. He was a hard nut to crack, but in all fairness, maybe I should have tried again. Maybe I should have gone back to him, and begged him to take me back.

But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t bring myself to forget what he told me. I just couldn’t believe that he thought we were a mistake. The one person who I thought believed in me and loved me for me, was the one who had very blatantly said that our marriage was a sham and he only married me because it made sense for Zaid at the time.

That stung. It hurt a lot.

And the pain was something that pierced my soul to an extent that after I had seen Zaid, and got back to the flat, it was really hard to forget. Ramadhaan had gone by, and I took refuge in Duaa and Qur’ān while it lasted. Now that it was over, it wasn’t that easy. I was slipping. Badly.

It started with one movie, that I decided to watch on a whim, when I was missing Hamzah was too much for words, and then eased into one of those Korean series were my new obsession.

The thing with these types of traps is that from one thing, you just slide into another and another and the list doesn’t end.

We are repeatedly asked in the Quraan Majeed to ponder and reflect, as this is the means to recognize Allah Ta‘ala. However, the science and technology that man uses to bring pleasure and entertainment into his life, has unfortunately taken over his heart and switched off his mind, hence his ability to ponder and reflect becomes paralyzed.

I didn’t realise how these things sucked you in, until you were hooked. I didn’t even let myself think about how I was sitting and nurturing my smartphone instead of my son, who I should have been trying every effort to get more time with him.

I even ignored my phone for the hours that I sat on my laptop, snacking on popcorn and ignoring the familiar feeling of an unsettled tummy that sometimes annoyed me since Hamzah had left. I figured that it had to do with anxiety. The one time I had brought up my Eid breakfast was when Hamzah answered the door, and if that wasn’t enough to tip me off that it was all related to him and the hold that he had over me that made me increasingly edgy, well, I don’t know what was.

I sighed, hoping that Hamzah and his mother didn’t think anything else when I had to rush to the bathroom.

Oh, and damn that stupid stomach bug that didn’t want to leave. It had thrown me completely off course. Also, after fasting, Eid day had been one day when I had probably over-eaten, and I knew that my stomach was probably revolting because of it.

And now, yet again, it was probably revolting because I hadn’t put any real food into it. I just didn’t seem to have an appetite after everything. My body was feeling like a bus had ridden over it, and I knew it was exhaustion combined with intense anxiety and all I wanted to do was huddle up on the couch and sleep till I forgot all the problems of the world. I wanted to forget the past. The promises. The hope I had held onto only because the man I loved had convinced me that hope was never a mistake.

I fell off to sleep with those thoughts flooding my mind, wishing that I could forget it all.

When I woke up, scrambling to read Asr because there were literally 10 minutes before Maghrib salaah, I couldn’t quite believe that just a month ago I had been an almost perfect Muslimah. I made a rushed whudhu, an even more rushed salaah, and spent a good ten minutes kicking myself for my negligence.

Negligence. It was that sole factor. It led to sins, and I knew it – I had been so complacent, but I just couldn’t seem to help myself because I was slipping deeper and deeper into indifference. I made a firm intention to stop being also negligent. To focus more on Qur’ān. To be punctual and mindful of salaah. I had to start somewhere, but I was just feeling so low, all of a sudden.

It was a good half hour after I read maghrib, made myself a cheese and tomato sandwich (because it was the only thing I seemed to be able to keep down), and then checked my phone to see if the lawyer had messaged with any ho. That was when I saw the messages from Saaliha, which was what Jameela was telling me to reply to me a few days ago when I last spoke to her, and Nani, who was surprisingly still messaging me with a very obvious intention.

I was still sitting in half oblivion, diligently fighting my nafs, but also really wanting to use Netflix anymore to drown out that voice in my head that kept going over and over everything that had gone wrong.

I wanted to be good. I wanted to attend the taaleem that Nani had been nagging me to come back to.

I was relieved that she was still WhatsApping me, even if it was only to nag me about Taaleem and getting onto Zoom for the online course she and I had once started, but I figured that she would rather keep tabs on me than lose me altogether, and it kind of made sense.

I wanted to stay clean, and just avoid all distractions, but I just couldn’t seem to pull myself out of the hole I was in. I had sunken into a place that was difficult to crawl out of, so instead, I turned to social media to drown my sorrows, hoping that seeing everyone else enjoying their lives may give me some comfort.

I could almost picture Nani’s face as she screamed at me to stop being such a ‘pakka Shaytaan’. And on top of that, she kept sending me those typical inspiration like images that made you want to sit on your musalla the whole day and cry your eyes out. I mean, at least I wanted to. I never thought Nani would get what I was feeling, after all her telling me off, but somehow, she was the only one who did.

I missed her. I actually missed Nani.

She made me understand that these were tests. We always assume that all the tests and challenges we are faced with are because of Allah’s wrath….
Do we ever stop to think that perhaps it’s our Creator’s mercy upon us? That he’s trying to tell us something?
Often we miss the signs that Allah Ta’ala sends because we’re blinded by what is already distracting us.

And I didn’t even realise what I was doing as I flipped through previous messages that Nani first sent me, angry and upset as ever, and then calmed down slightly as the days went by and we kind of forgot how much I had messed up, but as my head jolted to the doorbell ringing, the tears that wet my cheeks felt a little more intrusive than normal. I had let everyone down.

I knew why she was doing this. All Nani had was hope to hold onto. At least she had that.

Hope, he had said, was never a mistake. I couldn’t help but feel that he had lied. I wanted to forget that last day. The love that I felt, whilst my heart was brimming over with it. I wanted to forget that there was someone who once stole so much of me, that now that he had left, I felt like a shell of a person who just existed.

I usually never cried. Never. But since Hamzah left, it was all I wanted to do.

And knowing that I barely got visitors, and as I shifted off the couch, I could feel myself almost calibrating as I headed to the door, trying to figure out exactly what I was feeling.

I didn’t even think it strange that they had bypassed the main gate.

I pulled open the door slightly, keeping the chain in place as I peeped out, nearly having a heart attack as I saw Hamzah’s face in the tiny gap I had looked out from.

He didn’t waste a second, probably in case I decided to shut the door right in his face. After his last words to me, I was tempted, but something in my heat was literally holding me back, so I stood there, frozen, just staring at him, wondering if he was real or not.

His face was serious as he looked at me, his brown eyes shining with emotion, and I could almost see the absolute caution that he approached me with, almost as if he was afraid of what it would bring. I didn’t even hear him the first time he spoke.

It was the second time he said it, that I really processed, my heart contracting as he said it.

”Mos, did you hear me?” His voice said, in that usual soft tone that pulled at my heart strings. “Can I come in? We need to talk.”

---

Sunnah of Entertaining guests

Hosting and entertaining guests is indeed a significant deed in Islam. The first man to entertain a guest was Nabi Ibrahim (‘alayhis salam).

This quality is directly linked to the level of one’s Iman.

As seen in the above narration, Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wasallam) coupled honouring the guest with Belief in Allah and the Day of Qiyamah, which are two fundamental aspects of our Din.

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

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Shattering Secrets

Bismihi Taala

Mohsina

Part 85

Leaving is hard. Losing is harder.

I once heard someone say that the very same worldly attribute that causes us pain is also what gives us relief: Nothing here lasts.

And while I found myself at war with my heart, I knew that I couldn’t give in, just because it said so. Just like the feeling of being hopelessly in love didn’t last, so too, the feeling of pain and agony also won’t last.

The thing is, we all make mistakes. Yes, we all  need to restart, sometimes over and over again, only to lose ourselves once again. Yes, there are days when we feel consumed by the world and it weighs heavy on our shoulders. There are times when we forget that this life is temporary and fleeting and insignificant in comparison to the next life. Yes, there are days when we feel so distant from Allah. Days when we don’t raise our hands to Him, days when we are ungrateful and thankless and days when we are an embarrassingly bad version of us, that even we can’t quite come to terms with…

But for all those times that we are heedless and complacent and broken by the world, by Allah, we are never forgotten, and Allah always has our back; in whatever means or form He provides.

For me…. there was Hamzah… who was my personal spiritual booster, who was trying his utmost to pull me out of the hole I had crept into and keep me floating.

And it was working. Somehow. It was working.

After Hamzah’s little stint, I couldn’t help but feel all my barriers collapse with no resolve. It was like his sincerity had crept right into the midst of my soul, but yet, when I agreed to his request, I couldn’t help but feel like I was being a little too hopeful that after all this, Hamzah would still want me back.

Though my stance was still neutral and distant, I had a feeling that brick by brick, the wall was coming down, and I didn’t even want to hold it up anymore.

The truth was, I loved this guy. I didn’t want to lose him, and when he dished out words that made me feel so much more, I couldn’t help but cave.

We drove in semi-silence after I had dissolved in his arms, and then quickly recovered, vowing to keep up the facade that I felt nothing for him anymore. The way Hamzah drove, as if he knew what exactly where he was going, made me a feel a little nervous. I didn’t want to get all flustered and overwhelmed by emotion again. I had calmed down, but Hamzah’s request to me still hung over my head like a cloud above my head.

His free hand rested in the middle of us, waiting for me to tangle my fingers with his in a silent truce. But I couldn’t do it.

I knew what he was silently saying. It was time to let this be. To love him unreservedly. To stop holding back just on the off-chance that everything was meant to be perfect.

And though I would never admit it, it felt like my heart had been shifted. I wasn’t even sure what had happened after being at Hamzah’s Madrassa but I knew that Qur’ān had amazing effects. I had once heard that Qur’ān is the cure to any problem and will do miracles to hearts. I honestly felt like my heart had undergone some kind of miracle. I felt like it had been deep cleansed and flushed out, and now all I saw was positivity and everything good that could be.

“Are you ready for our next stop?” Hamzah said quietly, his gaze not leaving the road as he spoke.

I avoided his eyes too as he pulled off the main road, onto a smaller road that took us another minute of driving, the blue skies even more glorious as we got closer to the coast.

The car served slightly to the right as the shoreline came into view, and catching sight of the deepest blue waters contrasting against the light blue of the sky, the beauty of it made me gasp in absolute wonder.

Now, I know that I hadn’t exactly been to Maldives yet, but I knew for sure that there weren’t many places in the world that had such amazingly blue waters. I watched in awe as Hamzah drive along the coastal route, amazed that there was such a stunning view from where we were. The sea seemed so vast and glorious as I watched it, waves crashing along with such ferocity that it made you wonder about the Creator of that kind of power. There was just something about having an ocean view that gave you a soothing within your soul.

The scene was a picture perfect kind. Mountains in the distance. Driving into the horizon, or breaking into the jaw-dropping sunsets. No visible limits to where the oceans ended.

I knew Hamzah had a special affinity to this place where the land met the seas, and this was where he found his base, got his focus and explored his true ambition.

My eyes were fixated on the beauty before me until we pullled off the road and Hamzah killed the engine, and I couldn’t help but feel myself flush under his intense gaze. While I watched the amazing view, Hamzah was gauging my reaction with a certain interest that made me shift under his scrutiny.

“Stop,” I said, shifting uncomfortably as I glanced at him again. “You’re making me nervous.”

He had this disturbing smile on his face, as if he knew was more than he let on, and how his stance remained so positive and unnerving was beyond me. I wished that I could somehow distract him, but before I could think of something, he had pushed open the door and stepped out into the openness, pulling off his kurta as he did so, almost as if he was getting ready for a swim.

I honestly wondered if he was going to take a dip in the waters, and while I was contemplating on whether to reprimand him for his crazy behaviour or not, before I knew it, the passenger door was open and Hamzah was next to me, with an expectant smile on his face.

”You don’t expect to sit in the car with such a beautiful view ahead of you, do you?”

Before I could even begin to argue, he had already extended his arm to lift me out the car, and I could feel my resolve weakening each moment as he did so. And I was already bought by this place that Hamzah loved. The salty air. The view of limitless beauty. The feel of the wind through my scarf was simply gorgeous.

I trudged forward as he pulled me along, not giving me any choice but to enjoy his proximity and the feeling of my hand in his as he edged me along silently.

Hamzah just had a way to snap me out of my stupor, and I knew that I had no chance when it came to him. I never quite admitted if before, but now, I understood how Allah Ta’ala compliments people through their other halves. For me, he was the type of personality who balanced all my inadequacies. While I lay low, Hamzah coaxed my inner adventurer. While I usually preferred isolation, Hamzah pushed me to interact. He was the icing on my cupcake. He brought out the best of me, and when I recalled Layy once saying that he filled in all my blanks, I now understood exactly what she meant.

Hamzah was like a uncontained proton. With him around, life just felt so… charged.

We paused as he stopped to pull off his shoes and socks, me hoping that he wouldn’t pull any drastic moves or throw me in, quickly acceding to his request for me to pull out my own shoes as I stepped onto the sandy part of the beach, enjoying the peace and quiet that existed there. It was very much deserted, but still a sight to behold, as we stood there, hands together, just taking in this moment as the splendour of sky meeting the seas spread before us. It was like it was lit up in some kind of brightly kindled fire as the day was coming to a close, and the sight literally took my breath away.

”Are you reading more Qur’ān for me?” I breathed, my voice hopeful as it cut through the air, and Hamzah turned to look at me.

Him reciting to me was something that made me ache for more. It had brought a sense of tranquility and clarity… a state of mind that I hadn’t had in way too long, but ached to attain once again. Not only had he recited, but the deep knowledge of the Qur’ān he had, about the verses where Allah tells us we will be tested, and our ability to be patient is something that is inherent. Somehow, Allah puts that patience in our hearts and enables us through understanding.

And We will surely test you with something of fear and hunger and a loss of wealth and lives and fruits, but give good tidings to the patient, (Surah 2:155)

It had given me an insight, and a small hope that was at the back of my mind, waiting to be rekindled.

”That’s for special occasions,” he murmured with a slight grin before pulling out a tasbeeh counter from his pocket and handing it to me.

“But when we say SubhanAllah, and that can sometimes feel like we are the kings of the world,” he continued with a one dimpled smile, while I took his counter.

It was one of those larger new ones, black with a pretty pattern, and I kept it in my forefinger as I took his advice and mouthed the words, praising Allah for everything He had so graciously blessed me with.

Just being there, knowing that Hamzah had faith in me… in us… gave me a most amazing sense of renewed hope… and reciting SubhaanAllah made me feel like I was touching base again.

Connecting with my surroundings. Acknowledging that all glory before me, from the bluest waters to the foamy seas, and everything that my eyes feasted on, was only due to the One who Created.

We had moved along to the edge of the seas now, stopping just before the colours of the sand got darker with moistureit, and I couldn’t help but halt to immediately plop myself down on the sand, digging my toes in, thinking about when the last time was that I had enjoyed sitting on the open beach like this.

“Don’t do that,” he said softly, his hand holding the top of my knee while he stopped my foot from wriggling. “You’re hiding your toes.”

I couldn’t help but feel my cheeks heat up, although I barely got frazzled, remembering the first time we had been at a beach together, and recalling how toe obsessed I was. For some reason, right then, the picture gamer, instagram obsessed version of me felt so far away.

It was all purely coincidental that we had ended up being each others company that morning, and even though we were wrong to be so freely mixing, it made me appreciate that we knew so much better now.

“Do you remember the time we were at a beach in the days of Jahelia?” His voice broke out, almost reading my thoughts as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket, and sat down next to me.

I grinned and nodded regretfully at his reference to those days when work took preference over everything and Liyaket and Layyanah were still in their romancing phase.

“Do you know how I loathed you?” I said with narrowed eyes, remembering how he used to annoy me about my social media apps.

“Ditto,” he said quietly with a wink. “But after that, something changed. And I felt like irritating you even more. Every day. Till forever.”

I shook my head at him. He was such a kid. Like the old boy likes girl and makes fun at her story.  He acted as if we were in primary school.

“I think I was in denial,” he said softly, and I looked at him with my eyebrows raised.

Ahem. What?

”But why,” I said, not understanding why he would even like the instagram obsessed @mostlymohsina who barely gave time of day to anyone else but her feed.

He grinned as I looked at him, his brown eyes avoiding mine as I wondered if he was going to backtrack on his words.

But no. Hamzah was going for the kill today.

“You were the only girl who had game,” he said with a shrug, as if it was obvious. “And you know why? Girls think that being open and approachable makes them a better catch. But you… Mos, you were hard on yourself in ways you didn’t know. Ways that made you stand out.  You didn’t give a crap about what anyone thought about your hijab. You didn’t entertain the guys or any of the mundane chit chat. Even on the trips… You were always careful about what you ate and how you behaved. You know what I was like. Liyaket would call me out for my ways all the time.”

I snorted, remembering how he was once in a disciplinary hearing for something that had happened with some office girl in the archives room.

I could see the embarrassment on his face as I almost laughed at the recollection.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said cheekily. “I know I was a rotter. And you were like one of those girls who were out of my league and unattainable… until I spoke to you and realised that maybe you were exactly what I needed to keep me grounded. And then, next I knew, there was Liyaket to tell me that he was certain that you were the right girl for me, and I knew I was a goner.”

I shook my head, thinking that hilarious because I had gone so haraami and off track afterwards with all my that he should probably take those words back. And it was so ironic because I felt that he was the one who had gone all Maulana-type and became out of reach for me.

Anyhoo, then the unmentioned stuff happened and we were both stuck in a space where none of us could understand what the other was even thinking…

If only we had known all the things that we hid so well from each other, because we felt too vulnerable to say, but I knew it didn’t matter now because Allah knew where our paths would take us, and I knew now for sure that there was a reason for this.

Even right now, everything that’s happened.. I knew that there was no way that I could deny that some goodness was going to come out of it. I just knew that I had to stick this out and hope that it would come through sooner rather than later.

But in the meantime, I couldn’t help but feel that hole in my gut as I looked at my husband, the mention of the past now bringing hope in his eyes, as I took a deep breath and turned my gaze away to the spectacular seas.

Today, they were steady and relaxed, and my heart immediately felt contented as I watched the ebb and flow of the tide, the sound of swishing waters soothing my soul beautifully.

But all this soothing was making me relax too much, when I shouldn’t be.

“What if you’re making a mistake,” I said to him suddenly, my mind on our conversation back at the madrassa, turning my face to watch his expression change, knowing that he was going to regret putting so much effort into this when it was already doomed to fail. “By having so much of faith in me. You’ve got way too much of hope. It’s not fair on you.”

“It’s not fair on either of us,” he said, his fingers twiddling with each other as I watched him, sitting with his knees up. “And it’s not silly or naive either. It’s because even in the darkness, I see that my Rabb is greater than everything else. Watching this… the sky and the earth holding hands on the horizon… well… doesn’t it fill you with hope?”

The sight ahead felt like stab of love, a blaze of color – oranges, pearly pinks, vibrant purples spread before us, almost like the blended colors of love. I was mesmerised for a second, not realising how quickly the sky had morphed into such glory, taking in every fiery red, bold orange and carnivorous yellow as we watched horizon spread out before us from the sea sand. As I did so, I couldn’t help but feel my soul lighten. My heart was opening in a way it hadn’t before. The sight of that, contrasting with the blissfully blue waters that calmed my soul, was what gifted me with something that I hadn’t realised was creeping up on me, and that’s when I understood what Hamzah had said.

Hope. We find it even in the most unexpected places, and I hadn’t felt it more than I felt it right then, and I wanted to take that moment and pocket it so I could keep it close to my heart forever.

I wanted to remember the moment that things had shifted.

I didn’t need to ask him why anymore. I knew why he had brought me here. It was the beauty of Allahs creation- scenic and gorgeous and I wished that we could stay there, in our happy bubble forever, although I knew that reality was only a road trip away.

And when he said it, I knew exactly what he meant.

“Hope, my love,” he whispered softly, his face next to mine as he spoke close to my ear. “Is never a mistake.”

My tummy flipped as he said it, making me wonder how he still did that to me, even after all this time and the fact that this was supposed to be some kind of farewell journey.

And it made my heart ache. This has been so hard. And I was spent. I had sobbed and cried, I had prayed and tried to come to terms with how I felt, but it felt like I was still where I began…. Still hurting. Still nursing the heart aches. Still trying to pull myself out of the hole of misery I had sunk into.

I was tired of fighting. Tired of having nothing to hold onto… and I couldn’t help but wonder… what if?

So what if I said I’ll come back to him? So what if I put my own fears aside, and let myself believe that this man wanted me more than all my flaws? So what if I gave in and stopped steeling my heart, so that to I could actually feel something for once? So what.

All this had done was reinforce to me that everything he meant was for real and I knew that sooner or later, I’d have no more excuses.

I sighed as he took my hand in his, and wordlessly, he looked up at me, and then at the skies, almost as if he was still awaiting that answer, and the sight before us was just what he needed to get it.

I didn’t want to read what was in his eyes as we got up and started walking back to the car, but his eyes held the message that I couldn’t deny.

If the sun and the sky can meet on the horizon, then so can we.

Of course we could. No matter how long it took. No matter how much was lost in between. At some stage, I would return to him and I know that I would still have as much love as I had for him right then.

”I’ll come back to you,” I said softly, after a few steps, my voice barely audible as I said it, feeling as if my heart would burst from the emotion it brought.

I could already feel the shift in the air as he processed it, and without even a seconds warning, strong arms literally lifted me off the ground and twirled me around, and the only thing I could do was hold onto Hamzah and giggle as his head nuzzled against my neck and he put me down, his breathing emphatic from all that weight lifting he had done a few seconds before.

“I love you, Mos,” he said into my ear, his voice sounding like he couldn’t quite believe what I’d just told him, assuring me that whatever was in store, it will always be me. And just like that, every barrier was broken down as we walked, hand in hand to the car, feeling emotionally exhausted with everything that had happened that day.

Salaah was glorious, under the open skies, with the sound of crashing waves, and I revelled in the feeling before crawling back into the car and smiling sleepily at Hamzah as he started his car.

I knew that I had plenty of messages, from Sawleha and Maahira in particular, but I barely had a chance to catch up with them before my eyelids felt heavy, and with the soothing feel of the car and of everything between us finally settled, sleep overcame me sooner than I thought.

We knew that we would reach late but I was still hoping that we would make it back home to fetch Zaid for the night.

And I barely expected to be so tired, to fall into such a deep sleep, but the next thing I knew,  Hamzah was stroking my arm lightly in an effort to wake me as we entered our apartment block. I felt drained. Almost as if I had been out hiking the entire day, when in actuality, we’d done no real physical activity. I yawned as I looked at my husband, concentrating as he reversed into his parking; remembering that we hadn’t fetched Zaid.

“Where’s my baby?” I asked softly, stifling another yawn.

”Imraan said he will bring him,” he said, switching off the car power. “I think he’s giving Saaliha a hard time to sleep and she wasn’t feeling too great either?”

I sat up, suddenly wide awake.

“What happened?” I asked, already concerned for her wellbeing. “Is she okay?”

Hamzah lifted a shoulder up noncommittally.

“Don’t know,” he said, but I didn’t miss the flicker of concern in his eyes. “He didn’t say. But he’s already left.”

I nodded and opened the car door, stepping out tentatively as I grabbed my bag and the stuff Hamzah had packed to keep us nourished. I was actually starving, and I wondered if I had enough cheese in the fridge to whip up a cheese and tomato sandwich. I usually didn’t enjoy tomatoes in cheese but for some reason, I was completely bought today.

Hamzah had already got into the lift, and I stood next to him as he smiled at me, enjoying the calmness of that moment, where we both understood what it was that we needed to do from here. Even though things may not be perfect, the understanding that we had was something that I knew was only possible because of Hamzah’s insistence to spend this day together.

I couldn’t help but think of how lucky I was to have him, rooting for us the way he did. We had already reached our floor, and as he gestured for me to walk, I fell into step with him as we went toward our home together, talking softly as we passed the neighbours flat, enjoying the ease that we could deal with each other right then.

And I wished I hadn’t done what I did. I wished I hadn’t stopped so that he could walk with me. I wished that I’d gone first, so that when I reached the end of the passage where our door was, I would have been the one to see the box that sat on our step, so I could take it and keep it away, as far as I ever could. I wished that I had been the one to open it and scrutinise its contents before it came to rock our world.

But of course, it didn’t happen that way.

“Hey,” Hamzah smiled, a comical expression on his face as he spotted it. “Someone left us a gift. Bit late for housewarming though.”

My eyes zoned onto the parcel, realising that it was a gift of some sort, but not quite processing the name of the shop that was on the bag. Some jewellery shop in Sandton. People get fancy sometimes.

“Oh,” I said half-heartedly, watching him put down the cooler bag he had with him and picking up the packet. “That’s nice of them.”

It took a few seconds before he opened the packet and took out a box, and I couldn’t help but feel an icky sensation creep over me as I realised that it looked nothing like how a housewarming gift should look. I was a small, long box, with a ribbon around it, and as he pulled it out, and opened it, a little note stuck out of it, that he promptly caught just before his eyes widened at the contents of the actual box.

It took him a few seconds before there was any reaction. It felt like time was frozen for a few seconds as I watched him switch gazes from the now opened note, to the contents of the box, and as I realised exactly what was in the box, my heart did this thing where it felt like it was going to shatter into millions of tiny pieces, just glimpsing the haunted expression on his face.

It was the necklace. The eternal flame necklace, with its one carat diamond, in all its loathsome glory, staring up at me in traitorous glee as I gathered the wits to look up at him once again.

His enraged expression was all it took for me to notice the note still in his hand, and immediately, as I took it from him and read it, I knew that there was something disturbingly coincidental about the way this had all panned out, right then.

I also knew that this was something that I would need an immense amount of intervention to fix, if I ever could.

Hot tears welled up in my eyes as I read it, once again, knowing that there was no way I could ever explain my way out of this one.

I meant to return this to you when I saw you the day of your wedding. It will always belong with you. 

Faadil 

---

Mission Sunnah Revival: Thinking well of others 

Especially as these blessed months dawn upon us, we make extra effort to think good of others and make excuses for them. It’s easier said than done but we make Duaa that in this way, people will also think well of us.

Nabi Muhammad (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said, “Beware of suspicion, for suspicion is the worst of false tales; and do not look for the others’ faults and do not spy, and do not be jealous of one another, and do not desert (cut your relation with) one another, and do not hate one another; and O Allah’s worshipers! Be brothers (as Allah has ordered you!”) (Bukhari)

To put it briefly, having good opinion of people implies:

• Thinking positive of others
• Avoiding suspicion and wrong assumptions of others
• Giving others the benefit of the doubt

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

Sayyiduna Anas Ibn Malik (radiyallahu’anhu) reports that Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) would recite the following supplication when the Month of Rajab would commence:

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

Allahumma baarik lana fi Rajaba wa Sha’bana wa balligh-na Ramadan

Translation: Oh Allah! Grant us Barakah (Blessing) during (the months of) Rajab and Sha’ban, and allow us to reach Ramadan.

(Shu’abul-Iman, Hadith: 3534, Ibnu Sunni, Hadith: 660, Mukhtasar Zawaid Bazzar, Hadith: 662, also see Al-Adhkar, Hadith: 549)

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

Springtime Secrets

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 61

Jameela

I truly believe that there’s no better place to spend the springtime than outside, with the grass beneath your toes, sun shining hot, wind blowing cold, sitting under the towering jacaranda trees, letting violet-tipped blossoms fall all around you.

And as my morning dwindled away in that very nature and I finally decided that it was time to find my way back inside, savouring the feeling of morning air that draped itself around me like a new dress, I couldn’t help but soak it all in.

Green upon green… beauty upon beauty… met my hungry eyes as I glanced back, feasting on the glorious colours that springtime had brought. Untying my soiled gardening attire and flinging it on a low bush beside the kitchen entrance, i couldn’t help but smile as I heard Nani’s voice, picking flowers and making a bouquet to post next to the kitchen counter when I stepped back inside.

It was just one of those days that I felt direly in need of having springtime sprinkled over everything.

As much as we appreciate the beauty of Spring, as we witness the splendour of the seemingly dead being revived, as colours spring from nowhere, and possibilities are abundant… when sweetness blooms… we tend to forget that our lives and our hearts need a season of blooming too.

The truth is that the true nature of the human heart is as whimsical as spring weather.

And to aid the heart, the Qurʾān and the Sunnah are two flowers whose fragrances are only smelt after they are watered. They are the spring of our life that revives our lost soul, waters our parched hearts and plant seeds of hope once again. They are a mercy to mankind, reminding us that our hearts can still bloom with love and gratitude, in appreciation of the gift that Allah sent to restore our brokenness once again.

I would never forget the first colour of spring bloom that year, and the point in time which I spotted it just before the kitchen window as Nani spoke nineteen-to-the-dozen in the backdrop. It had started off with an amazingly unique, peachy colour, as it opened into a bronzey orange that twinkled in the sunlight and that I found simply enchanting.

”I heard our Mosee is gone to the stay at Hamzah’s Dadi,” Nani was saying, her eyes looking even more serious than ever as she glanced at me coming in, her hands busy with chopping the coriander for her next batch of samoosas. “I hope she is behaving properly and not being lazy, like how she acts here. Won’t even lift a spoon and act like she is so busy with the baby. I won’t be surprised if her mother-in-law and sister-in-law are watching her every move and complaining.”

”I don’t think that her mother-in-law is with them,” I said innocently, purposely not divulging Mohsina’s annoyance about the fact that her sister-in-law was constantly in her face.

That was marriage though. There’s always someone who will annoy or irritate you and you have to just keep having Sabr and be the best kind of person you can to them.

Often in our journey in life, we forget that everything about our purpose in life should be channeled toward getting closer to our creator.

And of the most sublime characters of the propagations of Islam, is the quality that trumps all other. Good character. How we treat others.

“Also,” I piped up, remembering that she had actually been trying to create a good impression. “She took some cheesecakes with.”

”Chi,” Nani said, shaking her head, not looking impressed in the least. “One tray of cheesecakes? Whose nose that will go into? When I got married we cook big, beeeeg pots of food and roll 5 kilo flour of rotis every Saturday. No one to even help until Nanas brother got married. If I had baby, I would put baby on top of counter and do work.”

Eish. Nani and her competitiveness. Honestly, it was like the people were made different back then. How they managed, I don’t know.

“But mummy, she’s improved a lot,” Ma said, sticking up for Mohsina. “From not even making a breakfast now she even fries an egg for Hamzah every day. At least she is giving him something.”

”Bhengori, you always defend her,” Nani said stubbornly, raising her finger as she pushed her scarf back. “From day one, Mohsina never learn to cook. Only one thing you and Iqbal taught her: study, study and study. Big big accounting books and no Indian delights. Jameela, you don’t get all these funny ideas. You can only study best BSc. Baking, sewing and cooking. That’s how you will keep your husband happy.”

I smiled, not trusting myself to say anything else. From my friends who were married, I knew that cooking was something that they all struggled with at first. Our generation was just a teeny bit spoilt. Our mothers did everything for us. But as I saw Mohsina growing and learning in marriage, I knew that there was hope for me too.

Besides, I knew that men weren’t only worried about stuffing their faces, right? What about love? I was a sucker for love. Feelings. Emotion. That was important too, right?

“You will have no troubles if you can keep husband happy,” Nani was going on as she cleaned the dhaniya. “And that other doctor I was talking about, Jameela, I think we must go and meet Khairoon and he can see you-“

”Mummy, I’m not sending my daughter like that so one boy can see her,” Ma said stubbornly, raising her eyebrows as she sipped her cup of tea. “If he wants to see her we need to ask Jameela if she is okay with it and then he can come home properly.”

I smiled shyly, not really feeling this whole proposal thing. They just made it sound so unromantic. Meet the boy. See if you click. And then… it’s the waiting game.

But also, maybe I needed to wake up and say goodbye to the dream of being swept away by my Prince Charming and stop saying no to every guy that everyone suggested.

For Mohsina to actually encourage me to get married before twenty was a big thing.

“Bhengori, how can she not be okay with it?” Nani said in gujarati. “Don’t give them so many choices, you must decide and let her meet him at least.”

Goodness, I must just meet all these random men. My nerves will be frazzled. The situation would be so awkward. What if I hated him?

To me, she turned and said:

”Jameela, he is sooo fair and handsome, like one white man he is,” she said dreamily, and I couldn’t help but giggle.

For Nani, fairness was gold. Why were Indian people so shallow?

What about his akhlaaq? His Deen? His attachment to the masjid? What about how he deals with people.. and how much of the Sunnah he has in his life.

Either way, Nani was going on about him like he was some kind of faultless being that fell from Jannah and also, well… if he was so nice, why didn’t she marry him?

“But Nani, I don’t think white men are my type,” I said meekly, trying to crack a joke.

“But he is a doctor,” Nani said excitedly, as if that was the be all and end all of life. “Khairoon already said he wants to come and all you have to say is yes and they will come tomorrow.”

No. She cannot be serious. This was pressure. I could feel my cheeks flaming up as Nani and my mother looked at me expectantly.

”Er, okay,” I found myself saying weakly, knowing that I was going to regret it.

The look on Nani’s face was priceless though, and I supposed it was worth her excitement if I had to sacrifice my own comfort for a little while.

And as I left the kitchen, leaving my mother and Nani to make their plans for tomorrow, I couldn’t help but feel an odd sinking kind of sensation in my gut.

And as my eyes fell on the dusty peachy orange colour of the rose as I stepped out into the afternoon sunshine, my hand automatically stretched out to enjoy the natural feel of it’s silky petals and I couldn’t help but feel my heart lifting. No matter what happened… what my heart endured… Nature just brought something out in me that I couldn’t even describe.

I would purposely go out there and read my Qur’ān and soak in all the goodness that it’s words had to offer me in this surreal setting.

I had purposely escaped Nani because I knew that spending more time around her was going to give me nerves, and as I heard someone come from behind me, I couldn’t help but smile as I glimpsed my father coming down the stairs after me.

I knew that he had been busy lately with the shop and trying to think of new ideas to keep things going. From time to time, I assisted and I knew a little about the worries he faced and him hoping not to fall back into the hands of loan sharks and people who would threaten his peace of mind.

“Salaam Papa,” I said softly as he approached me, stretching out his arm to squeeze my shoulder affectionately. I leaned in for a short embrace, realising how much I’d missed my father the past few days while I had been avoiding the coffee shop.

My father’s arms, for me, had always been a safe and comforting place. I knew that for Mohsina, being as independent as she was, she didn’t see him quite the same way. For her, Papa was the one who needed the protection. Papa was the one who would turn to Mohsina for guidance and if there was ever a problem, she always knew exactly what to say. How she took on so much was beyond me…

“I hear they’re planning your marriage,” my father said, grinning as he saw me roll my eyes. I wasn’t surprised to hear that Nani would probably even start shopping for her outfit tomorrow.

“You coming to the shop?” he said, looking at me with a smile. It was a Saturday and one of the busier days of the week.

“Are you alone there today?” I asked, not revealing anything in my expression.

He simply nodded and then looked at me again. I didn’t know that Papa was alone.

But as he said it, I vaguely remembered Nusaybah mentioning something about her and Zubair going to see a grandparent that weekend, which was something that her brother has asked for time off for.

And I couldn’t help but remember the day before when I was out there, thinking anout what a wonderful person Nusaybah was. When I first met her, I never thought that she would turn out to such an amazing character.

Meeting her was like a gust of fresh air that came with so much of amazement and splendour. Not only did I learn about the beautiful character of the Nusaybah bint Ka’b who her mother named her after, but I learnt so much more.

Nusaybah bin Ka’b (RA) was a well-known ‘sheroe’ of the time and gained a reputation as the most distinguished woman who took part in the Battle of Uhud. She was one of two women who expressed an interest in swearing their Bayah or allegiance to the Prophet (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) in the second pledge at Aqaba. She believed that a woman had the same duty in defending the new religion as a man.

When I met Nusaybah, her character was so similar to the war attendant she was named after, that every time I looked at her, all I could see was this amazing and determined young lady who wanted to help the world. She was so quirky and animated, but at the same them, so focused on Deen and just trying her best to be the best.

Most of all, I could see she had this deep-rooted concern for her brother, and having no mother, had stepped into that role from ages back. She often spoke about how Zubair was so young when he lost his mother, and how she always tried to toughen him up before she died. And though she didn’t go into much detail about her brother due to obvious reasons that she probably did not want to divulge… I figured that she really loved her brother and just wanted the best for him…

“Jameela,” my father said, jolting me back to reality, and there was a flicker of concern in his dark brown eyes as he looked at me. “Are you happy with meeting this doctor boy?”

I looked at my father, not meeting his eye as he said it.

I stayed silent and looked down, feeling too shy to say anything more, as he ruffled my hair, noted my silence, and then walked along again without saying a word more.

There were times when I felt that maybe Papa knew more than he let on. After all, it was Papa who was always around when I tried so hard to mask my feelings and disappointment when Zubair would barely even acknowledge that I existed. And I knew it was wrong and that I had to fight my feelings, and this was precisely why I had been making myself even more scarce, and I think Papa knew it.

But how did I even explain that to my father?

I caught myself in the nick of time, before my little train of thought ran into a full daydream, because I knew very well that even thinking of the possibilities was steering my thoughts into dangerous territory.

As much as I tried to stop myself from forming any sort of attachment, there were some things I couldn’t control… like the severity of my beating heart when he came into the vicinity, or the fifty shades of pink I would turn if anyone mentioned his name. It was like long before we even knew of each other, something within me already had an inkling that at this point of my life, this guy would appear and take over all my sanity.

Stop, I warned myself, trying with all my might to control my nafs. My sister had warned me way too many times about him.

He wasn’t good enough. Not rich enough. Not educated enough.

He was far from suitable and I couldn’t even think about a future with someone who had no proper form of income. My father himself was still finding his footing, and to depend on him to support us was quite ridiculous. Right?

And as I walked along, with no real purpose, with the thought of everything had happened and the mention of Mohsina as well, I knew that it may be about time to check in on her. I suppose I better tell her that Nani was quite intent on calling Doctorsaab home, and that would probably be something she might want to be back home for the following day.

I recalled that she had a hectic week with people going crazy on her on Instagram after someone falsely accused her of some sinister intentions, and I hadn’t spoken to her much about it. How people could just divulge and share things with no verification was beyond me. I knew that it was a lesson to take. Social media was such a horrible platform because with the click of a button, someone’s izzat can be completely ruined.

Feeling for my phone, which I could never seem to hold onto for very long, I found myself heading back inside, purposely ignoring Nani’s voice from the kitchen.

I couldn’t deal with her excitement right then, and as I reached the lounge, the buzzing of my phone was coincidental as I grabbed it and scanned the screen, immediately seeing Mohsina’s name.

Jamz, I need to know something.

It was a simple question but I wasn’t sure what it was about the message that got me on edge.

Shoot.

My reply was casual and simple but I was dying to know what she was asking.

Was there anyone else who saw Faadil the day he came home?

That was random. Why on earth was she revisiting the past like that? Unless Hamzah…

Oh no, I was already getting nervous for her.

Me: Did Hamzah find out ??!

Mos: Just answer the question. I can’t call right now, but…

My heart was beating steadily in my chest, as I tried to think back to that day. I was in the coffee shop, pulling out the sack of flour when I saw him in his formal attire, and as I spoke to him briefly… it was clear to me then.

Clear as day.

Me: Zubair saw him from a distance. Is everything okay?

I was well aware that she didn’t like Zubair and I truly hoped that she was not going to pin anything on him.

Mos: I told Hamzah about Faadil.

Oh my word. My heart thudded in my chest as I read the message again.

Me: Mos. Is he okay?

It was a dumb question. Of course he wasn’t okay. I couldn’t imagine how that must feel. I didn’t ask her how much she said. I just hope she told him enough to clear the air.

Mos: You know Hamzah. He hasn’t said much but I can tell he’s upset. Probably hurt. We can’t talk much… we’re not home, and his sister is hovering over us like a sniper. I didn’t tell him about the day of the Nikah.

Me: You didn’t?

I was incredulous. Why was my sister like this? Why?

Mos: He will never believe that Faadil came of his own accord, and that will break him, Jameela.

Oh hell. Now I knew why she was asking. She was intending on keeping that a secret.

But was it wise?

I typed quickly, hoping to reassure her.

Mos, I don’t think that Zubair will ever say anything.

She took a few moments to reply this time, but I could see that she was typing.

I hope so, Jameela. I’m worried. My sister-in-law knows something and is causing problems for me and if this ever comes up, I don’t think Hamzah will ever believe that I wasn’t involved with him at that time. It just looked so bad…

She’s right. It looked really bad. It was as if she was stringing Faadil along all that time, when she was supposed to have ended things with him and decided to marry Hamzah. What was going through Faadil’s head at that time, I couldn’t understand either…

But the truth was completely different.

Let me think.

I sent those three words, hoping that it would settle her mind and make her stress less. Zubair was just a worker here. I doubted that he would get involved in things that didn’t concern him. i knew that there was no way.

I sighed, feeling a headache come on at the mere thought of all the admin this would entail.

Even the soothing scent of roses as I walked back to the house did nothing for my peace of mind, as a trudged along this time, wondering how on earth my sister got herself involved with a character like Faadil in the first place. Something that started with sin could never end in peace…

Now, there was this whole secret and Zubair was in the middle of it.

I felt as if she wanted me to tell him to be quiet.

I took a deep breath as I headed out, knowing that a small walk would help to settle my thoughts.

Maybe I could talk to Nusaybah or leave some kind of anonymous note. I wasn’t sure how exactly I was going to get the message across but I was quite worried for Mohsina and concerned about what this could bring.

Taking a walk around the yard as the sun made its way out for the day, I didn’t even realise that I was heading to the front of the property where the little houses and empty stable was.

With the sun blazing now in full force, I found myself trudging along thread the semi-dilapidated building that hosted a few different rooms, and two separate bathrooms for staff. I didn’t often come out there because there really was no need.

I knew that Zubair stayed around the front of the building and I purposely steered clear of that section, not wanting to intrude and intending on passing by without even giving it a second glance. Knowing that he wasn’t around today also made me a little braver, as I found myself looking around a little more intentionally, wondering which room exactly  belonged to him.

And as I purposely killed the curiosity and went around the back, despite the little yellow flowers that were blooming on the sides of the hedge, noticing that the part of the grounds were quite neglected, I couldn’t help but wander up the back pathway was looking like it needed a serious clean up. It was dreary and sandy and in dire need of some pressure hosing, and as I walked up to the little door that was once a store room for the horses equipment, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of eeriness as I approached… despite the scent of spring blooms in the air.

The cobbled pathway right there looked as if it was completely neglected, and for some reason, I was extremely wary about what may lie beyond the closed wooden doors that were now straight ahead of me. They were the typical old, oak farm style doors that were surprisingly heavy to shift, despite them being quite worn out, and as I found myself right in front of them, I couldn’t help but try and do just that.

And as I knocked on the door, just to be safe that no one was around, I couldn’t help shift myself around as I pulled up my dress slightly and used all my lower body force to attempt the door to budge.

Using my entire body weight now, it felt almost as if something was pushing against the door, stopping it from opening for some odd reason. As hard as I tried to dislodge it, it only budged like two centimetres, before getting stuck agaIn. And the more resistance it gave, the more determined to get in there I was, for some reason. I pushed and huffed a few times, putting all my effort into it, until something behind finally relented and it swung open to a certain point, giving me a tiny space just to move into and enter.

And as my eyes adjusted to the mild lighting and my eyes caught sight of what was ahead, I had to literally stop my legs from buckling underneath me, as I gazed in absolute shock.

All I knew right then was that everything that I had thought about Zubair… every little idea or inkling that we had ever assumed was true… was nothing further than the truth.

What was in front of me was the most unassuming thing that I could have ever imagined. All I knew right then was that this dark secret that had been revealed to me in this unexpected way was no coincidence, and in the depths of my heart…

I knew that there was no saving anyone from what would unfold from here.

---

Mission Revive a Sunnah: Avoiding Suspicion

Many times, messages, post and videos go viral on social media. It creates a frenzy of discussion and debates and often leads us to jump to untrue conclusions.

Giving people the benefit of the doubt is part of the Sunnah. We should also avoid reposting anything that we don’t know the source of or which we cannot verify.

Abu Hurairah (Radiallaho Anho) reported that Nabi (Sallahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said something to the effect: “Be aware of suspicion for suspicion is the worst of lies.”

May Allah Ta’ala save us from being suspicious and harbouring ill thoughts of others.

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

A Dreaded Diversion

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 59

Throughout history, it’s a well known fact that a fair percentage of women have always worked… whether as servants, housekeepers,  ladies’ maids, governesses, teachers, and tutors. Their children were never looked at as neglected, well… not anymore than the well bred housewives of the nineteenth century who rarely attended their children, surrendering the brunt of the child-rearing to the governesses.

And whether or not we like to admit it, with the shift in roles and the expectations of the twenty-first century, feminism has created a rather tricky backdrop to the mix.

And I knew I had once challenged this very notion, but one thing I’ve realised was:

The plain truth of the matter is that women were indeed, and still are in fact, more respected and cherished by men and other women when they keep their work to the confines of domestic endeavors.

The truth is that, no matter how hard women push or strive for acceptance in every single avenue, we have to, at some point, submit to the fact that everything in life has a purpose, and every creature has its sustenance already decreed.

“And there is no creature on earth but that upon Allah is its provision, and He knows its place of dwelling and place of storage. All is in a clear register.” Surah Hud: Ayah 6

The thing with rizq is that it’s not only about the ‘big bucks’.

Rizq too, as Allah sends it, comes in many different shapes and forms. It was a beautiful analogy that never struck me until a time of my life where I was forced to realise that whatever was meant for me, whatever reaches me, and whatever is destined, was never going to come only through my paycheque…

Often, I’ve heard people ask for Barakah in their provisions, but sometimes we fail to realise that it’s not only about our earnings.

Barakah can be a dealing with righteous people, that Allah sends as a blessing. Barakah can be an amazing family, with children who are passively contented with even the smallest of things. It can be your faithful spouse, who even when odds are against you, still comes through when you need it the most…

“I’m just finishing off with these messages,” I said, almost absent-mindedly, as Hamzah exited the bathroom, scrolling through as fast as I could and trying to distinguish the most hostile ones first.

It had been an hour after and though Maahira had helped me do some damage control and post a general story and post, there was stil so much to be sorted.

And though Maahi with her newly revamped Halaal account, had helped, I wished I could just throw in the towel and delete Instagram. I couldn’t help but be hooked on every little development. It was as if I was being sucked into the Bermuda Triangle of false delusion once again.

Also, Maahira’s efforts were pretty short-lived because it had just so happened that when she was leaving, she had happened to glimpse Hamzah’s friend outside, and on top of all the messages on Instagram, was her dozens of iMessages to do with her piqued curiosity about an eligible bachelor that she seemed to spot.

I didn’t even have the energy to explain to her that the Mohsin in question had a bit of a complicated family history and he wasn’t exactly looking to get hitched as yet.

I glanced over at Zaid who was sleeping soundly in the co-sleeper cot we had bought and as he shifted the duvet around, I didn’t even spare my husband a glance.

I barely even realised that Hamzah had already read his Qur’ān that he usually read aloud every night, because unlike every other night when I would wait to hear him, tonight I had barely even heard to his recitation that would dispel the evil and negativity that usually conflicted with my peace at this time of the day.

On that day, I was so focused and absorbed in my parallel world that I barely even let the effect of Qur’ān penetrate my heart…

And I knew that there was a reason he did this. The pious elders advise that this recitation of Qur’ān was meant to be a beautiful antidote for evil, for negativity and a remedy for every problem that we encounter as the darkness engulfs us. It’s just that, for me, besides losing myself to darkness completely, sometimes we don’t even know where’s the switch.

By the time I finally looked up and actually paid attention, he had already pulled off his kurta and slipped on a new pants as he got ready for bed. I was way too busy tapping away, trying to respond to each message individually, and uphold my virtual reputation, before everything went completely out of whack for me.

I just couldn’t figure out who hated me so much that they would be so intent on destroying my life.

And as my anxiety levels were reaching danger level, there was a single comment that caught my eye. A particular posted one by some random user without any real identity had literally floored me, and my heart flipped frightfully as I read it.

Theres a reason she is after everyone’s money. For the inside on how she lost her job, dm me

My word. What a huge scandal this was turning out to be.. To say I lost my job so confidently …  Could it possibly be Faadil or one of his right-hand guys who could have started this and blown it out of proportion for attention?

I mean, even for him… this was below the belt.

Apart from a few  emails that I had deleted without even reading, there had been no contact with him otherwise.

And as I looked up at the amazing guy I had wanted to change so much for at that time, because of his love for Qur’ān and my own yearning for it… I barely noticed him pulling out his miswaak like he usually did to keep on his bedside, next to his water bottle like he did every night. He had already set the alarm and switched off the bathroom lights. Hamzah was the closest thing to OCD without actually being OCD. It was weird, but in a completely unconventional way.

With all the emotions surging through me at that point, I could barely even focus on what he was doing and seeing, and I wasn’t even sure what was going on in my mind.

“Mos,” he murmured, as he set his phone down on charge on the pedestal in its usual place, pulled the covers over and edged closer. “It’s getting late.”

I could hear the insinuation about the phone in his voice as his hand came to rest on my shoulder, while I shifted away almost involuntarily. I knew that I was being a bit edgy but I wasn’t in the mood for any affection.

That last comment had been the final straw…  I was now anxious, highly strung and completely vexed about the social media events.

Of course, Hamzah’s frame of mind was also being tested and I didn’t want to be a catalyst.

“How long more?” He asked, noting my unresponsiveness as I tapped away, his tone colder now as I deleted the comments on my post and moved on to the next message. “Can’t you just give it a break for now?”

I shook my head vigorously.

“I just cant believe what these people think of me,” I said, feeling like I wanted to cry, not even taking my eyes off the screen. “It’s all fabricated…”

“But so what,” he said in a frustrated tone, propping his head up on his hand and staring at me while he narrowed his brown eyes. “Everyone is just pretending to be your friend on that thing anyway, so you think they like you. They don’t even like themselves, believe me.”

I had pulled off my hairband and hastily pushed the stray strands of hair back and looked back at him stonily.

“You are so cynical,” I retorted, sighing as Hamzah watched my reaction, and I swore I could see a smirk on his face. “So you’re just judging everyone on social media, saying they don’t like themselves, that’s why they’re there? What kind of dumb logic is that?”

I wasn’t even sure why I was having this conversation with him. It felt like we were back to all those months ago when he would purposely take the mickey out of me for having TikTok. The thing was, I wasn’t as crazy as I was about social media but hello… it was the way of the world and you really could not live under a rock in the twenty-first century. Like, can he be any more of a hater?

“All I’m saying is, do these people’s likes even matter?” he said with a confident and indifferent expression, his eyes having a hint of sarcasm. “People are fickle. They follow you today, tomorrow they’re gone. Their likes don’t pay bills, okay?”

Hamzah knew how to rub salt in the wound.

”Gosh Hamzah,” I snapped, glancing at him as he looked at me, my phone already shoved aside and forgotten for the moment. “Their likes and their follows actually do pay my bills. Stop being selfish. I don’t have a job. I don’t have any other income besides what social media ads or reviews that I do, and after Zaid came into the picture, I don’t even have much time to do them. I need to set things right before I lose all my followers, my profile and go completely broke with no one to even help me!”

Hamzah looked stunned for a second as I said it as he raised his eyebrows silently, and I watched him retract to his side of the bed, as if he had been physically assaulted.

My heart immediately contracted as I watched him swallow back what seemed like a huge fraction of frustration, and promptly tap the light switch off.

And then of course, as we were submerged in the darkness and silence ensued, the guilt started to creep in, and I couldn’t help but take another peek at the silhouette of his probable stony face and sigh in absolute resolve.

It wasn’t his fault that this had happened. There was also no need to bring Zaid into this. I felt indescribably guilty for pinning it on the child.

I was sorry. Sorry for snapping and being mean. Sorry for blaming our situation and making it seem as if it was all his fault…

“Hamzah…” I started, not exactly sure of how to say it. I was sorry for making Zaid an issue?

As much as I wanted to apologise, I couldn’t help but feel he was being a little emotional, especially after I’d been through so much that evening. Sensitive much?

I wanted to reach out and win some brownie points again but I wasn’t the type to swindle my way, so I waited a few seconds for him to respond, before I breathed in, and watched him turn around until he faced the ceiling.

I turned slightly as I watched him, a little fearful of what he was going to say. It wasn’t often that Hamzah got angry and it was obvious that my comment had provoked him.

His voice was icy as he spoke out in the dark.

”Do I look like the type of guy who would marry someone just because of circumstances?”

Okay. That was out of the blue.

“What do you mean?” I asked carefully, watching the rise and fall of his chest in the dark as he breathed.

His question was ambiguous.

I wasn’t quite sure what he was talking about. I put my phone on the pedestal anyway, knowing that there was only one way to salvage myslef.

“You seem to think that you can’t treat me as your husband,” he said briskly, answering my unsaid question. “Or maybe it’s just that women in our generation are too used to relying on themselves. Maybe you have too much of pride and independence that you can’t seem to get used to the idea of asking someone to actually help you when you have a financial problem. Why get married when you can do it all by yourselves?”

Ouch. That was a low blow. Even for Hamzah.

I lay very still as he spoke, barely even breathing. With the last sentence, he sounded like he was utterly exasperated by my continuous efforts to downplay his role as a husband. And maybe he was right.

The truth was, I didn’t want him to think that it was something I needed from him.
Money was an issue. It was no secret that it was the main downfall that caused us to break apart, and the main hindrance even when we wanted to get back together.

Money was the root of so many problems, and I could see it literally expanding as a huge boulder for us.

It was no wonder that Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said that the thing he feared most for the ummah was not poverty, but wealth. Money was the source of every evil and the root of every abominable act. It was the reason for divorce, the motive for so much of disunity and discontent ….

”Mos,” he said, his tone a little gentler now, as he noticed my silence. I wasn’t silent often. But what else did I say when he asked something like that.

“I can’t,” I said simply, knowing that he would get angry but needing to let him know it.

The thing was, if it was for me… I could do it. Maybe I could learn to. But the thing was…. how do I just ask him for money for my parents or my siblings or some mafia people who were harassing us? How do I ask him for money to pay back Faadil, who I deeply suspected was causing a problem for me because of it. I mean, I had asked him to take the money off my last salary but he didn’t.

Now he was probably thinking of other ways to get back at me. I had to pay him back as soon as possible…

“I’m used to earning my own money,” I said defiantly. “It’s not pride. I just… I don’t like to ask for something that I haven’t worked for…”

“But Mos,” he said, his voice sounding kinder now as he spoke. “This is where youre wrong. Your income is not only determined what you earn. It’s not even determined by these crazy sheep who can’t even use their brain to distinguish right from wrong. Allah Ta’ala has already decreed it, from the moment you came into this world. Whichever means, whatever way… even if it means me being a proper husband and providing for you, because I’m meant to be the source of your rizq… it is what it is. Never more. Never less. Dont you get it?”

It was such an amazing analogy that I couldn’t even fathom the magnitude Allah’s planning here. That before we were even born, our sustenance was already decreed. SubhaanAllah!

I was still silent, digesting all of this that Hamzah was drilling into me in a most diplomatic fashion.

“Mohsina, you’re my wife,” he said quietly, his voice so sincere and genuine as he said it. “You have to promise me, whatever you want, you need to ask, okay? Let me look after you, as much as you may hate the idea.”

My heart contracted as he said it. How could I promise him that? Did he even know what I would want money for?

“Hamzah,” I started, wanting to argue with him. He worked hard too. Knowing that my hard-earned money had gone to those ridiculous loan-sharks for disgusting use was enough to rid me of sleep at night. How would that make him feel?

”What’s so wrong with taking my money?” He pressed, turning to me and watching me in the dark.

It just didn’t feel right to take it. That was the problem. I couldn’t do this anymore. I had to tell him the real reason.

“I need to pay Faadil,” I said suddenly, almost as if it was something I just could not keep in any longer.

I looked up into the darkness, bracing myself for an explosion.

Instead, it seemed that now it was his time to be silent.

“Bossman?” He said, after almost a full minute, and I could hear the hostility in his voice as he said it. “You took money from him?”

”Mmmhm,” I murmured, closing my eyes as I imagined how he saw the entire situation. I knew that it was only a matter of time before he probably went crazy on me.

But as the silence ensued and I assumed I was getting the silent treatment instead, his voice suddenly spoke out again.

”How much do you owe him?”

His voice was hostile, especially as he said the last word. My heart was still beating rapidly as I was about to say it, but before I could, he hastily interrupted me.

”You know what,” he said, sounding a little less vexed than a few seconds ago. “It doesn’t matter how much. Allah Ta’ala is the One who opens doors. Every door that we thought couldn’t even open. He is Al Fattah… the Opener. He is Ever Powerful…. All Knowing… and He will sort it out. I don’t want you to stress about it again. Do you understand? Ever.”

He was so natural and casual in his words, that I didn’t even doubt them for a second. It was like saying all those praises and reminders had completely and instantly put his mind at ease. Miraculously, even my own heart felt so much more serene…

“I just feel like it’s going to be okay,” he said softly, sounding like he was completely at peace right then. “You know?”

It was our thing.

You know.

I know.

And I did.

”I know,” I replied softly, letting his words calm my heart and uplift my spirit. These heart-to-hearts did something for my soul. Truly, he had a natural talent with curing my crazy heart, even in the most unfavourable situations…

And just as I was, he seemed deep in thought for a while before I also drifted off, his hand somehow finding mine under the covers, almost subconsciously, giving me an aching hope that everything would be sorted out the next day.

And as the sun made its way about the next morning and I woke up to the sound of Hamzah exiting the bathroom, watching Zaid and I in bed, I was almost wondering if I had imagined last nights little exchange. I waited for a question or some kind of reaction from him, but much to my surprise, he didn’t even seem shocked or disgruntled about our conversation the night before.

Instead, after he left for work, a sum of money had already reflected in my account and though it was more than I needed right then, I was overwhelmed by how he had settled my worries.

This guy was proving his worth over and over, and I didn’t even have any other words to describe his generosity and amazement with dealing with me. More than that, Allah’s mercy raining down on me right then was more than I could encompass. Indeed, Allah had most definitely decreed my rizq in a way that I would have never thought.

The emotions within me were overwhelming for  minute, and that week came to a close and I tried to play my part too, while also continuing to fix as much as I could without going crazy, I couldn’t help but feel drained by the end of it. Once again, with me being on social media almost every second Hamzah wasn’t around, my nerves were wrecked, my chest was aching and Zaid literally refused to get off of me.

The breastfeeding had entered a painful transition and I found myself scrounging around for nipple shields and all sorts of things for some relief.

In short, it was a pretty bad time for me. And so, when Hamzah looked at my gloomy face on Friday morning, I supposed that I understood what he was saying when he voiced his thoughts.

“So I’m assuming you’re not up for any adventures this weekend?” He said, giving me a cheeky grin as he watched my expression.

I rolled my eyes. Adventures for Hamzah basically meant surrendering myself to the wild. I wasn’t sure if I had the energy for it.

“I’m not sure if I trust your version of adventures…” I said with a small but tired smile, not meeting his eye.

The waterfall had been something that I couldn’t simply forget, and after the initial moments of wanting to strangle my husband, with the isolation that part of the forest offered, Hamzah had convinced me to make the most of it. The beauty, the splendour and not only swayed my heart, but also created a foundation for us… a place where we had finally slipped into a comfort zone, and learnt that sometimes we needed each other to discover better parts of life too.

“I actually wanted to see my family for a bit,” I said quietly, knowing that I needed to talk to Jameela. Even though I had messaged her, I desperately needed to have a heart to heart with her… figure out what she was up to and if she really thought this guy was the best thing for her.

Secretly, I was really hoping that Nani found one Taaleem Aunty’s grandson and got her married as soon as possible. I was really quite missing Nani and my mother’s banter. It had been two weeks since I went home.

”I had an idea,” Hamzah said quietly, and I smiled as I looked at his excited face.

Weekends were his playtime, and his mind was already  working ahead to plan.

“Do I want to know it?” I asked with raised eyebrows.

“You may be interested since I’m the bonus,” he said with a smirk, “We can you go to your parents later or on Sunday? I want to see my grandparents on the South coast. It may be bit of a drive so we need a night there… But trust me… it’s going to be worth it.”

Why did I get the feeling he was planning something crazy and wild?

“Plus, no offense, but you look like you really need a break.”

I stuck out my tongue at him. In short, he was saying I looked like crap.

Okay, I know that I didn’t look great and I’d been slacking with my daily care routine, but I had literally been so drained. The social media front had died down, but somehow, I still got the feeling that it wasn’t over yet.

What I didn’t know it provided was an opportunity for nameless people on social media to discuss me within themselves. I didn’t know that the information that had come up due to this was a dangerous web of lies, embroiled with tiny truths, that could still ruin me…

I hastily looked in the mirror as I saw Hamzah watching me, seeing a flustered, tired looking girl with an untidy bun staring back at me. I instinctively massaged the area under my eyes, feeling as if my circles were becoming more pronounced with each passing day.

He said like I looked like I needed a break. That was a hint, and I knew I had to step up my game. Especially since we were going to meet his grandparents for like the first time ever, I knew that I had to make a good impression.

I had carefully picked out my outfit that I had bought on one of my recent breastfeeding-friendly online sprees from Shein, a button down Abaya style modest dress, coupled with a matching Sheila to go. Making sure my ankles were fully covered and no hair was exposed, the nude shoes I had chosen perfectly complimented  it. I felt something like an Instagram diva, minus all the selfies, and I was glad to keep it that way.

There was still a half hour before Hamzah wanted to leave and while he strapped Zaid in the car seat and went to buy a quick something that his Dadi had asked for,  so it was the perfect timing to grab my Sephora and Mac bits to ensure that I was going to look like a human today.

The black and sage dress was sitting beautifully since I had lost another kilogram (due to all the stress) that week and my nude-colour inspired make up (thanks to the latest MUA tutorial) was almost perfect. After the rough week I had, I really needed to treat myself to a good facial and makeover and I also knew that Hamzah might appreciate me looking unlike the haunted ghost figure I resembled for the past few days.

Also, we desperately did need the couple time. A diversion from the toxicity of social media. Out in the sun, water on my skin, with the waves crashing in the background. I was very much looking forward to getting sand in my nose and toes and who knew where else… for me, it was going to be salty feels all the way.

And as I grabbed my matching handbag and the famous mini salted caramel cheesecakes I had made to take with, meeting Hamzah at the door, I couldn’t help but notice  him raise his eyebrows.

“Excuse me, but who are you again?!” he asked with an exaggerated stare, as Zaid gurgled and I grinned while I passed them.

And yes, though I had made an intention to dress up for my husband, I knew that I had to look good for his grandparents too. With all due respect to us both, they can’t be thinking their grandson married a jungalee.

I winked as he widened his eyes at me, pushing my fashion sunglasses up to the bridge of my nose and keeping up my poker face as I walked past him. I ignored him, putting on a full dramatization as I walked to the car, barely even looking up as I balanced the tray of cheesecakes expertly, my mood all in full swing for a most amazing weekend ahead.

This time, I wasn’t going to be a wet blanket. I could be pretty fun too, if given some time. I just needed to be in the right zone with the beach vibes, and with my new outfit, I was completely in it. I was all psyched up.

Hamzah had already locked up and I had just popped the tray into the boot and got into the car, checking on Zaid who was still happily gurgling as he was restrapped in his car seat for now. He probably wouldn’t last long there anyway. He also barely recognised the civilised looking woman who was here, but it probably didn’t matter to him anyway, as long as his food supply was still intact.

And as I took a seat, watching Hamzah leaning against the back of the car with his phone and cigarette, puffing away calmly, I was kind of wondering why he was taking so long. Maybe he was so shocked that I could actually look normal, that he had to recover.

Hehe, I grinned to myself. After all, it was good to impress your husband now and again.

And while I sat patiently for a few minutes, it was only a matter of time before I pushed open the door, turned my head back and looked at him questioningly.

I was anxious to start this road trip. I was also really nervous about meeting his grandparents. Would they like me? Think I’m too educated? Would they have this whole impression that their son needed someone more simple? I knew how people in Hamzah’s family looked at me sometimes. Maybe I should have worn plain black. Was I being too fancy?

It would only be the second time to see them… but the first time was at our Nikah and you could barely count that.

I sighed, twisting my fingers nervously.

“You ready?” I asked, still on edge, not being able to resist looking at his cigarette with disdain as he puffed away.

Eugh. He was going to be honking by the time he came in the car.

He nodded silently, releasing a cloud of smoke before throwing the butt down and squishing it under his grey casual takkie.

”I am,” he said, his gaze fixed on me as I waited for his answer. For some reason, he was just looking at me silently, but not even getting into the car.

“So now?” I couldn’t help but say, raising my eyebrows at him.

“You look nice when you’re annoyed,” he said with a stupid grin, and I wanted to smack him. What was going on? 

“Hamzah,” I said frustratedly, now full-on irritated. “Are we going or not?”

”Oh, that,” he said casually, coming around and opening the car door in a most relaxed fashion, while he took a seat next to me instead of the driver’s seat. He was so calm at times, he actually made me anxious. “Didn’t I mention? We’ll leave in a few minutes. My parents and Rabia are nearly here. She’ll be joining us for the weekend.”

What?!

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Mission Sunnah Revival

Sunnah of Time Management:

We come into this world with an allocated amount of time. We should, ideally, spend this time to please Allah and strive toward our Aakhirah.

Among the harms of social media are the harms of time wasting.

May Allah Ta’ala enable us to be particular even about our digital time, and save us wasting our time on these frivolous activities.

Oh son of Adam. You are nothing but a number of days. Whenever a day passes, another day has gone. (Fadhaail e Sadaqaat)

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

Ominous Obsessions

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 57

Rabia

Old habits die hard.

And in actuality, the fact of the matter was that for this habit… well, I wasn’t exactly putting in the effort to even try kill it.

And with the risk of it sounding like addictive behaviour, as I scrolled mindlessly through the application that had pretty much taken over my life… I didn’t realise that it was precisely that addiction that was deterring the positive impact on my mental health and well-being, giving rise to cynicism at even the slightest of remarks…

“She’s such a lovely, simple girl,” I caught Bibi Masie murmuring to my mother as they emptied the pot of pasta into the Pyrex on the kitchen counter, and my eyes were already narrowing. “They make such a beautiful couple.”

The sun was shining brightly through the kitchen windows, not even doing a thing for my peace of mind as I squinted at them, while I sat on the bar stool, without them even registering my bemused expression. Mohsina had walked by and offered to help but they had shooed her away while they got lunch ready before the ‘city people’ headed back home. I didn’t even bother myself, as I tapped on my phone. They would sort it out.

But as she made the comment about Mohsina, I had managed a fake cough and a roll of the eyes as I forced myself to switch apps and scrolled through some WhatsApp statuses on my phone instead, still unable to believe that I had actually heard what she had said right then.

Lovely, simple girl? I mean, have they even seen her Instagram profile?

The girl was anything but simple. From swanky handbags to flashy cars, she had always been obsessed with flashing all her best, expensive bits, and now my brother would probably have to foot the bill for it.

And okay, maybe I was a little crazy at times but it just happened to be that I was famous for calling a spade, a spade and I couldn’t help the shock I felt when I heard the words that literally made me do a double take.

Okay, so maybe I should put my phone down.

You see, I had gone through a bad patch when I was going through a bit of heartbreak. The thing was, any experience of seeing my ex’s name on Instagram or any social media platform killed me. I was pretty down and found myself using Instagram to either ‘punish’ myself by looking at his profile and spying on him, or using the browse feature to distract me.

And as I went through the daily motions of cyber-stalking, checking my feed and not even succeeding in stopping myself there, I could feel the need to put my phone down before I slipped into dangerous territory, but I never did.

Back to Mohsina though. Although she had somehow changed a little of what she used to be, they made Mohsina sound like some kind of homely, perfect housewife, when she was the complete opposite of it.

“The farm is good for them,” I caught Mummy nodding and enjoying the compliments of her daughter-in-law as she retied her apron, not even noticing the hostile look on my face. “Zaid loves it… and I think Hamzah is surprised at how much Mohsina is actually taking to being outdoors here. It so peaceful, Alhumdulillah. You know these young people nowadays. Too used to their home and office routines. He kept telling me that they are city people, and it was too far to come, but look at them now…”

Hah.

Too far. What bullshit. Mohsina had probably been spewing venom into my brother’s ears about spending time with his family, which made him not want to come out here. Girls were never happy about doing in-law time these days.

And ever since their constant disappearing stints that seemed be happening more often, I couldn’t help but find myself getting all the more frustrated at the new couple and their annoying tendencies. The fact that they had basically deprived me of being with my nephew and hadn’t even asked me to babysit ever since the day I took him out, was the absolute limit.

And okay, I know that I made Mohsina get a little more aggro than her usual and it had made Hamzah angry but those two really needed to grow up and learn to deal with stuff. A little argument here and there never hurt anyone.

I had even tried to swindle Saaliha and make her hand him over while they were gone, but apparently Mohsina had given her explicit instructions and being the goodie-two-shoes she was, there was no way she would ever go against what Mohsina had said.

Messaging Hamzah that morning with my rants had fallen on deaf ears, and it peeved me even more when he replied in two short sentences:

You’re overreacting. Will chat later.

And for me, this was the ultimate betrayal. It was one thing that Mohsina completely disregarded my abilities take care of Zaid, but the more disturbing fact was that my own brother took his wife’s side, time and time again. 

It was all he said and there was nothing else I could do but dig my fingernails into my palms and grit my teeth, as they both passed through the kitchen again to reach the patio, before I said something that would ruthlessly expose Mohsina for the cow that she really was.

And because I knew that my brother was anything but the sweet and doting type, I couldn’t help but feel even more aggravated as I watched him obsess over his wife relentlessly for the most part of the weekend they were there. Currently, he had just stubbed his cigarette and came inside to fetch them something to drink. To tell the truth, the way they had both been acting, especially since Mohsina had started feeding Zaid, was actually making me feel a bit sick.

I mean, no one was forcing her to be this model mother and breastfeed Zaid. Personally, I just felt like she was doing it so she could hang onto him more. Hamzah made it seem as if she was doing some huge kind of great sacrifice, just because she was breastfeeding. I mean, people did it in their sleep… So what on earth was the big deal even?

“Hamzah is like a different person today,” Ma, my mother’s mother, murmured as she watched Hamzah closely, who was completely unaware of the eyes on them as he sat next to my new sister-in-law, head bent as he opened the two bottles of Coke he had brought out and engaged with her on the bench just outside.

They were so close together that I could think of nothing more than going over there and banging their heads together.

“Ma, Hamzah’s in love,” my Aunty said with a admiring smile on her face, and I honestly felt like I wanted to barf. “Of course he is different to what he used to be. He’s no more that little boy you used to scold for chasing the sheep.”

And though I wanted to laugh at the memory of little Hamzah being the horrific nuisance he had always been as a kid on Eid day, I was seriously too caught up in my own demonic thoughts to even humour myself.

Just like Imraan had always been Ma’s favourite, Hamzah had always been my Bibi Masie’s favourite and she never even had the decency to deny it. It was obvious that the two of them had probably had a heart-to-heart earlier, from the way she said it so confidently.

I was actually dying to know what else he had said to her, and with all the extra hands around today, being the day after we had Eid here, the newlyweds had plenty of alone time to be all icky and romantic.

It was just as well that no other men were around then. Couples who were in love made me feel irked. It wasn’t that I was jealous or anything, but well… I suppose you could call it an aversion, because the entire love thing had just gave me chills.

And okay.. having to abandon a marriage because the man who you loved was in love with someone else could have been part of the reason for me, but never mind that. I’m not here to vent about my own misfortunes. I just silently wished that they would stop being all over each other because every time I cast my gaze toward them, it was making me increasingly vexed…

And I knew I was being a little bitter but I couldn’t but feel that way. The fact that I wasn’t getting my dose of Zaid while he was being spoilt by everyone else was unsettling me even further.

Plus, it didn’t help that that Ma actually seemed to have warmed to the whole concept and even encouraged their despicable mushy behaviour.

Considering that, I couldn’t quite believe how she was acting now. In fact, at the time before their Nikah, Ma and I were the only people who weren’t keen on them getting married so fast, but for different reasons. For Ma, from the onset, she had always pictured Hamzah with someone a little different. More homely. I supposed being old-fashioned, when she heard that Mohsina and Hamzah had worked together, it didn’t really sit well with her that little Zaid would be such a deciding factor for them. Ma felt that just because there was a baby involved, it would really make things harder for them instead.

And I do admit that Ma’s reason made sense. It was the glaringly obvious hang-ups. No one liked over-educated girls. I knew that she felt that maybe Mohsina wasn’t cut out for being a wife. She had commented that Hamzah was used to being spoilt and she had her doubts about him having to adjust to the situation between them, and I completely agreed.

As for me… well, I would never say it aloud… but my reason had always been that I just didn’t want Mohsina as part of my family. Period.

And let me just be honest. I’m not really the interfering type. Okay. So now and then, when I tend to get a bit peeved, then I may stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong. But all in all, I’m not really that horrible.

And let me just make it clear again,. I wasn’t exactly sure what happened that weekend and neither was I quite sure of when exactly things spiralled out of control. The thing was, I fully believed that all I was doing, was trying to be helpful and keep myself busy without getting in anyone’s way. Well, for the most part.

And that’s what bugged me about Mohsina. Even when I tried to be helpful, well… she never acknowledged it. And it was no secret that from the first time I had met her, things weren’t exactly starting off on the most amazing note, and I could tell that the feelings were reciprocated.

Seeing Mohsina for the first time at the farm all those months ago, her particularly fetching features slightly enhanced by the glaring light of the sun that day, while I watched her from afar, was something I never forgot.

The domineering streak she had in her eye was already causing alarm bells to ring, and it was etched in my memory since.

I had just completed my iddat two weeks before that, and Liyakets wedding was supposed to be the event whereafter everything was just falling into place. The debut. My life was supposed go from zero to ten and Mohsina’s unyielding attitude that day had put me completely off base.

And I should have just blamed Hamzah, because it really was his fault from the beginning. My idiot brother. Maybe he was avoiding getting involved. Maybe he didn’t want to cross boundaries. But it was because of my annoying brother that I had to go up to her myself, trying to be as polite as I can, but still firmly trying to ascertain what exactly was going on when an unexpected guest arrived on the scene.

I still remembered the words clearly, as she looked at me, her eyes boring into mine, almost as if she was challenging me, when I asked if she knew who that horrible girl was, who was causing a huge ruckus.

I mean, the entire function was just being ruined with this turn of events and I desperately needed it under control.

She had cocked her prettily made-up head slightly and narrowed her eyes to slits, and her ‘office girls’ remark had immediately made me see red.

And I didn’t think I was wrong, for wanting them both out after that. The girl was already attracting bad attention and we couldn’t risk this sort of thing here, plus Mohsina was just being plain down rude about it.

And of course, her outburst was completely out of line, as far as I was concerned. She was getting in my way. It was my duty to make sure everything was smooth. My property and my rules. How dare she be so rude and indignant when I was trying to help maintain a peaceful atmosphere?

Besides that, the fact that she had so proudly stated that she was an office girl was completely unnecessary. It had been a pretty touchy subject for me and her rubbing in the part of my marriage that had gone seriously wrong was something that was obviously intentional.

I figured out that she had her sights on my brother and it only made sense that she had probably checked on me as well. It was the very obvious explanation that my brother never agreed with, but I firmly believed. From the start, Mohsina was out to get me, and I was going to make sure that I wouldn’t let her.

But incidentally, emotion is emotion. You can’t just switch them off, and as far as emotions go… well, recently, mine had been a little out of whack and I didn’t exactly think that they could be anything but justified.

And so, first impressions aside, I had tried to let bygones be bygones and realised that maybe I had to just try to divert my train of emotion and make the most of the situation when after months of uncertainty and Liyaket’s death, everything had finally come together for them.

And the death has shaken us all up. For a while, it was like a complete change of mindset for us all. But slowly, as we forget, we slip into old habits, and after Ramadhaan was over, I had basically found myself grappling even more desperately to stay on track.

And though I didn’t exactly want her as a sister-in-law, I knew that I wouldn’t have much of a say, so I had to cut my losses and move forward. Zaid was the ultimate catch. After all, he had become one of my favourites and spending more time with him now that Hamzah had married Mohsina trumped everything. And at that time when I had hoped that my brothers only reason for marrying Mohsina was Zaid, I didn’t exactly expect the entire thing to poke me in the behind and them to actually romancing each other at inappropriate times.

And of course, I couldn’t help but wonder again, what about everything that had happened in between? What about the proposal breaking on a whim, and then going all out on social media… living the life of an instagram diva?

Man, it was wild.

It had been post after post, reel after reel. She had done selfies and TikTok’s and some of them had really cracked me up.

It seemed as if every ounce of her was being channeled into the most awesome and gripping content, and during that time, I had become obsessed with following her, those few months, waiting to see how amazing her next expedition of adventure would be. What would happen next in her high flying life.

I had to admit… the girl had a knack with her stuff. She was so onto the trends. All of my instagram friends followed her and her pursuits, and I had even seen her at one of their Instafam meet ups. The pictures she posted were goals and her entire feed was amazing enough to think that it was absolutely real.

And then of course, because I followed her closely, were the mysterious pictures of an odd bunch of roses or a new perfume she was gifted, that would make her followers go wild in wonder. The picture of an un-tagged male silhouette that sparked some suspenseful interest was remembered too…

I wished that I had screen-grabbed those stories as evidence, but I had been so taken aback by the hype at the time, that I didn’t even think to. It was all very innocuous and private, but everyone knew that there was a special someone… until all of a sudden… the car accident happened and she had posted that there was a pressing emergency matter and though she would miss her loyal followers, she needed time away from social media to cope.

And bam. Just like that, that was that.

Her profile went semi-dead after, and though I constantly went back to check on her, I could see that slowly, all the incriminating evidence was probably archived or deleted and instead of the alluringly enviable life she had lead, was now a stagnant page with hardly any mind-blowing content.

The Nikah announcement post when she and Hamzah had gotten married was a generic picture and after that, I could see that @mostlymohsina and her fame was something of the past. I knew my brother wanted it that way too, and although it seemed like such a loss, there was not much I could do about it.

But I couldn’t stop checking, even if it wasn’t only her. To tell the truth, I had become a little obsessed. Often times, i had become accustomed to doing nothing of note – except sitting on Instagram. Every time I opened the app, I was presented with an endless feed of friends and family doing incredible things, having a wonderful time, without me.

And that’s the crux of the game, isn’t it? I mean, last week, there was the school friend whose wedding I wasn’t invited to; having found out about it through the gram. Then there was the family friend’s daughter who looks like the bomb after every workout and stops at nothing to let us know that we simply couldn’t touch her. And there’s the old bff who lives in Europe with her husband and is apparently back home for the summer holidays without even letting me know.

Social media was a grind. Fomo was real and damaging.

And though I knew that it was moulding me into a dissatisfied and ungrateful sort of person, I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop wasting time. From starting off with purer intentions, the profiles I now frequented had no link with Allah because often these profiles are made in such a way that they automatically beam a lot of negativity and immodesty. And this, of course, did nothing for my inner peace and reflection. I was increasingly on edge. The mental health took a turn for the worst, making me unproductive, distracted, and increasingly unmotivated. It was a horrible and vicious cycle that continued endlessly, and time was becoming more and more dispensable as I kept on wasting it on screen time…

There are two blessings which many people waste: health and free time.
Sahih Bukhari, 6049

And as my free time dwindled away, the feelings of inadequacy and discontent were mounting and when I eventually checked back into reality, everything else seemed so much more bleaker than ever, and just made me all the more frustrated.

With my mind in a constant huff in person, I couldn’t help but notice more flaws with everyone else. Come when the newlyweds visited the farm, with all the available hands to take care of Zaid, the two lovebirds were obviously on honeymoon island and I still wasn’t good enough to look after Zaid. I just knew that Mohsina had told Saaliha that with the intention of completely hating on me.

And of course, as I scrolled through Instagram later that day, really not feeling like socialising while everyone sat for lunch, double tapping mindlessly as I saw pics of friends with their families and babies, loving how glamorous and blissful the life looked, I couldn’t help but narrow my eyes as I thought about what a sneaky cow my new sister-in-law was. If only everyone knew what she was really about. Wouldn’t that be a complete shock? 

“Rabia, please come and eat,” Saaliha said sweetly as she adjusted her niqab, and I shook my head stubbornly, not wanting to join in at the table. “We’re waiting for you.”

”I’m not hungry,” I said bluntly, ignoring my mothers peeved looks from where she sat.

I could see Mohsina eyeing me out too, but she said nothing, and I didn’t even offer her a glance.

I knew it was bad manners to sit with my phone at meal times but I wasn’t in the mood to hear lectures. Zaid was also taking a nap after all the  attention he had gotten, so there I was, feeling as dejected and sorry for myself than ever. Caught up in my online identity, I had actually forgotten that I had a real identity, off the net.

All I could think of was why everyone else’s lives worked out perfectly and I was still stuck on some kind of unlucky train.

How come nothing ever worked out for me or no one ever came through the way I wanted? It was often that I wondered… what did I really do wrong to deserve the kind of life I had? How did I even deserve this stigma that felt like I was paying for something I did wrong, every single day…

And now, as I felt myself comparing my life to everyone else’s, and Mohsina talked and laughed and basically acted as if nothing had happened when she had completely sidelined me… I  could feel my anger heightening.

Without even realising it, I was back in Instagram and on her profile, searching through for something… anything… I could fuel my anger with.

Every influential profile has those. A negative comment or hostile response.The people who are out to get you, or make you lose a following.

And of course, like any influencer, I could see below a few of her posts that there was a fair share of mild negativity.

All I wanted to do was get under her skin the way she had gotten under mine.

I wasn’t quite prepared for the consequences or what would happen after. What I did know was that I wanted to get back at her, and cause her as much trouble as she had caused me.

It took me a while to hatch a plan. I knew that’s Mohsina’s instagram account was paramount in her life, even if she wasn’t that active. I figured that doing some small damage in the form of a peeved follower might teach her a small lesson, but I wasn’t completely certain about how to go about it.

And I wasn’t exactly certain about what I would find. I wasn’t even sure if there was anything to find. I was basically taking shots in the dark, when I put the comment out there, from one of my unknown accounts.

And having so many accounts that I used for different purposes, well, there was no risk of her finding out it was me. All I wanted to do was create a little stir, and get people to talk a bit. I had full intention of trampling the rumours about her ominous activities after a few days and letting people know that the @mostlymohsina controversy I had sparked was really not true at all. I had full intention of squashing the whole thing, not even realising how my obsession with social media was getting completely out of control.

What I didn’t know was that through my ominous intentions, there was something very incriminating that would come to my knowledge and the forefront… and would threaten to topple everything else too…

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A little bit of a different perspective as the plot thickens. It’s been a bit quiet and I always love to hear the readers comments on this development.
JazakAllah to all for the likes and for reading… may we benefit from the lessons ❤️

Mission Sunnah Revival

Sunnah of (Digital) Company:

We live in a world where digital media surrounds us. We mindlessly forget that we are what we feed, and these WhatsApp, instagram and twitter feeds have an effect on us.

May Allah Ta’ala enable us to be particular even about our digital company, and save us from falling into bad companionship.

Abu Musa reported: The Prophet, (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said, “Verily, the parable of good company and a bad company is only that of a seller of musk and a blacksmith. The seller of musk will give you some perfume, you will buy some, or you will notice a good smell. As for the blacksmith, he will burn your clothes or you will notice a bad smell.”

Source: Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 5534,

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

No Secrets

Bismihi Ta’ala

Saaliha

It’s strange how life works, isn’t it?

One day you’re the happiest person in the world, and the next, it feels like the worries of the entire world have settled on your tiny shoulders.

And as we drove back into it, the city air had been doing its thing with me, unsettling me and making me feel all sorts of uneasy, as I entered our old residence. As much as I tried to shove it away, the prickly feeling in my tummy didn’t yet ease.

It had been a few moments of relief, but the calming effects of the view of the contrasting bougainvillea bushes against the lush greenery of the small town we had just visited had already been lost, as we found ourselves entering the suburbs once again.

For a minute there, I found myself immersed in the vision of the intermittent splash of stunning jacaranda trees visible from the highway, abadoning myself to the feeling of winter in the city too.

Breathing in, letting the relatively denser air fill my lungs, the point was to dispel the less favourable emotions that were coming at me once again. It was owed to the fact that it had been, in my opinion, another fruitless month.

Along with the pulling of my legs and aching tummy as I felt the pain subside momentarily, it was no secret that there was not even a possibility of a positive pregnancy test this month.

And as I sighed and slid open my phone, playing the voice note from my sister, my mood worsened substantially.

“Let me know as soon as you guys are in Johannesburg,” Fareeha said bossily. “We’ll come see you.”

“We’ll come to you,” I typed to her quickly, before she made any plans to visit.

This time, I knew that Rabia was here with us and I didn’t want to risk any clashes. Knowing my sister, as soon as she clapped eyes on her, she would probably dive right into it. Perhaps she would even do a live introduction right there, and risk my entire two month mission of keeping them away from each other being sabotaged.

But I hadn’t yet let Fareeha know that I was in town yet and I had good reasoning for it. Never mind I was being slightly obsessive and unreasonable. I wasn’t going to budge because I knew that if I gave her even a little bit of an advantage, Fareeha was going to completely steal the show with her new and sole ambition in life.

I pulled the bunch of lilies I had bought out the boot, almost with a vengeance as I made my way through the interleading garage door after my mother-in-law, barely even reaching the glass table at the front before the wailing of a baby caught me completely off-guard.

And for a minute, I thought it was my warped mind playing tricks on me.

Or perhaps it was a cat. But there was no cat here. And if it wasn’t a cat… well… That noise could only mean one thing.

My heart lifted as I heard it, and as if the sombreness was immediately eliminated, it was as if my entire existence had suddenly found its purpose once again.

All I knew knew was that as my mother-in-law headed over to where Hamzah was sitting on the couch, it was like some magnetic force that was dragging me over as well.

The precious lilies were abandoned on the glass dining table, and I found myself almost tripping over a baby bag, racing before my mother-in-law to scoop the baby in question up, without even a second thought of who, how and why…

And okay, in retrospect, I knew it was just a little bit of a psychotic reflex but I really couldn’t help it. My heart was already endowed with love for any little human that I saw.

”Oh my, Masha Allah!” My mother-in-law said, glancing at him and smiling widely as I placed him onto my shoulder. “Hamzah, why didn’t you tell us Liyaket was leaving his baby?! We would have left our shopping for tomorrow! I can’t believe you!”

Neither could I.

”Mummy,” he said easily. “Can’t you see how capable I am? Just two hours with me and he’s literally on cloud number nine.”

The baby was already silent and sucking on his fingers.

”Yes, I can see that, but we would have loved to help,” she said easily. “You don’t have to act like superman.”

Or be so selfish, I wanted to add, but I didn’t. After all, it wasn’t quite his fault that I was baby-obsessed.

“Does he need a nappy change?” I asked, glancing at my brother-in-law while I felt the fullness of his diaper.

I could see Hamzah rummaging around in the nappy bag for something, and finally emerging with a nappy and two different wet wipe pouches.

One was some brand hygiene wipes and the other was Huggies sensitive baby wipes. I could see that he had no idea what the difference was so I grabbed the appropriate one, dug for the changing pad in the bag and made my way to the next room to lay the cutie out on the top of the bed and change him.

I would have never guessed that changing a wet diaper would have made me so ecstatic, but it did. It had been so many years since I had done this but it felt like it was just the other day. The years flew by so very fast…

“So how was shopping?” I could hear my brother-in-law asking my mother-in-law in the next room. “What did you buy for me?”

It had been a while since I had met such a friendly baby, and his chuckles resounded through the room as I played a silly little game with his little toes, wiping him carefully and then sealing him up again, before re-buttoning his vest and romper. The smile he gave as he looked up at me felt like the sun had risen in the horizon of my heart.

Warmth oozed within me as I held him close, the feeling his heartbeat next to mine as his fingers gripped around my thumb, almost as if, in their rhythm, the two of us shared a little secret that no one else knew.

I wasn’t sure if anyone else could be as in love with babies as I was right then.

”We brought some food,” my mother-in-law was replying, and I could hear her go silent for a while as she unpacked the packets I had rudely left on the table.

Of course, I knew she wouldn’t mind. It was no secret to her that I would abandon anything for even a few moments with a little human being.

Also, there was inarguably another reason for her silence. Although it had been a highly sensitive topic before, things had kind of simmered down now… but I could tell that she was probably debating whether to tell him that we stopped over at Mohsina’s family’s new coffee shop. We weren’t quite sure how he would take to it.

And though it had been on the trending list for a few months, and I had heard about it a few times because my sister had been there at least half a dozen times and could not stop swooning about it… I figured that since we might be passing through the area, it may be worth a try.

And it just so happened that we were literally starving because we couldn’t find many Halaal places around where the factory shop we went to was, and this was slap-bang, in the middle of our detour. Not only was it conveniently located, but it was also a really aesthetically pleasing location that soothed my heart significantly, even if it was for a little while.

And as we drove up the gravel road leading to the familiar property, I had stepped off the car and breathed in the fresh air, taking in the stunning little rose garden in the front as I walked up the two steps that led to the entrance of the shop. Not only was I already in love with the scenery here, but being there felt almost like being completely out of the city, as I felt myself shedding all the worries that had consumed me earlier on, letting myself get absorbed in the beauty of the beautiful bougainvillea bushes in the distance.

I gazed intently at the carefree collusion of creamy whites that turned almost pearl, pretty pinks that transformed to blood reds … and pinky-peaches that somehow morphed into burnt orange. The contrast against the streaky skies made me stop in my tracks for a minute, as I digested the colours that were very much like the horizon that was spread before us, with its silky smooth skybursts of reds and yellows that found its way into the calmness of the latter afternoon.

When nature painted, with Allah as the artist, truly, no filter was needed…

“You think she will be here?” My mother-in-law had asked quietly as we entered, scanning the room as if she expected Mohsina to pop out from the woodwork.

I knew that she was secretly hoping she would see her but I did think that it was highly unlikely. Even though it was a weekend, with qualified professionals, I knew that there wasn’t always weekend time.

We walked in, immediately noticing that the place was simple and very cottage-inspired. There was nothing fancy about its decor or furniture, but it felt so amazingly homely and comfortable.

And as I took it in, I could see that it’s inspiration was a picture frame of a pretty meadow, and I couldn’t help but glance at if a few times, trying to figure out who had painted it, wondering if it was some coincidence that it looked so strikingly familiar to the farm back home …

A younger boy who stood behind the counter, upon seeing us, quickly went to the back, and in his place out came a girl who at first glance could have been Mohsina, but I already knew wasn’t.

It was her younger sister, and even though I had met her once before, her name had slipped my mind completely.

“Assalamualaikum,” she said kindly, her eyes meeting mine as she flashed one of the rarest smiles I’d seen in months. It was just so sincere and welcoming that it  took me aback.

She had obviously not recognised us, I said to myself. If she did, she would have snubbed us completely. After all, Hamzah was the one who called off the Nikah.

The girls head was covered with a floral hijab that was tied tightly and her striking features were slightly sun kissed, as if she probably spent her glorious days out in the garden most times. The mesmerising rose garden in the front had to be the result of someone’s toil…

“How are you?”

My mother-in-law, seeing no males in the vicinity, and generally unconcerned about any dynamics that may have existed, unlike me, lifted her niqab and gave her a genuine smile.

And the thing was, even if you are in niqab, to reveal your identity was always the right thing to do, by whatever means. Personally, I was just a little worried about how she may take us being here after everything that had happened.

”Wa alaykum Salaam,” Mummy said, looking slightly hesitant as the girls expression changed. “I’m not sure if you remember us, Jameela?”

Ah yes. Jameela. That’s what her name was.

I could tell that she did, but she looked down shyly, almost self-consciously and nodded. So far, so good. I mean, she didn’t chase us out, so that was great.

Instead, she passed us a simple menu and then said:

”I’ll be with you in a minute. My mother would love to see you.”

And with that, I was kind of taken aback. For me, the situation was a little awkward but it seemed as if they were surprisingly elated at our being here, and it took a while for me to wrap my head around it because I really didn’t expect it. What I did expect was an acknowledgement and maybe mere politeness, but I really didn’t think it would go further than that.

And that’s when I realised that maybe there was some hope in this world where everything else seemed to be a dead loss.

And that wasn’t the end of it. And as her mother emerged and a surprisingly pleasant reunion took place, Jameela recommended to us the popular specials they had, served us the best coffee I ever tasted, and packed us off with four extra sandwiches to take home.

Homemade and absolutely delicious, might I add.

And after feeling all satisfied and at peace in my new surroundings, as I soaked up the sun in the outdoor area where the view was nothing short of spectacular, when I went up to the counter, Jameela merely shook her head at me.

“My parents say I can’t charge you ladies,” she said with a sweet smile. “Next time, I promise. Then I know you’ll will come back.”

”That’s not right, Jameela,” I insisted, taking out my purse nonetheless.

I never know what to do in situations like this. And this was awkward. The whole situation was.

“We ordered so much. Let me pay for something at least.”

She shook her head again.

“My Papa will lock me up in the barn if I don’t listen,” she half-whispered, but I could tell she was joking. “You came to our home and after everything that happened… well, it’s the least we could do. It’s Hadiyyah.”

When she put it that way I couldn’t refuse. And they were kind of blowing me away, with all this niceness, even when we barely deserved it.

There was nothing more I could do or say, except thank her appreciately, as I looked around me, taking the place in.

Now that I was here again, I understood again that Mohsina had come from a simple home,  and that they had probably just made ends meet every month, without that much ‘extra’. It made me think about life so differently… because when I thought of it, this is what got me, all the time, and what Allah Ta’ala revealed about those who prefer others above themselves:

“They prefer others above themselves, even though poverty become their lot (Holy Qurān, Surah Baqarah.)”

I just couldn’t get it, and although I had a deep desire to be, I wasn’t like that.

How is it that people that have so much, find it so hard to part with that which they own… yet people who don’t, take in so much in their stride? Was it because they have little and are content with it… so giving even of that little doesn’t make a difference? Or was it because they just possessed an immensely amazing gift that allows them to open their heart so unreservedly, that no matter what they lose in the pursuit of winning over someone’s heart, barely makes a difference…

What I didn’t yet realize is that the money earned by a person, if it is not blessed, will never be enough. The more one earns, the more are his needs. Its like continuing to eat without becoming satisfied.

And as I exited, my heart engulfed all sorts of strange emotions, my eyes fell on a selection of potted flowers for sale on a little stand there, and next to it were a few buckets of lilies that took my breath away. So instead, I looked through the selection of pretty lilies in a bucket in the bucket, who Jameela said she was selling for someone else, and bought two unusually coloured bunches.

“Such a lovely girl,” my mother-in-law was murmuring as we made our way out. “Next time we need to bring something for them. If I had another son I would have already sent a proposal for her.”

She chuckled light-heartedly but there was a hint of sadness in her voice, probably for the would have been daughter-in-law she had missed out on all those months back.

I kept silent, thinking what everyone would think in situations like this. Whatever happened. However Hamzah may have messed it up. Whatever Mohsina might have done.

Allah knows best.

“But it is what it is,” she said, almost to herself as we got in the car. “No use thinking about it. And three is a good number, though, right? Lucky my second pregnancy had turned out to be twins.”

Three is an amazing number. Although I’d be happy with two.

Oh, but I’m happy with one too. Am I?
Of course, I’m grateful, but just one more….

I smiled and shook my head to myself, thinking about how my mother-in-law had once mentioned that she never thought she would have any more kids after Imraan. And then bam… along came two at once, almost ten years later.

And I never did ask her more about it. I always assumed that she had fallen pregnant with twins naturally and there were no treatment options at that time. But now as she said it, the desire the ask her was overwhelming.

“Was it a shock?” I said carefully, putting the car into reverse and glancing at her as we left.

”It could have been one, two or three,” she said with a smile, and left it at that.

”Ah,” I said, as if I wasn’t quite sure.

But of course I understood what that meant. It was the option that Imraan didn’t want to consider as yet, but the one I was trying hard for him to at least think about. IVF, under stipulated conditions, was allowed, but to get Imraan to accept it as a viable option was another task altogether.

I sighed as I picked baby Zaid up now, holding him close as I took in that unique newborn scent, and headed back to the sitting room.

I wasn’t sure if my mother-in-law had told him where we’d been but as I heard more voices in the vicinity, I realised that Zaids parents were already back.

With a slightly heavy heart, I dragged myself to the kitchen, seeing Liyaket’s wife perched on a chair there, looking as calm as ever, as I held her baby in my arms.

“Ah there he is,” she said, smiling as she saw her son. “I really hope he didn’t trouble you.”

And if she wasn’t so lovely I might have resented her for having the cutest baby in the world, but of course I couldn’t.

“Not at all,” I smiled, passing him over to her. He was so sweet-natured, as he literally drifted into lala land again with his dummy in his mouth. “You should have left him longer. We hardly had any time with him. Hamzah was keeping him all to himself.”

Layyanah smiled, shaking her head.

”To tell the truth, I didn’t think he would!” she laughed, genuinely humoured. “Liy and I thought he’d phone after an hour with multiple complaints about how difficult babies are, but when he didn’t, we got even more worried!”

She was giggling as she said it and I smiled.

I too, could barely believe that my otherwise spoilt brother-in-law who could not even make a cup of coffee by himself was actually so handy when it came to babies.

”I hope you guys did what you needed to do?” I asked politely, as I switched the kettle on. “Can I offer you tea or coffee?

“I’m fine with tea,” she said gratefully. “But only if you’re making for yourself. It’s been a pretty hectic morning. The queues at the bank were crazy and I had to urgently sort out a problem with my account. Liyaket keeps telling me not to stress but I can’t help it. I worry, and yet he’s the accountant. Financial security… For Zaid, more than me. He keeps saying that it’s all Duniyaa, but you know..”

She trailed off and I smiled, because I knew. The worry was real and although we were supposed to have Tawakkul, we were so weak. Besides, with our kids, does it ever stop?

”We all worry,” I said knowingly. “We are weak, even though Allah tells us over and over to hand it over to Him…”

And because I knew of Layyanah’s family, who I had recently come to find out was one of the wealthiest families in Johannesburg, it was no secret that I had already had it in my mind that she was pretty materialistic so it didn’t surprise me that she was talking about money.

Liyaket, on the other hand,  was a simple guy who had worked exceptionally hard while he was studying, even doing all-nighters to keep up with work and studies, because for them, nothing ever came easy. The two of them had completely contrasting backgrounds.

And although I had formed my assumptions, the next thing she said caught me completely off guard.

“I suppose at some point, we just have to hand it over, don’t we?” She said quietly. “When we look at the type of life the Sahaaba lived, how can we ever say we are of the same Ummah? Like for example.. the other day I was just reading about Hadhrat Faathima (RA), in a book I found in Liy’s mother bookshelf. How simple her life was, how she worked so hard and how her husband adored her because of it… where are we and where were they? Do you ever wonder?”

She shook her head shamefully while I looked at her in awe, barely believing that this was the same girl I had heard about, who was so spoilt that she had never even had to dish out her own food.

And now, as I tried to process how Allah’s plan works, I was listening to her tell me more about the simplicity of Deen..

This girl was making me review my own intentions in life. It was like I had been missing the point all along.

”Sometimes,” I said, feeling overwhelmed for a minute. “It’s amazing how they endured so much, huh?”

Perhaps it was all the hormonal emotions that were taking it’s toll, but her entire demeanour and beautiful outlook was having such an immense effect on me that I literally just wanted to crumple up and sob my heart out.

“Anyway,” she said, barely noticing, shifting around and moving baby Zaid onto her other arm as she finished feeding him and grabbed two more biscuits. I hastily went up to take him, eager for a little more time. “I’m not sure what time Liy is planning on leaving but I’m just going to carry on eating because this feeding makes us so feel like we’re starved, neh?”

I smiled. I remember how I used to eat about seventeen times a day when I was breastfeeding.

The kettle was already halfway boiled as we chatted easily about babies and their erratic feeding schedules, when I could hear Imraan calling me from the other room.

And since he had just probably arrived, I excused myself to see him, and see to Uthman as well. They were probably a little hungry, since Imraan had gone out to meet a client for the day and Uthman had gone for some additional school tutoring.

“Assalamualaikum,” I said with a smile, peeping out the kitchen door. “How are you? Can I send something for you to eat?”

”Sawls,” Imraan said causally. “I’m fine. Where’s your phone? Fareeha is trying to get hold of you.”

When was the last time I had used it? I had gotten so busy with the baby that I had even forgotten

Oh yes.

“It’s in the car,” I said, smacking my hand on my forehead. “Let me go and fetch it.”

”Don’t stress, love,” he said casually. “Maulana Aadil called to say that they were on the road, so I told them to come here.”

”What?!” I said, widening my eyes at him. “No!”

Imraan frowned.

“Why?” He asked innocently. “Don’t you want to see your sister before we go home? Is everything okay?”

He wouldn’t understand. He was also looking at me like I’d lost my marbles.

“It’s just,” I said slowly, carefully retracting. “I thought we would visit them for a change. I didn’t think you’d go and invite them over without telling me first. It’s so sudden. And I really just wanted to go there and chill while Fareeha did all the tea-making..”

I loved entertaining people, and Imraan knew it. I supposed that’s precisely what made him more suspicious.

”Listen,” Imraan said, his phone and the buzzer going off at the same time, and his voice softened as he said the next sentence, and moved to the corner of the lounge where no-one could see us. “You’re acting crazy and completely unlike yourself. Don’t get offended… but it’s not just now, it’s been for a few weeks now. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

I closed my eyes momentarily as Imraan spun around, pressed the button for the top gate, and then turned around again to face me.

”You rather go out and greet them,” I said meekly, as he looked at me and narrowed his eyes.

I could hear my mother-in-law and Layyanah chatting in the next room, feeling like I was missing out on precious moments with the baby.

“They can wait,” he said stubbornly. “You know you can tell me anything. I’m not going until you spill it.”

Breathe, Saaliha, I told myself. Just breathe

It was no big deal. Maybe the two of them wouldn’t clash at all. Perhaps Rabia would be out for a while longer, and Fareeha would be long gone before she even made an appearance.

”Saaliha?”

Imraan only called me by my full name when he was in a no-nonsense mood.

“I can’t,” I finally mumbled. “It’s a secret.”

How would I ever explain this craziness? 

That, I can never mention.

“We never keep secrets,” he said softly, sounding as if I’d knocked the wind out of him, with the words I’d just uttered.

Seconds felt like minutes, as I heard car doors slamming and Fareeha’s voice screaming at her kids as time was running out.

Imraan was inching closer to me, his expression even more disturbed than before.

I swallowed, looking at him, but determined not to breathe a word of my concerns out loud.

“Are you sure absolutely sure?” He said, looking resigned already, as he stepped back, his expression now one of undeniable hurt.

I nodded. I wasn’t thinking further than right then.

“Right,” he said abruptly, turning to leave, and for some reason, there was no other time I remembered that I’d felt more down in the dumps than I did right then.

It didn’t matter though. All I knew was that, come what may, this secret was one that I could never expose…

---

Sunnah of Giving and Receiving gifts. 

In an attempt to create love, especially if they may be rifts or some kind of problem… the Sunnah of giving gifts is always a perfect remedy ❤️

Rasullulah (Sallahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said: “If anyone receives something from his Muslim brother, without asking for it, he should not reject it but he should accept it is his sustenance (rizq) which has been sent by Allah Taála.”

(Fadhaail e Sadaqah)

Du’aa for Rajab 

اَللّهُمَّ بَارِكْ لَنَا فِى رَجَبَ وَ شَعْبَانَ وَ بَلِّغْنَا رَمَضَان

Allaahumma Baa’rik La’naa Fee Rajab(a), Wa Sha’baan(a), Wa Bal’ligh’naa Ramadhaan.

“O Allaah! Make the months of Rajab and Sha’baan blessed for us, and let us reach the month of Ramadhaan.”

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When the Unmentionable is Mentioned…

Bismihi Ta’ala

Rubeena

I once heard Khawlah say to the kids that if you can have gratitude, you can be the king of even a one-story shack. It was like an epiphany to me. To be grateful was something I never gave much credit to before, but now made so much of sense. Being grateful for things increase their worth multiple fold…

And every day for me, since my divorce, was a learning experience. Some days I learnt tolerance. Some days patience. Some days I learnt faith.

And some days, I learnt how to just be. To stop. To ponder. To be grateful. To realize how many bounties Allah had given me, that I do rarely stopped to thank Him for.

And through my journey and the lessons and everything else…. Time was passing us by at record speed. It seemed like the more we chased it, the more it evaded us. The more we tried to hold onto the moments, the more illusive they became.

And no, we didn’t talk about it. We didn’t want to. We lived in a world of idealism where everything around us existed for what it was, and we were merely trying to just live for what we could see right then. It was the same thing we in our ordinary lives. Live for the moment. Don’t think about the future. Have no worries… because this world was something that wanted us to keep thinking that it would never end…

And as we continued with our regular outings and the likes, Adam’s health was constantly changing. I supposed that it wa sa constant reminder lurking there. While he appeared well most of the time, there were moments when I glimpsed the reality of his fatigue and weakness. It was something that I remembered often when I looked back, because it showed me a little more about who my brother truly was. Nothing held him back. Despite the illness and despite the odds, he pushed through to be the best human being he always could.

Of course, we looked forward to spending time with him, but through it all I could tell that Adam was building up for something really special. It was something that he was purposely psyching himself up for. Something that the boys would remember for a really long time. I didn’t understand it at that time, but in retrospect, the way he had planned it all down to the tee was quite incredible.

And yes, I thought about it often because it was late winter and we were all still wondering why Adam had insisted our weekend bags be packed with ultra warm clothes, when it was practically scorchers in Gauteng. I had a good mind of checking his medication doses but I tried to be open-minded as we headed out for our family road trip that by any standards, was bound to be eventful.

“Are we there yet?”

It was about the millionth time I had heard the question, but to tell the truth, even I was wondering the same thing. Amidst my parents chatter and the general enjoyment of being altogether, we all couldn’t stand the wait.

”Where are we going?” Danyaal asked, the curiosity killing him. He could never take suspense. Even at story time, he was the most impatient of the lot.

We were sitting in a mini bus, headed for a destination that only Aadam knew of. I could see him smiling to himself mysteriously as we looked out the window at the roads, hoping that my brother had not lost his mind completely. Anything was possible at this point. I loved my brother but he always did have a whacky side to him.

“You’ll see,” Adam said with a wink. “It’s a surprise.”

Surprises were Adam’s favorite thing and my worst nightmare. I could not take the anticipation either. Besides the odd comment, my mother, on the other hand, was surprisingly quiet as we drove along. I think it was the fact that she and I were seated two rows apart… which meant she had no-one in the vicinity that she could focus on. At least it meant that I could exist in my little bubble of peace for a few hours longer.

“Uncle Adam!” Dayyaan shouted suddenly, pointing out in awe. “It’s snow!”

I had barely even been focusing, but my eyes sprung open as he said it, allowing myself to savor the first view of the powdery spread that seemed to have come from nowhere. The temperature had very evidently dropped and I loved it. Icy cold weather was my best kind.

Adam smiled to himself as he looked out, obviously elated at the shouts of delight coming from the back seat.

Ah yes. Adam has really outdone himself this time. The boys had never seen snow before and they were literally somersaulting over the seats to try and get better views.

“SubhaanAllah.”

It was Khawlah’s voice that spoke softly from the back.

The kids loved having her here as well, and I could literally see my brother glowing every time he looked back at her. Of course, no-one else could really do justice to reminding us of the beauty that Allah could create with such splendor. The endless whiteness went on till what seemed like eternity. It’s appeal was almost striking as I gazed as the soft hillocks that we passed. Every wonder, every creation… sometimes when we get stuck in our worldly pursuits we forget that there’s such amazement that awaits us..  such creation whose Maker is worthy of the ultimate praise.

Indeed… nothing was created in vain.

And of course if didn’t end there. Once we reached the resort where we would be staying for the next two days, our hearts were completely taken by the perfection and splendor that we saw. I almost couldn’t believe how perfect today seemed… it was almost as if we were waiting for a bomb to drop on us…

And as I helped to lug the suitcases out, my eye strayed over as I watched Adam and Khawlah as they conversed, not being able to help the feeling of inadequacy that seemed to overcome me at the same time. Adam had, through his latest escapade, inadvertently let me into his world where I was awakened to the possibility of real love. It was something that I didn’t expect or could barely explain… but as I saw them now, my heart did a little contraction, as I found myself turning away.

There I was, thinking the unmentionable and feeling like scum as I  looked at my brother almost in disgruntlement, thinking about how I could be so horrible despite the life that I had chosen for myself. I was lacking nothing really, but yet the feeling of displacement continued.

Yes, I had four beautiful kids. Yes, I had perfect health. Yes. I had a beautiful house and the best of everything. Yes, I had much more than many people around me… Alhumdulillah. But somehow, I couldn’t help but stop myself from wondering why I didn’t have that amazing husband that loved me with all of his heart. The one that was supposed to raise me to new heights.

I felt like the woman who opened her wardrobe to see two dozen dresses of red, yellow, orange, pink and you-name-it colours hanging in there. Of course, she is still convinced that she has nothing decent to wear…

Ugh. That was me. Why couldn’t I be of the few slaves of Allah who were grateful?

Ingratitude. It was almost corrosive. Destructive. There were many ways I had been indifferent and ungrateful and I knew that I needed to change. It was just that every time I made a little progress, there was always a small set-back that got me right back at square one. Right then, I knew that the recent events with Shabeer had caused it and I couldn’t stop myself from feeling angry at him all over again.

”Rubeena, this is not a joke,” Shabeer had said just the other day,  looking at me with that puppy dog face that I often saw on my second son when he couldn’t get his way. Only with him, it didn’t look cute. At all.

“This time I’m serious.”

I looked back at him blankly, completely emotionless. I didn’t feel sorry for him. Not even one bit. How did I end up with such a rotten egg?

”Whether you’re serious or not,” I said bluntly. “It doesn’t change the fact that it’s over. So can we just move on and let it be? You’re making this really uncomfortable. This is ridiculous, Shabeer.”

He had followed me to Adam’s flat and it was the last straw. Since then I had to switch the bells off at home and put an external lock to stop Shabeer from buzzing at odd hours and harassing me. He was being ridiculous. Seemed like the only other thing that would keep him away was a restraining order.

”I’ve changed, Rubeena,” he said, his eyes pleading with mine. “You’ve made me realize that I need to change my life. I’ve made so much of progress…”

I looked at my ex-husband, taking in his tawny hair that was greying, and noticing the red-rimmed eyes that had become almost a norm for him. Oh yes, he had changed. Physically, he was nothing like I remembered him to be.

It was hard to believe that once upon a time, he had been a heartbreaker who thought that this life wasn’t going to end. Now that he was seeing the effects of his sins… the only thing I truly wanted for him, for the sake of my sons, was to truly change…

”Have you started praying?” I asked, the words coming almost out of nowhere. “Do you attend the masjid? Have you listened to any lectures? Do you do Adhkaar? Do you have any connection with your Lord, Shabeer?!”

I wasn’t even sure where the thoughts had come from but my voice was rising as I said it.

Shabeer looked back at me with an uncertainty in his eyes as I questioned him, and I already knew the answers to them all. No, no and no. Maybe in his mind he had changed. Right now… I was in such a better space. I had everything I needed and I didn’t need this uncertainty. Well, almost.

”Is everything okay?”

My thoughts jolted back to the present as my brother came up behind me, catching me completely by surprise as he placed his hand on my padded shoulder. Despite being dressed to ski perfection, I still felt a little shivery as he stood next to me, looking over my shoulder as both of us gazed out in adoration at the spectacular view that was spread before us. It was simply mind-blowing.

We stood at the top of a huge dip that lay below, displaying a beautiful whiteness with random spots of greenery that were peaking out from underneath.  It was almost like the were trying to tell us something. To show us another beauty that we had missed before the whiteness descended. I turned to my brother with a small smile, stretching out my arm as I gave him a half bear-hug.

He smelt like he always did. Maybe a little extra oud than before, but he always had that powdery scent on him from the time he was a kid. He even felt sturdy, as he slung his arm around my shoulder. Like the old Adam.

It was just that now, I could see the difference in his energy levels, as he smiled and took a seat on a nearby rock. It was the only tell-tale sign. Though he never complained, where before he could go for hours he when it came to entertaining the boys, now it was barely 30 minutes before he would get tired.

”I’m fine,” I assured him. “Are you okay?”

Sometimes I was afraid of his answer, but Adam grinned at me as he sat.

”Couldn’t have been better,” he said softly. I could hear his raspy breaths in between. It was the cold that made him sound even worse than he was. ”This is amazing. Being with all you guys… together.”

”The boys are having so much of fun,” I said, watching them playing and running my gloves hands together as we watched them run back to the fireplace for their hourly dose of heat, probably feeling a little nippy as the evening was closing in. The view was simply breathtaking, from where we stood.

”I still can’t understand,” Adam said quietly, his dark eyes focused ahead. “How people can see nature and sunsets and oceans and blooming flowers and snowflakes… man…snowflakes! Ruby, I can’t even fathom… how people can see all of this and still believe that it happens by chance and there’s no God and everything is just one big coincidence…”

I glanced at my brother as we took in our surroundings, rendered slightly speechless by its absolute wonder. His hair was covered with a beanie and his cheeks were slightly flushed due to  the cold.

“How could I have been so blind before?”

I smiled almost to myself.

SubhaanAllah. There were no other words. That was the amazing part about Allah’s glory. Whenever you felt like you could say nothing that would give due credit, ‘SubhaanAllah’ was always there…

”That makes two of us,” I said, knowing that I was none the better. We had been awakened to a world of wonder and possibility because we now understood the greatness of the Lord who created it.

Adam’s eyes were fixed ahead. It was like there was something in his mind, yet he couldn’t find the words to say…

“Rubes, thank you for everything,” he said finally. “You’re the best sister in the world.”

I swallowed as I glanced at him, knowing that he wanted this time with me alone, but also fearful of what he meant by it.

“I know,” I said with a smirk.

It seemed like just a few months ago my brother was that little active boy who merely existed in my life as my little playmate. We were close but not like we are now. Now, my brother was the only person I had to really talk to. He was my go-to guy. The person I’d turn to for advice or inspiration… or even just a little chat if I needed it… I really didn’t want to think of saying bye to him…

“Seriously, Rubes. Thank you for supporting me,” he continued softly. “For seeing Khawlah for who she was. For loving me despite messing up things in my past. For pushing me to take this step… I wish that I could pay you back.”

I scoffed as he said it, not trusting myself to speak as yet. I was getting a little choked up and I didn’t understand why. He was absolutely obsessed, and it was so unlike him…

”I’m assuming everything went well?” I said subtlety, obviously not wanting to pry.

Adam looked at me.

”I can’t stop thinking about her, Ruby,” he said with a shrug. “Even when she’s here. Do you think I’ve lost the plot?”

I smiled. That was super cute.

“I think you’ll be alright,” I said with a wink. “Do you think I’ll ever find the plot?”

I grinned as I said it but Adam was looking back at me seriously.

”Remember that day you came to find me?”

I glanced at him, my face turning serious as I recalled, wondering if he was really taking about the same incident. It was a memory that I tried to block out. I had always thought that he had forgotten about it too. It was one of those unmentionables that we never mentioned…

”I didn’t know you remembered,” I said quietly, meeting his eye.

”I remember everything,” he said, his fingers intertwining with each other slightly nervously as he spoke. “And how you told me that one day I’ll find something that will make me forget all the pain that I was going through back then…”

I closed my eyes as I momentarily recalled it. Adam standing at the edge of his apartment wall while he looked down, as I tried to reason with him, like a crazy woman taking to a crazy and suicidal man.

”I was so scared that you were going to jump off…”

My heart still thudded in my chest as I remembered thinking how I would explain to my parents how it all happened, if he ever did jump.

”You told me that there would be better days,” he continued. “That no-one or nothing was worth hurting myself for. That one day, everything will fall into place…”

”I didn’t even think that you were in your senses,” I almost whispered, the memory so alarmingly real that I was stunned.

We had never spoken about it before but I could tell that it was really important to him right then.

”You also told me that I probably wouldn’t even die if I jumped,” he said with a slight smirk. “That if probably just get hurt really badly and then I’d make everyone’s life miserable because I’d probably be paralyzed for life and you would have to probably look after me and then you’d have no life beyond that which would completely suck…”

I grinned as I recalled it. He was right.

”I knew how to get you,” I said with a shrug. “And aren’t you glad you didn’t jump?”

“Duh,” he said obviously. “But that’s the thing Ruby. That’s what I wanted to tell you. That there’s always hope. That there will be better days. That you will find the plot. But seriously, yeah..“

I looked up at him as he turned to face me.

”What?”

”People who are looking for the plot don’t say no to perfect proposals…”

Yikes. That hurt.

I widened my eyes at him, a little shocked that he had mentioned it. It was one of the other  unmentionables that silently existed between us. It was a forbidden topic.

“I heard you out there, Ruby,” he almost whispered. “You can make up as many issues as you want… but I heard what you told Shabeer that day at my place. Don’t you think it’s a little hypocritical if you’ve got an opportunity exactly like you want and you don’t take it?”

My heart had been feeling a little bruised around the edges since I had said no. It had definitely taken a knocking these past few months, and every new addition to its torture wasn’t doing me any good at all. It was just that I couldn’t even think about all the chaos it would cause…

”I still think that he’s the one,” Adam said softly, glancing at me. “And I think you know-“

”Adam,” I said in a warning tone. “You know I can’t think of it right now. Im not in a good space. You’re not well. My kids are so young. He’s so young… gosh… he didn’t even tell me he was only twenty-one. It’s like having another child. Goodness, Adam, people will think I’m crazy. There are too many factors standing between us. I can’t just shove it all aside and do what I want…”

Adam frowned at me, as his look turned to interest. It just so happened that we could say nothing more  at that moment as Danyaal hopped up to us, shivering slightly as he stood between us.

”Mum, can we roast some marshmallows at the fire?”

Adam looked at him with a smile as I nodded.

”Danyaal,” Adam said softly, pulling himself towards us. “You remember the story Khawlah read about the first marriage of the Prophet (SAW)?”

Danyaal nodded solemnly.

”Do you remember how old Khadijah (RA) was?”

”Yup,” Danyaal said. “She was forty.”

”And how old was the Prophet (SAW)?”

”He was 25.”

I looked at Adam. He was smiling as Danyaal rattled off the details. It was her, may Allah be pleased with her, who had sent a proposal for this man who shone out from the rest. She was a beautiful and sought-after widow with an astounding reputation of nobility. My son knew more about the Seerah than I did.

She was married twice before. She had kids too. I sucked in my breath as my son spoke about how perfect their marriage was. How she accepted his message with no hesitation. How they developed love and compassion and understanding. How she supported him relentlessly in the mission to spread the Deen. How he married no-one else whilst he had her. How Allah sent His esteemed Salaam to her. How she got glad tidings of a beautiful palace of jewels in Paradise… for all of her sacrifice.

How my beloved Nabi (SAW) loved her with such ferocity that no other wife could compare. How he sobbed when she had passed on, and he glimpsed her necklace years later. How the pain was so severe at her passing that my Nabi (SAW) had mentioned that if he could… he would have wrapped her in his blessed skin.

That was Khadijah, may Allah be immensely pleased with her. Beloved of the beloved wives of the Messenger SAW.

”If I ever have a daughter,” Adam said quietly. “That’s who she’ll be named after. My all-time favorite Sahabiya.”

“But what if you only have boys, Uncle Adam?” Danyaal asked obviously, grinning at me proudly. “Like Mum.”

I can see that Adam was making a silent Du’aa as the thought crossed his mind. My boys were enough for the whole family to handle…

”Then maybe your mum can have a girl,” Adam said with a grin. “So we can have a Khadijah in the family to spoil…”

I smiled as Danyaal scampered off and left Adam and me alone again. Of course he wasn’t serious… I had no intention of having more kids. I knew that I probably wouldn’t manage. Besides, I felt like I had changed so much in these few months… so much about what I had wanted and aspired for before this had completely changed for me.

The day was closing in now and I could feel the icy breeze through the top opening of my jacket. I knew that we were due to make our way inside, but something was holding me back…

The sun was dipping shyly away into the horizon, boasting shades of orange, magenta and peach as we watched it slide away…. We were mesmerized.

“You don’t have to wait for it, Ruby,” he said in a low tone, gazing out into the beauty. He cleared his throat as I wondered what he was talking about.

“But I promise you that it will happen,” he continued softly. “Happiness, I mean. It does exist. And maybe you may not feel like it right now but one day you’ll wake up and you’ll know where you’re going. Where you’re headed. You’ll see Allah’s great plan unfold for you… just like it did for me. You’ll still have good days and bad days but you’ll also have the most important wealth of all. You’ll live in the knowledge of contentment… and that, Rubes, I can tell you, is the best feeling in the world. Who’s to say that tomorrow won’t be the best day of your life? Maybe tomorrow you’ll be blown away. Maybe you’ll find everything you’ve been missing. Never lose hope. Maybe there’s already something amazing at your doorstep just waiting to happen…”

Adam looked back at me for a moment, and then turned around slowly, making his way back to the villa without a word.

I hated to admit it, but maybe Adam did have a point. Maybe I was throwing the towel in on a plan that could be my dream. Maybe there was something worth thinking about… and maybe, just maybe….

Maybe the unmentionables were actually worth mentioning…

---

Dearest Readers,

I’m so sorry about the delays. An extra long post to make up for it. InshaAllah will try and post again this week 💓

Much Love,

A xx

Sunnah Duaas! Let’s try and practice InshaAllah !

Yaa Muqallibal Quloob Thabbit Qalbee ‘alaa Deenik.

“Oh turner of the hearts (Allah, the Most High), keep our hearts firm on your religion“

Sunnah Duaa for drinking water 

اَلْحَمْدُلِلّٰهِ الَّذِىْ سَقَانَا عَذْباً فُرَاتاً بِرَحْمَتِهِ وَلَمْ يَجْعَلْهُ

مِلْحاً اُجَاجاً بِذُنُوْبِنَا

 

All praise is due to Allah, Who of his mercy has granted us sweet and pleasant water to drink and did not make it bitter and salty due to our sins.

Revive the Sunnah Duaa for drinking water. How easy to practice! 

FB: The Journeying Muslimah

 

 

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#revivetheSunnahofeating 

#revivetheSunnahDuaas

Twitter: @ajourneyjournal

When Guilt Trips

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

Rubeena

Divorce.

The big fat D-word.  It’s probably the ugliest seven-letter word that I’ve come across. Well, besides the ones I sometimes used in my mind, but, well… let’s not go there.

And the effects of divorce are loathsome. Divorce breaks up families. It stirs up ill-feelings. It creates dysfunctional kids. A divorce is never easy.

And although the very notion of it was still detestable to me, I could not help but think that this was exactly where it was leading. The surprising fact now was that it wasn’t for the reasons that I thought it would be. Shabeer taking on another wife was never the problem. Although it was never my idea of a perfect marriage, I had accepted it and hoped for the best.

And I know that polygamy, or polygyny, more specifically, for most women is a detestable thing. Infidelity, though brushed under the rug, has become ironically, more acceptable. When at one stage having multiple wives was a common tradition and a norm, as society became more ‘westernised’, religious traditions that had been observed by the Prophets of the past and even regular people right up till the twentieth century have now became ‘unacceptable’.

And the fact that it was part of my beautiful religion too, like many others, didn’t mean that it was easy. Sharing your husband. I mean, I’d been there. But if you have the kind of husband who is willing to make it work, the way it should be done… I think that half your battle is won. The other half is trying to weather those feelings of jealousy and inadequacy that sometimes surface.

And then of course, there is a chance that your husband will have no idea what he is getting himself into. He doesn’t understand the responsibility. He lives only for that moment of artificial attraction… lured by the idea of an enhanced marital life that will somehow fix everything.

It was a rough life when your husband doesn’t know how to be fair. When he doesn’t fulfil your rights the way he is supposed to. Always feeling compromised in a marriage…

And I supposed that it boiled down to being content. For both of us. I often wondered how things would have turned out, if instead of pushing to lose those extra kilos and be in with the fitness crowd, I had concentrated on my failing marriage. I mean, I had seen the signs. Because I wasn’t content… seeing other women accomplished and living the ‘perfect life’ on social media, I was chasing an unachievable dream. I was chasing an illusion… Until I saw the light for a fleeting  moment before I skunk back into my rut of being ridiculous all over again.

What baffled me most was how I could sit on social media, scrolling through a strangers ridiculous feed with links that lead to another link and another link… and then you just have to keep clicking on more and more and accumulating more junk information and insecurities that you never cared about getting in the first place. And then you feel guilty about wasting all that time from the onset, and start feeling all completely out of whack because that person you were reading about has such a great life and you’re still stuck watching them with a nagging child literally tugging off your clothes. I wasn’t sure why it kept happening to me, but if I gave my much needed devotions the same kind of attention, I knew that I wouldn’t be in the same sick state of soul that I was in right then.

The Prophet advised his Ummah (nation) to have contentment when he said: “If you are content with what Allah has given you, you will be the richest person.”

Contentment, huh? Maybe I just felt that I needed something to keep me going all the time. The secret to happiness. Contentment was something I didn’t have… until I learnt that it was to do with the richness of the soul that I was constantly fighting to attain.

So back to the point of my chase for content, let me tell you something about Shabeer. He is not the perfect husband. Even before he had taken Hannah in Nikah, he never was. He didn’t even come close. He’s selfish. He’s obnoxious. Sometimes he’s just downright hurtful. But… despite all this, I could not control my heart.

I know that you’d probably laugh at me, but if anyone had to ask me why on earth I took him back… I can tell you right now: I really don’t know.

I mean, it’s not like I was doing anything wrong, but he had left me for weeks with four kids, and not even a phone call to keep me going. He had done it completely wrong. He had betrayed me on a level that was way beyond just marrying someone else.

But it was a weak moment. Maybe I felt sorry for him. Maybe.. just maybe… I thought that he would see it as an appealing  side of me, and fall all hopelessly in love with me all over again. Maybe I thought it could really work. Like, really.

I sound like Mary Poppins, I know.

But seriously, I was a romantic kind of girl and at that time when I met him, Shabeer did it for me. He made the cut. He did the the functions, the romance.. whatever it took. The only problem was, he wasn’t present. Not with me. He loved all the attention and glam that went with it all, but behind closed doors… I was always left feeling a little at a loss.

I would have loved to have the kind of doting husband who gave me and my kids all the time in the world. I would have been ecstatic if I was blessed with a saint-like husband that was devoted and helped me to the be the best too. But Allah knows why we choose something that sometimes doesn’t feel like the best choice in retrospect.

And of course, I was so glad that for Adam.. it was the complete opposite. Allah had picked the perfect partner for him.. a partner that would not only see the best in him, bring out the best in him… but also helped him to be the best person that he could be. I was in awe of how the two of them understood each other, compromised for each other, and saw each other’s soul in a way that I could only wish I had with Shabeer.

She had a selflessness about her that I just couldn’t digest, and I was so grateful that she had come in to literally save me that day.

And of course, as I heard my mothers voice in the upstairs passage while I lay in bed that Friday night, feeling all hollow inside, I was honestly panicking.

Now since you guys kind of know my mother inside out… Well, kind of… You probably have caught onto the fact that me and her.. Well… We just don’t along. And I’m not even exaggerating. Every single time I’ve ever tried to talk to my mother, it’s always ended up as some kind of uncontrolled world war three in the house.

We just do not see eye to eye. I actually could not even believe that she gave birth to me. Some days, I could swear that I was adopted from another mother. Actually, when I was younger, that’s what I kind of hoped.

At least that would mean that I was wanted.

”How are you feeling, Rubeena?”

That was my father. A sweet old man who asked the things a normal father asked. No big eyes. No harsh accusations. No drama.

I loved him to bits.

I nodded and smiled. I couldn’t exactly tell him that I felt like there was a ton of bricks raining on me, could I?

Besides, he looked like he was having a good day. Well, as good as a day that anyone could have, living with my mother. I didn’t want to spoil it.

“Mums here,” I said, stating the obvious. I didn’t even hear them come in.

He nodded and raised his eyebrows.

“How is she?” I asked carefully, trying to ascertain the mood today.

When I’m in my room, I could never hear what was going on downstairs. Sometimes I was grateful for that, because it meant I could unintentionally ignore the screams of my bantering children, with no guilt at all. It was bliss.

“You know your mother,” my father said, non-committally. “She’s not in the best of moods. This morning we had a big fight about the renovation she wanted to do on the kitchen….”

Gosh. Another renovation? My mother really took the trophy for most cosmetic renovations in the least amount of time.

”And now she’s taking it out on my poor daughter-in-law…”

What?!

My father got up slowly to go back down, hopefully to kill any tension, and I took a deep breath to steady myself. I didn’t even ask him more. I felt like there was a tangled up knot in my tummy now. I felt bad for Khawlah, and of course, Dayyaan chose the perfect moment to literally run in and take a giant leap-bounce on the bed, almost kicking my head off in the process.

Honestly, the boy was getting out of control. Completely.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” I screamed, reaching out to smack him… clean across the face.

The smack was painfully audible, and I saw him flinch as it was administered. He just looked straight back at me stubbornly, with his narrowed eyes, almost like he was only broken inside. Not even a single tear escaped his eye as he jumped off the bed and calmly walked out my room, leaving me in just a slightly enhanced state of despair.

I closed my eyes, the guilt now overtaking. Oh, the guilt.

And I knew that these behavioural problems were because of me. Us. While Danyaal has remained pretty unaffected, due to some miracle and spending the least amount of time at home… Dayyaan and Zia had been literally tipping me over the edge. All of these challenges had only started when Shabeer had come back, and I knew that all the arguing and bickering with Shabeer being here would do no good for the kids. I just wasn’t sure if a separation was the ultimate solution.

My tummy was, all of a sudden, feeling weird as I stressed about how I was going to work this all out. I had a lot of decisions to make and it was scaring me. Was I damaging my children permanently? Was divorce really the best option?

I put my thoughts on hold as I realised that I was due for a bathroom trip, and of course, it was right then that my mother chose to walk in.

“Rubeena,” my mother’s voice said acidly. I could already tell she wasn’t thrilled, “What is going on? Is something wrong?”

“What is she doing here?” She asked, with a frown. “And her friend. Two girls alone downstairs, Rubeena. I don’t trust them.”

I rolled my eyes internally. It would have been too obvious to do it literally.

“Khawlah’s here to help me, mum,” I said, sounding tired. “I’m pregnant and I’ve asked Shabeer to leave. Anything else?”

If my mother’s mouth could have dropped open wider, I’m sure a tennis ball might have fit in there. I had a feeling she had more to say, but I had shocked her out of it. It was the first time in my life that I had been so straight with her… so brutally honest. And it was about a time she knew the truth too.

“You asked him leave?!” She yelled, when she finally recovered. “Are you mad?! He’s rich and good looking. Shabeer is every women’s dream! You’re literally throwing him away to the dogs!”

“Let them have him,” I retorted, unfazed.

Now he was every women’s dream? How even?

“Why didn’t you call me?” She asked now, finally saying what she needed to. “If you needed help, I’m your mother. Why can’t you tell me?! I’m family.”

”Khawlah is also family, mum,” I said instantly. “And no matter how much you don’t want to accept it, the more I will remind you of it.”

Because annoying the crap out of my mother gave me a weird sense of satisfaction.

But of course I didn’t say that. I wanted to live.

“Hmph!” She said, turning her face away to show me a point. I honesty didn’t have the energy to argue with her right now. If she wanted to be upset, she was really welcome to be. She looked like she was about to walk out and I got up, hoping to pursue that much needed trip to the bathroom.

But of course, my mother was one in a million. Even when she was angry, she knew exactly how to rub it in. She could never be ignored. She stayed put and glared at me, while I put my bedroom slippers on, trying to remain oblivious to her death stare.

”Tell her to leave,” my mothers icy voice said.

I blinked in surprise. This time, my mother had really lost it.

“Tell her!” My mother pressed, standing up and putting her hands on her hips bossily.

I shook my head and frowned.

“Ma, I’m not in a state to deal with-“

”I’m here now Rubeena!” She practically screamed. “This is not for everyone to see and talk about! They’ll just make fun and then the whole world will know that Shabeer left you! And then I… and you… you’ll be so embarrassed.”

I raised my eyebrows. I was sure that there was more to this. This had nothing to do with my embarrassment. It was all about her.

“Just tell her to leave or I will!” she snapped

Oh goodness. My mother was really something else. And all this time, my bladder was taking the toll.

”Okay, okay!” I said hastily, really annoyed. “Just let me use the bathroom and I’ll speak to her. Just… wait. Don’t move!”

I had to be clear with my mother, before she took things into her own hands. Why was it that only I get into predicaments like this? Was there a sticker on my forehead saying “guilt me… I’m easy”? Maybe I took things too personally.

And of course, as I contemplated the words I would use to tell Khawlah to leave, I didn’t expect what would be waiting for me as I took my much needed trip to bladder relief.

And to spare you the gory details, it wasn’t just a false alarm. This was big stuff. I supposed it kind of explained the mood swings and everything that usually came with it.

My heart was frantically beating in my chest, as I rebuked myself for all those times I complained about the pregnancy. All those times I wondered how I could be so stupid. I wanted to kick myself for every moment I had spent in despair, wondering how I was going to handle another baby. And now, as I digested the obvious, I couldn’t help but think about how much would change now… if there was no more baby on the way…

Had I brought this upon myself? Were all my decisions and presumptuous actions finally catching up with me?

Oh, the guilt. The guilt was eating me alive.

I hastily pulled the door open, knowing that my mother would probably have a lot more on her plate now that she bargained for. My body was feeling limp as I swallowed, trying to formulate the words to say what I needed to. I just hoped my mother didn’t send Khawlah away as yet.

Well, even if she did… She kind of asked for it, didn’t she? 

She wanted to be the one  in control, and now she was going to really have to step up.

“Mu-um!” I screamed, my voice sounding scarily shaky, even to myself. “MUM!”

“I need to…”

My mother came into view, from where she was sitting, looking at me like I was a crazy screeching woman. If only she knew. I breathed in again, trying to steady myself.

” I need to get to a hospital,” I said shakily, unable to control my panic. “And fast!”

---

So, I got in a bonus post. Next post will probably be after Saturday. I will try and keep to twice a week, Insha Allah! Much Love, A

Sunnah Reminder

I’ve often heard that the personality of Nabi SAW was such that he spoke when necessary and always gave an attentive ear.

Aisha said: And this is how Allah’s Messenger used to utter (so distinctly) that if one intended to count (the words uttered) he would be able to do so. [Muslim]

We have been given two ears and only one mouth for a reason. Whenever somebody wants to share a story or just wants to talk to you, turn to them and listen to them attentively, as if only the two of you were in the room.  When somebody talks to you, really make them feel that you are interested in what they are saying.

How easy to practice- being a good listener is part of good akhlaaq!  

Let’s revive this Sunnah Insha Allah.

IG: @thejourneyingmuslimah

How easy to practise!

#revivetheSunnahof Sleepingearly

#revivetheSunnahofAkhlaaq

 

#missionsunnahrevival 

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#revivetheSunnahofeating

Twitter @ajourneyjournal

 

Brutal Lies

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

Rubeena

Different people have been blessed with different things, in different quantities. Different values. It doesn’t always make sense to the common man, because intelligence, status, affluence and even provision, is not something that we can choose or easily change. What’s in your heart though, will determine your actions. The heart doesn’t lie, and at times, it cant be controlled.

The thing is, being brought up in a liberal home with plenty of choices, I  spent most of my life chasing things that I couldn’t seem to get. Money, love, wealth, success… failure too, to a certain extent. And each time, even when I felt I’d achieved, there’s always been a feeling that I was missing something big. Something huge.

I never saw the truth. Many people can’t, and I was no exception. They say that there are some people whose hearts have been sealed. They can neither see, nor can they comprehend. And the thing is, the entire world already has you duped. You’ve already been convinced that this world will make you rich and happy. It will make you successful. It will be your source of everything that fills your heart. But what they don’t tell you, is there’s a catch.  There’s a huge catch, because once you fill your heart with the world, then there can never be any space left for what comes after. What’s everlasting.

“But you prefer the worldly life, while the Hereafter is better and more enduring”

The Qur’an, Surah al-A’la (The Most High) [87:16-17]

Yes, we’ve been placed here. The world is there, but what I never realized is that we have to use it for to earn the hereafter. So the way life is, it turns out sometimes you have to do the wrong thing, to figure out how to make things right. Mistakes are painful, but they’re the only way to find out who we really are. And its theonly way you realise what a brutal lie you’ve been caught up in all this time.

And it hurts. It really hurts. When you messed up and everything is crumbling around you, the only thing you can do to catch yourself from breaking down is to find home. Find your base. Find the ground where you were,  before you let yourself  go.

I held my head in my hands as I sat on my favourite grey suede couch at the entrance hall of my beautiful house, half deliberating on what my next move was, and half dying from the anxiety attack that was definitely coming on.

Breathe. Breaaathheeee.

I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. The breaths were shallow and half-hearted. It was like my body didn’t even want the oxygen I was forcing into it.

My mind kept replaying opening the text message this afternoon just before my trainer came home, and I couldn’t help but feel like my world was closing on me, as I replayed the image in my mind once again. I cancelled all sessions. I had to catch my breath again, because the emotions were already suffocating me.

“I think we need some space from each other. I’ll stay at the apartment. Let’s take a break and chat next week.”

That was it. No “love you”. No heart emoticon. Not even a black one. No emotion. I couldn’t understand it. I just couldn’t fathom it. After everything… after four kids…. this is how he wanted it to end?

I had hastily dialled a friend from gym, hoping to get some comfort and at least hear a word of support.

A ringing tone and then it sounded like the call just cut. No callback. I was stunned.

So this was how it was, at the end of the day. I’d pushed myself so hard, tried so hard to fit in and all I got was voicemail when I needed a shoulder to cry on.

I read the message again, as I scrolled through my phone.

It was so… cold. Unfeeling. Completely different to the man I had known all along. Completely averse to his natural charm. There was no other way to see it than to assume what I knew was the probable truth. The breaking factor that would probably kill us.

There was definitely someone else.

The truth was, I didn’t listen. It wasn’t the first time. I didn’t listen when everyone told me that I’d spend my life watching my husband, because Shabeer was a sweet-talker. I knew I’d have to deal with competition. I just didn’t think that I’d ever be in this kind of situation where I’d feel like I had actually reached rock bottom.

I breathed in again, and then exhaled, hoping that the fresh air would give me a better perspective. And if there was, which I was sure of, how did I move past it? Was there even any hope?

“Mum, Where’s Dad?”

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples, hoping to gain some inspiration on what to say. How to explain. Could he not just come home and at least pretend that it was all okay?

I glanced up, looking at myself in the mirror, and thinking about how a man could make you feel so unworthy, even when everyone else insisted that I wasn’t. What was I lacking? Nothing. Everyone said I was looking great. Gorgeous, my trainer insisted. Never better.

The fact was that even with all that, it was him that mattered. Shabeer mattered. After all these years, I still had my hopes pinned on him. I never gave up. And yet, with his obsession with work and whatever or whoever else rocked his boat at this moment in time, he couldn’t even come home to see his children.

“Isn’t the Shaytaans all come out now? It’s late.”

It was just after Maghrib and I knew I needed to pray. I had started… slowly… but today was hard. Today, it was so hard to get myself out of the pit I had dug. Why was it so hard to snap out of the self pity party? Why did it take so much of effort to actually focus on the One Who controlled it all.

“Duh,” Danyaal was saying. “That’s why he should be home.”

”But he always comes home late,” Dayyaan argued.

“What’s Shaytaan?” Zia was asking, frowning as he listened to the other two.

Danyaal slapped his palm to his forehead in exasperation.

He looked like one of those serious kids who were too mature for their age. The fact that he had recently gotten tested glasses made him all the more geeky.  His brown hair framed the rim of his lime green spectacles and I stuck my hand out to free it from his eyes as I smiled at them all.

These were my kids. Mine. Shabeers’. Ours. And goodness, I loved them so much. It was just that… sometimes…. I didn’t know how to cope. Maybe I had been too hasty, in having my kids too soon. Maybe I didn’t realize the work it would be. Right now, with no-one to really rely on, I wasn’t quite sure what to do.

The kids were still talking about that story. I had read the book Khawlah had left recently multiple times, upon Danyaals insistence. I needed to be better for them. I had promised myself I would try, after Khawlah had left. I didn’t want them to feel that emptiness that gnawed at me, almost every day since she had gone.

“Shaytaan is the one who promised to make people do wrong things, remember? “ I said, explaining to him in the best way I could. “In the story of Aadam, he was the one who tricked them.”

Yup, was all I could think to myself as they argued. And he tricked your father too.

”I know that,” Dayyaan said obviously. “But what is he? Like what does he look like? Is he ugly and burnt with a dark fire?”

I suppressed a smile.  I wasn’t sure how to answer that. Why did kids always have such difficult questions?

Gosh, I wasn’t sure what made their minds tick.

What made a man’s mind tick. I was so confused. 

“I know he’s made of fire,” I said, trying to be in the present and thinking carefjully. “And I don’t think he looks very nice either. He doesn’t like people. That’s why he does what he does.”

Shaytaan. Satan. Iblees. I wasn’t sure why kids found him so interesting. Whenever he would feature in our conversations, there was always a special interest in the main antagonist. I wasn’t sure how to make it more detestable. After all, wasn’t he the cause of every trouble that mankind knew?

“I’m sure Khawlah would know,” Danyaal said suddenly, and I was certain that there  was a hint of sadness in his voice as he turned around to walk away.

Almost as if it was on cue, a jingling of keys and turn of the lock immediately alerted Danyaal’s hopeful spirits again, and he spun around in excitement. My heart also raced with anticipation as the handle turned, and just as the door opened, my heart simultaneously dropped. Just slightly. Even though it wasn’t Shabeer, as I had hoped, the next best person was just what we needed to lift our spirits.

“Assaalaamu Alaykum!”

“Yayyyyy!”

I returned a greeting softly as Dayyaan screamed in utter exhilaration as he hurled himself at his uncle. I couldn’t help but break into a wide smile as Adam lifted him high above his head as he often did to Danyaal when he was smaller, to morph him into some sort of aeroplane. The sound effects were the highlight as Adam ‘flew’ him over all of our heads, and finally landed him, in fits of giggles, on the passage rug.

Zia was already running forward for his turn, and I was so glad that Adam had come at that moment, because I wasn’t quite sure how I would ever deal with these kids on my own tonight. I needed all the help I could get. My emotional state was way beyond immediate repair.

“That’s for calling me Mufassa,” Adam laughed as he incessantly tickled the half giggling and half-screaming Dayyaan, who was trying to escape. Danyaal pushed his glasses up his nose as he watched them with a huge grin on his face.

As I watched them, I couldn’t believe that my little brother was so great with them. I sighed in relief, thinking how lucky I was that I had this amazing family to distract me, as they squealed and screamed in pure delight. Even though Adam was so busy with work, I loved that he always found time for his nephews. The way my mother bragged about him, I could barely believe that this famous World class Web Developer was busy playing make belief with his five year old nephew.

I felt bad now, as I thought of how I had chased so many things I my life. Chased, at the expense of my family. Chased, at the expense of my kids. Chased, at the expense of my Creator… because my heart was never with Him.

The four of them were already starting to make up some random game, and I zoned out for a minute, and before I knew it, as I sat, half an hour had passed and the house was in almost silence once again. I wasn’t sure what magic Adam had done with them, but as my brother came in I couldn’t help but offer him a small smile, despite my sombre mood.

The thing with Adam was that he was always the light-hearted one in the family. Adam never ever moped around. Even when the odds were against him, Adam always rose above it. He was just that kind of personality that made the best out of situations. He was so carefree, and I was so jealous. I wished I could be that kind of spirit.

“Okay, out with it,” he said drily, sitting down on the ottoman opposite me and scrutinizing me relentlessly. He was making weird expressions with his face that made me want to laugh, as he cupped his chin in his hands and narrowed his eyes at me.

Adam was weird in a comical way, but it’s what made him who he was.

I stared back at him. It felt like we were playing the staring game that had become his hobby when he was eleven.

“You’re sitting there like you lost your husband,” he said jokingly, trying to make an expression like one of my father’s typical Indian aunties he liked to mimic.

I didn’t smile.

“Oh crap, I’ve put my foot in it, haven’t I?”

I nodded wryly, not ready to pour my heart out just yet.

”Lets talk about something else,” I said quickly. “How are you?”

Adam smiled his usual lazy smile, but I couldn’t help but notice a certain reservation behind it. I Just didn’t want to talk about Shabeer as yet. I wanted to focus on something else besides my doomed marriage.

“I’m awesome,” he said, so convincingly. “On top of the world, Rubes. I mean, what else could I ask for? I have the best sister and the coolest nephews. Life on this side of the world is amazing, dude. You should try being me sometimes.”

I grinned.

“Really?!” I said, raising my eyebrows at him. “I don’t mind swapping…”

He nodded emphatically as he pulled at his new beard and winked. It was quite strange to see my usually modern and sought-after brother with a typical Muslim-boy beard. My brother always had been, definitely, anything but typical. Like me, he had attended the top academic school in the province, and he had always looked the part. And of course, his choice of girls too, was a far cry. I wondered what they would all think of him now…

I felt a familiar ache in my gut as I unexpectedly thought of Khawlah. Why she had crossed my mind now, I didn’t know. I think I actually missed her more than I thought I would. I felt bad for being so bossy and demanding. She would have at least been here, if everything hadn’t changed.

I sighed. With Adam in and out and Hannah mentioning that Khawlah was getting married…. I didn’t want to impose when I knew she clearly needed to leave. I could sense her hesitancy. Things were getting uncomfortable. The day that she left was so heartbreaking to let go of her, when all I wanted to do was tell her how much we needed her here.

And then of course, there was Adam. My heart went out to my brother, because when I told him,  I could just see the look on his face. I could see my words physically diminished every hope that he had probably been holding onto for some type of happy ending.

I had broke his resolve. Crushed his heart. And I knew that he wasn’t exactly forthcoming about what he wanted, but my brother never was. Although he was always liked and known by everyone, he had a nature that was far from obvious. The fact that he was always easy-going and carefree lessened the blow for me, but I really  just wished it could have turned out differently for him.

“Let’s not talk about me,” he said, his smile momentarily disappearing as he swallowed hard. “Ramadhaan is coming up now. I need to focus- it’s going to be the first time I actually open my Quran, you know that?”

”Me too,” I murmured. Before this. The blessed month was just about keeping the fast, making yummy goodies and eating them.

“By the way, Rubes, I have a question.”

His expression suddenly got serious again as he watched me, and I hoped that he wasn’t going to ask me about a Shabeer.

“Please be honest with me,” he prompted in a low voice, and my throat was already dry. I really didn’t want to talk about my issues.

He went up to the mirror, turning his face from side to side intently, and then swung around to look at me again.

“Do I look like I’m getting old?”

H chuckled as he watched my serious expression change to exasperated. Gosh. He was too annoying. Adam was just the pits. Besides that, he was much too young to be thinking such things. There was a ten year age gap between us.

“I’m serious!” He said, still smiling. “Mr Molvi wants to hook me up… says he’ll find me someone suitable. You know how the chics love me, yeah?  Plenty of fish in the sea, right, Rubes? What do you think?”

I smiled at his feigned arrogance, but was also taken aback by the question. What did I think? What did I think?

I couldn’t help but say it. There was only one thing I could say here, that would be the truth.

The words just rolled off my tongue.

“I think Khawlah is perfect for you.”

And of course, the minute I said it, Adam’s face immediately fell, just as my own heart sunk. But I didn’t regret it. I didn’t regret it because even though I knew it had struck him in a place where it hurt the most, what I just couldn’t get over was this huge transformation that was standing in front of me.

This was something that you didn’t see often. It was a plunge that was literally taken in the darkness. This was the result of a young girl who had brought so much into our ill-lit lives. She had spread a light that no-one here had ever seen before. She had opened a passage to a beauty that we had never yet witnessed. How could she not be perfect for our family?

And it wasn’t because they had based this on something that people would think was ‘wrong’. I didn’t care about my parents. I didn’t care about the odds. From what my brother said, Khawlah would never even look at him. He had barely exchanged a full sentence with her. The kids, however, barely exchanged a word without her.  It was her sincere effect that had moved us to such a degree, that we couldn’t help but notice it.

From being a home that was deprived of the recital of Qur’an, somehow, my boys had memorized countless Surahs that even I didn’t know. From not even knowing what a Sunnah was, Danyaal had even convinced us to eat on the floor, just because he wanted to practice something that had inspired something within him. She had brought to life in their minds every single Prophet story, that their imaginations just could not have enough of the beautiful history that had gripped their hearts. The simplicity, purity and pure sincerity that all this was brought with… I could not even divulge.

The biggest miracle though, was yet to come. It had happened so slowly, that even I didn’t realize it. As Khawlah would pray before she left each day, I had watched her gestures and witnessed the peace within her. I wanted that. I wanted that connection. I had never in my life, prayed a full Salaah. The fact that it had brought a servant who was so far away from her Lord back into a lightened pathway that she was so eager to tread, was an iconic event on its own. From praying nothing, I went to performing three prayers in two weeks. In another three weeks, I was at the full compliment, and what was most amazing about this was that the beautiful person behind all this had no clue.

I sighed as I looked at my brother, realizing that there was no use talking about it when I didn’t truly act upon everything I now knew.

”I need to pray,” I mumbled as I got up, not wanting to admit how lazy and caught up on my doomed world I had been. Better late than never, right?

Adam blinked, and I could see he was thinking deeply about something while I was too. It was something we couldn’t forget, but it didn’t mean that all was not lost. Yes, Khawlah may have introduced us to this beautiful world of guidance and prayer and broadened horizons, but it was up to us to carry it through.

I prayed with a sincere devotion that evening, although I was delayed and in need of much reprimanding. For the first time, though, instead of dwelling in my own ugly issues, I focused on what was the greatest miracle here. Despite everything, we had still been blessed. Despite neglect, despite ignorance. Despite the utter disregard for the laws of the Almighty that we had intentionally  disobeyed, we had still been given an opportunity to see the other side. I could feel fresh tears escape as I thought of this great blessing. No matter what happened in my life, to have something real that I could hold onto was priceless. I just wished that I’d realized it sooner.

“Rubes?”

It was Adam at the door of my room, and on his face he wore an expression That I didn’t see on him often. He was worried.

I nodded at him so he would come in, looking at him curiously. He looked over at Zaydaan who was still sleeping in the cot next to my bed.

”What’s happening?” I couldn’t help but ask as my own heart thudded away in trepidation.

“I hacked Shabeer’s MacBook,” he said, his face grim.

I widened my eyes and smacked my hand to my mouth.  Oh gosh.

“I know it’s like… unethical and so…wrong,” he said hastily. “And probably like makrooh or something too…”

I couldn’t smile at the attempted humor. This was not funny. Shabeer will kill him if he knew.

“I just couldn’t see you like that,” he finally admitted, as he twisted his hands round and round. He seemed so nervous. So, so… troubled…

“Rubeena,” he said seriously, and I knew that it was serious. He only called me by my full name when he was speaking about major stuff.

“There’s a girl,” he said, and he paused there as my own heart plummeted, even though I already knew. What I didn’t know though, was what he was about to say next.

“Ruby,” He said steadily, and I could see the conflicting emotion on his face. He wanted to be strong, but the facts that he had come to know were too brutal.

“It’s Khawlah.”

---

 

Dearest Readers,

I know we are taking a while to get back to the Hannah and Aunty Nas drama, but I needed to clear a few things up before. Please make maaf for any shortcomings. I am always open to criticism. Please note that I will not be posting in Ramadhaan so please bear with these erratic posts as I conclude before then. 

May Allah Ta’ala grant us sublime contentment.

In preparation for Ramadhaan, this week, Insha Allah, let’s try and bring in a little about the Sunnah of eating, as touched on in the previous posts. I will try to keep it short, simple and effective🌸

Eat in Three Parts

Nabi SAW taught his Ummah something to protect them from diseases caused by eating and drinking. He said, “The son of Aadam does not fill any vessel worse than his stomach. It is sufficient for the son of Aadam to eat a few mouthfuls, to keep him going. If he must do that (fill his stomach), then let him fill one third with food, one third with drink and one third with air.” [15]

How easy to practise!

 

#missionsunnahrevival 

#revivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#revivetheSunnahofeating

Follow us on ig: @thejourneyingmuslimah

Twitter @ajourneyjournal

 

 

 

 

Talk of the Town: Nabeela

Bismilllahir Rahmaanir Raheem.

We’re all striving for something. Something that may seem beyond our reach. Some of us say we’d rather have something than absolutely nothing, but the truth is, to have it halfway is harder than not having it at all. But what we need to understand is that there’s only wisdom in whatever has been placed, and sometimes it just takes a little bit of patience.

Patience is hard. It’s really hard. Sometimes we feel like we’ve been tested to our limit. We try all sorts of aids in an attempt to gain some relief. You name it. Every measure to make the path a little steadier.

But the path will always hold challenges. It’s never a walk in the park. With all that, it can never have any effect if we cannot accept that it is only Allah Ta’ala who is One who places effect and benefit in something. Sometimes we just have to wait for it all to unfold, to see the real deal behind the scenes. Sometimes we have to strive a little harder to actually see the results.

“You cannot be serious,” I said, widening my eyes at my cousin, and shaking my head. “She actually said that?!”

Okay, so maybe this was a bit much.

It was unbelievable. The things that people came up with when anything out of the ordinary happened was quite something.

“It didn’t come from me, okay?” Zaynah said. “I just wanted to let you know so you watch what you say around them.”

I nodded, slowly digesting everyting that was happening. Raees had really caused it this time, and I was fuming. I had already seen a bit of the talk on Instagram, and I knew that I needed to take it easy with the social networks I had secretly downloaded. Zaynah would have a fit if she knew.

“She should be the last one talking,” I said impulsively, furious about all the hype. “You should see what her daughter is up to on Instagram.”

Zaynah looked at me sharply. Uh-oh. She would probably have my head for mentioning the “I word”, because Zaynah could not stand the fact that people advertised their lives so blatantly.

I knew that being involved in them was futile, because besides it being a huge time drainer, looking into other people’s posts and lives was always detrimental. It’s where most of the discontentment stemmed from in us, because instead of living our own lives, on social networks, we tend to live the lives of others. We want to live their lives, because everything always seems peachier on the other side… but my focus was wrong.

Instead of focusing on us and our inner self, we try to create a Jannah outside our own lives. We want a flawless, storm-free and serene world, outside, but our inside is turbulent to the core. The catch is; contentment just doesn’t exist in this world.

I needed to shift the focus. Instead of the outside- the perfect and peaceful world—can exist inside. The sanctuary can be inside us. No one can take that sanctuary away. No storm can affect it. No rain can reach it. And no-one’s silly post or Snapchat snip can kill it.

“Zay,” I said, chamging the topic to something safer. “I didn’t check… are you okay with the upcoming wedding?”

Zaynah frowned and looked at me weirdly.

“You better delete it,” she scowled, still thinking about my previous comment.

“Okay,” I said sheepishly. It was part of my goals for Ramadhaan and I knew I had better get moving if I wanted to achieve success in the blessed month. I had to start killing the bad habits from now.

“And of course I’m okay with it,” she said breezily, talking about the wedding. “You guys seem to think I’m bothered. I’m just glad that he’s making it right instead of running around with that poor girl. Besides. I have bigger things to worry about, remember?”

I smiled, really hoping to see Zaynah happy again soon. With Waseem. I was young and had always been sceptical in the past, but it was the love story that gave even me hope. I was so worried that she was going to give up on him and do something stupid. Everything was slowly falling into place, but my life, ironically, had taken a slightly drastic turn.

After the recent drama of an extended family member spotting Raees at a mall with a girl, he had finally decided to come clean and decided to make Nikah. The annoying part was that being in the spotlight made him spill the beans about me. Raees was so sly that he couldn’t stand the drama centered around him, so he had to put me in the eye. It made me furious.

And okay, maybe me not mentioning anything to anyone about my hunting hobby might have been suspicious, but I knew the kind of ladies we had in our family. Daddy’s condition was that I would always go with him and that I keep it low key, because he knew what they were like. They were so judgemental and old fashioned. They would probably talk my father into sending me for a cooking course instead. It wasn’t like I was doing anything wrong.

Now that they found out, the stories that were emerging were quite unbelievable. I mean, to say that I was man-hunting instead was really spiteful. I really didn’t anticipate getting a proposal at the hunting grounds. It was completely unexpected. Spontaneous. And of course, it gave me a weird kind of feeling in the pit of my tummy. I wasn’t sure if it was excitement, but I didn’t dare feel any yet because I had no idea where it was going. Raees was the number one obstacle, and even with his recent history, he still had the audacity to pass judgement.

“Never,” Raees had said, the minute my father mentioned it. “My sister will never marry there. That guys been married before, Daddy. We don’t even know what happened there. Can you really let your teenage daughter marry someone with that much of history? Let’s not even go there.”

He stressed on the word teenage, and I could feel my cheeks burning as they argued. I mean, really? Couldn’t they at least do this when I wasn’t around? And didn’t I get any say at all in the my own future?

Well, it was just as well that I didn’t say anything that day, because I know people would probably have a mouthful to say had I pushed the issue.

Instead, I left it alone and went to my room to phone Zaynah. Of course she would know what to say, and make it okay. And, ten minutes later, my mind was completely at ease, knowing that what was meant for me would never miss me. My silly childish crush was now the least of my worries. I knew that I had been off-track before, but Ziyaad was trying to do the right thing when he approached my father. I just had to hope that they see it that way too.

I had some hope still, after all, it wasn’t yet the end of the road. Increase in istighfaar, was Zaynah’s advice. It will all be okay.

“Whatever path you are treading, or whatever you want… know that it will be made easier with abundant Istighfaar.”

A man once came to al-Hasan al-Basri and complained to him: “The sky does not shower us with rain.” He replied: “Seek Allah’s forgiveness (i.e. say أستغفر ألله).”

Then another person came to him and said, “I complain of poverty.” He replied: “Seek Allah’s forgiveness.”

Then another person came to him and complained, “My wife is barren; she cannot bear children.” He replied: “Seek Allah’s forgiveness.”

The people who were present, said to al-Hasan: “Everytime a person came to you complaining, you instructed them to seek Allah’s forgiveness?”

Al-Hasan al-Basri said, “Have you not read the statement of Allah? ‘I said “Ask forgiveness of your Lord. Truly He is Oft-Forgiving. He will send rain to you in abundance; increase you in wealth and children; grant you gardens and bestow on you rivers.”‘” [Nuh (71):10-12].

Rasul Allah (SAW) said, “If anyone continually asks forgiveness, Allah will appoint for him a way out of every distress, relief from anxiety, and will provide for him from where he never realized.”
[Abu Dawood, Hadith 599]

And of course, I knew that was only truth in it. As the days passed and I hoped that everything would work out, I increased in istighfaar. In fact, I became addicted to istighfaar… and of course, made plenty of Duaa for the best. Although my heart was inclined to what it wanted, I knew that there could only be goodness in still asking for what was right for me. If I had to give a reason why I wanted this to work out, I knew that it would be because of reasons that were far from before.

No silly fantasies and hopes could match the contentment you feel when you do everything the way that Allah is pleased with. When you save yourself from the sin of something that is wrong.

As it does when you seem to be waiting on something, it seemed like forever before anything happened to change the course of my life. My teenage years had always been spent under the radar, and I had, overnight, become something of a topic of discussion for most in our small town. It was a time of finding myself and coming to peace with everything that was going on, so I ignored it and kept occupied with the usual things while I got on with life. Finding peace within my self was something of a mission, but it was something that I had needed to do for a long time.

Like many girls, I had spent most of my life waiting for that someone to sweep me off my feet. I spent my life running after what I thought would give me happiness. It was what I felt I needed. I needed a special someone, and since I never had it,  I needed comfort. I needed people. All the time.
But the reason for that desire, is simply love. The need for love. We yearn for it and chase it, but we forget that love has a Creator too. We forget about who brought this need within us, and we get lost along the way.
We seek it in the wrong way. We look to fulfill that need in the wrong place.

But there is winning in every walk of life. There is a beautiful and fascinating rule that governs this world. And it’s really not rocket science.

Chase what is always there. Chase what lasts. Although the heart inclined to what’s easiest, quickest and closest, when we see that the chase will lead us nowhere, and finally see the truth… that’s when we chase what’s eternal. We chase what doesn’t fade. We chase the only thing that can fill us. Our Creator.

And then, of course, as Ramadhaan came closer, I seemed to finally get this, and started to focus my attentions on something other than what I was waiting for. Like Murphy’s Law, everything suddenly started happening at once. First was the preparation for my brothers wedding which seemed to be taking forever to happen. My family was all about the quick Nikah, and apparently the girls family wanted time to prepare a function. And though I never thought I’d be the one to say it, with my new focus, I wished they’d just make the Nikah and get it done with.

Everything was happening at lightning speed when the arrangements were finalized, and I took a deep breath in on that last Friday morning before Ramadhaan, preparing myself for a helluva weekend. I was so busy with my to-do list, that I didn’t even think twice when Hassan came in a few minutes later, screaming at the top of his lungs about something I had know idea about.

“What on earth are you saying?” I asked him, so frustrated that he was behaving like a problem child. I wondered why he acted so hyper at times. It was probably his age.

“It’s his car!” He screamed again, running to the window and pointing out.

The boy was obsessed with cars and it was getting a bit much. I sighed and went to the window, hoping to steer him away from the attraction.

“Uncle Waseem!” he shouted, grinning widely as someone got off the car.

At first I didn’t believe him, but as I looked closer, I realized that it was true. Zaynah’s husband was here. I was just about to shout for my cousin, when my voice froze in my throat as someone else stepped out.

At that moment, I had no idea what all this would bring, but I knew that I had to be prepared for anything. My father had been avoiding any discussions and they had obviously come here for something. Of course, this wasn’t just a coincidence. This was going to be a battle, but there had to be some winning here.

There was winning in every walk of life, and we all want it. We all want to win. We are all chasing something. Running after something.

But when we re-orient, and run towards Allah alone, then do we get the real picture: Only the one who gives up this fight, fails. You don’t give up… but you just have to re-focus. Focus on the One who will keep you grounded, throughout the storm. Focus on Him, and then only will you be successful.

And then only, will you find the real gold.

---

ONE STEP CLOSER TO JANNAH, InshaAllah!

Let’s practice our SUNNAH InshaAllah! More Sunnah of eating:

*Eating with three fingers.*

The Sunnah is to eat with three fingers;
eating with more than three fingers is a sign of greed and is bad manners,
because
there is no need for more than three in order to gather up a morsel.
If it is necessary to use more than three,
because
the food is light and cannot be gathered in three fingers, then he may use the fourth or fifth.

*See Fath al-Baari, 9/578*

Practice, share and earn multiple rewards in shaa Allah.

SubhaanAllah. Let’s try and observe the Sunnah Duaas of eating InshaAllah.

#RevivetheSunnahofEating

#RevivetheSunnahofDrinking

#Revive theSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofSmiling

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofDu’aas

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