From Heartbreak to Hope

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 86

I had never felt more like a warrior than the moment I realised my marriage was becoming a war zone.

Theres something about having a raging fire set alight inside you that made you feel like you were literally in the midst of a fire. And for me, it was even more so, because although it took extreme measures to get me to that point, I knew that once I got there, it took a lot for me to calm myself down.

And as I thought of it, the man I’d become during the past few months, the doting husband, the more I realised how much Mohsina had changed me.

I’d never been the kind of guy who was a pushover.

For me, I had always been the one to own it, to lead the pack, to call the shots.

Then I married Mohsina, and everything changed. She was one of a kind, and she preferred to be in charge. I had left that to her… let her take the reins for most decisions, except the adventurous ones, and in some ways, relied on her way too much.

And now, it was time for me to take back the reins. As uncomfortable as it was, it had to be done.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Imraan’s brown eyes were slightly narrowed as I nodded my head, and his frown deepened.

”Like really, absolutely sure?”

His question was posed with a permanent frown and for a minute, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

And then, like a stab wound, I recalled the pain that I had felt the previous night and almost everything became clear again.

The pain was like hole in my gut. Constant and unflinching.

And just like before, that fierce protectiveness that I felt for Zaid had overcome me again.

“I need to do what I know Liyaket would expect from me,” I said bluntly.

”You really think Mohsina doesn’t deserve a proper say in this?” He questioned, is eyebrows raised. “She’s the only mother he knows.”

“The evidence is stacked against her,” I said softly, feeling horrible about considering what I was.

Feeling terrible for having to separate Zaid from her, even if it was for a short while. I just couldn’t stand the thought of Zaid being away from me.

“But didn’t you hear what Zubair said earlier?” Imraan said, frowning. “And I’m sorry bru, but as a mediator here, I can’t let you just throw your marriage away too. If Saaliha was here and she knew what happened, she would say the same. Premature decisions are never wise ones.”

Immense guilt overcame me as I processed the reality.

But Saaliha wasn’t here. She wasn’t here because she had been admitted to hospital last night.

I didn’t realised that she was already 14 weeks. She lost the baby at 14 weeks, and Imraan shouldn’t be here, with me, while I was going through this crap.

He should be there with her, while she was probably grieving the loss of the baby they had waited so long for.

“Bro, I’m so sorry,” I said, meeting his gaze as I watched him shrug nonchalantly. He almost had me fooled. “You should get back to the hospital.”

“No need,” he said firmly, looking tired. “Everything’s already done. She’s resting now, and I’ll fetch her later. You, my man, need to sort out your head. My sincerest advice would be that you don’t give her a Talaaq. Think of what you’re doing. You can do that at any time if you need to, once you’re sure. It’s too early. Let me speak to Zubair properly. Let’s just gather information first and you can make a decision on what to do from there.”

I honestly hadn’t met anyone like him before. He took every test and challenge in his stride. I knew how badly he wanted this baby, and yet, he had surrendered to Allah Ta’alas will, with no questions asked. I wished that I could have that kind of tawakkul.

Although I hated to admit it, he was still talking sense and he was right about my marriage.

I didn’t want to speak to her, and she probably didn’t want to speak to me either. We were pretty messed up as a couple, and more so as parents. We needed proper arbitration and the ayah in the Qur’ān was clear on that.

If you anticipate a split between them, appoint a mediator from his family and another from hers. If they desire reconciliation, Allah will restore harmony between them. Surely Allah is All-Knowing, All-Aware. (Surah An Nisaa) 

I shook my head in disbelief, my mind still on the events of he previous night.

I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even know what hit me until it all became a reality.

The reality that Mohsina had lied to me, over and over again, and never cared to mention to me a most important fact, was a punch in the most painful of places.

And at first I thought it may have been some kind of plot for them to sway me. I had been angry, but more so, confused.

My first reaction to seeing the necklace was absolute shock.

I could feel Mohsina looking at me, her gaze watching my every movement as I turned away from her, pushed the key in our lock and turned it, hearing the catch releasing.

The door opened soundlessly. Mohsina’s voice was the loudest noise in the room.

“Hamzah, it’s not what you think it is.”

I took a deep breath, not realising how much I wanted to yell right then, but holding myself because I hated what was happening to me.

Why him? I wanted to ask her. Out of every man on the planet she could have had a past with, it had to be Faadil.

Now here he was, in the middle of us, causing me to lose control and I knew that there was nothing I could do about it. It was only a matter of time.

I took a step inside, grinding my teeth, pulling the cooler bag along with me as I did, wondering why the day that had passed us seemed so far away.

“I’m so sorry,” Mohsina whispered again, close behind me now, and there was something in her voice that I never heard before.

Regret. Remorse.

Resolve.

“Say something, Hamzah,” she murmured, and i knew that there was nothing I could do to hold back that lion that had been unleashed within me a few seconds ago.

It was raging within, as I spun around in the middle of our living area and faced her tear-stained face.

“You saw him on the day of our Nikah?!”

My voice was cutting, and escalating with every syllable. I didn’t intend for it to be any other way.

Right then, all I could see in her was betrayal, and I hated it.

As she swallowed and looked up at me, the stupid necklace and note in her one hand as she stood there, almost as if she wasn’t sure what to say.

”Tell me the truth, dammit,” I breathed, edging closer to her, even though I felt repulsed by her.

I was overwhelmed by emotions. Frustration and anger and a whole lot more that I didn’t understand …

“Tell me,” I spat, bitterness creeping in as I watched her eyes avert and tear up again. “Was he your back-up plan?! Was he planning to whisk you away with promises of the best kind of life, with a glorious penthouse apartment and that damn Porsche that I could never give you?!”

She was shaking her head as I was speaking, tears falling freely as she did, her hand trembling as she raised it up to cup her mouth.

I’d never seen her cry like that. Actually, I’d never seen her cry before.

Period.

But it did nothing to me. I was unmoved. All I saw was my own pain.

Her greed. Her betrayal. The hurt that she caused. The suffering that our families and Zaid would have to endure because of everything that had happened.

”Tell me I’ve got it wrong,” I begged finally, my hands clenched in front of me, my voice dropping to a whisper as I watched her, her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, eyelashes threaded with tears. “Tell me that he didn’t have anything to do with you. That he was just a guy who was aiming for more than he could get.”

The words hung in the air for three seconds before she dropped her hand, and opened her mouth to speak.

“We were proposed.”

My heart felt like it had dropped fifty feet as she said it. They were proposed?

I literally staggered backward, unable to focus on anything. Breathing was difficult, for those few seconds. I just could not process it.

Yes, I knew there was something, but not that she was going to marry him?! Him?

Red, hot anger rose within me as she came into focus, and I turned toward the bedroom.

”It wasn’t public knowledge,” she said louder, following behind me as I opened my cupboard to pull out a bag.

That hit me even harder.

It meant that it was going on behind the scenes, which was what Faadil lived for. It gave him the opportunity to do whatever else he pleased without getting slack for it. It gave him the chance to be the guy I knew he was all the time, to strategise most conveniently to his own advantage. He had known that we were proposed before that, and that was evidently his intention. He wanted to get back at me because I didn’t take his lousy job offer.

With Faadil, there was always an agenda. Love, for him, whether it existed or not, was never the agenda.

“I broke it off when I quit. I didn’t know he got that chain for me…”

”I don’t care about the damn chain!” I snapped, gaining my composure again as I watched her, and she realised what she had said. “You still saw him. You saw him and who knows what else happened. The day we made Nikah. Was I just some test? Did I mean nothing to you at all?!”

He had bought the chain for her? It was the one I had given her. The exact same, one carat chain that I had given her at our proposal. Almost as if he was trying to replace what we had.

That chain… the stupid material piece of metal… was a symbol of something we had. Whatever it was.

And she had ruined that. Or he had. Whatever.

Screw it. I didn’t care. I tossed half my drawers into an open suitcase and moved to another cupboard.

”Hamzah,” she said, her voice escalating as she watched me shove more clothes and cosmetics into the bag. “What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving,” I said simply, pausing to look her in the eye. “Didn’t you want that all along? Weren’t you waiting for me to go?!”

“Not like this!” She whimpered, her eyes filled with tears, as she focused on me again, edging closer as I backed away. “Hamzah. You mean so much to me.”

My phone was ringing now. Imraan, signalling he was downstairs. I glared at it, and then glared back at her.

“I don’t understand,” Mohsina cried, blinking furiously as she watched me packing. “None of this makes sense. Yes, he came to see me, but I didn’t see him the way you think I did that day. There’s more to this. Hamzah, please. Just listen. I didn’t want you to know that he came because I didn’t think it mattered. You were the one who mattered. It was always you. Please don’t give up on us.”

I wanted to laugh. Ironic, wasn’t it? She was the one who wanted me to give up.

And now I did.

I shook my head at her, sending Imraan a message to say I would be down in five, heading to the bathroom to grab my shaving machine. There was no way I was staying there tonight. Or ever.

“Hamzah, this is all too convenient. The way this happened, after everything that we’ve conquered so far, you can’t let this ruin it. Listen to me. We have hope, right? Did you speak to Rabia recently? She knows Faadil and she-”

“Rabia has nothing to do with this!” I barked, sounding foreign, even to myself.

Mohsina shuddered as I said it, her expression actually a little fearful as she watched me move, as fast as I could, with whatever I could gather.

“And so you keep saying,” she said, glaring at me now, as I felt something shifting in the room. “You take her part every time, despite everything she’s done so far, and despite knowing that she hates me.”

”Stop making this about her,” I said evenly, not wanting to hear any of her excuses. “How she feels about you is irrelevant. You did something wrong. You messed up. And now you’re blaming her. And now, you want hope.”

Hope. She had the audacity to speak about hope now. After taking my heart and butchering it to pieces, she wanted hope.

”I know I did something wrong,” she admitted, suddenly sounding desperate. Desperation was a foreign concept to her, and it didn’t suit her. “I’m so sorry, Hamzah. I’ll say it a thousand times if that’s what it takes. I’ll tell you everything. But Rabia… she keeps interfering in our marriage and if you just listen to-“

”What marriage?!” I retorted, not able to control my thoughts or words anymore, thinking of how Liyaket left me, and Layyanah left her, and all of this came almost as a done deal. “None of us even wanted this. It came by chance. We barely had time to breathe or mourn. Without even thinking about what I really wanted, I made this decision, hoping it would fix everything, and I never thought it could ever turn out like this.”

“Don’t, Hamzah,” she gasped, her face looking pained and her voice thin, as she grasped my arm. “Don’t say that. You know that’s not true. I wanted this. You can’t take back what you say.”

“I know,” I said with a sigh, realising that I may have gone too far but not bothering to retract a thing, as I shrugged her off. “And you can’t take back what you did. Leave. Me. Alone. I need to go.”

She stepped back, looking visibly stunned at my blunt words. She didn’t put up a fight, because she knew.

She had gone too far. I had said too much.
Hurt her the way she had hurt me.

Things were at a point where we were irreparable.

I didn’t even try looking back at her as I rolled my bag out the door, acceding to her request of having Zaid for the night, and letting her know in as few words as possible that I’d fetch him first thing in the morning.

I knew that I wanted him to be with me, now, more than ever, and the fact that she had a court case pending and all her lies escalating, was enough leverage against her to win her submission before we even got to a custody battle.

She didn’t even argue when I told her I’ll keep him with us at my parents and she can visit when I’m at work. She didn’t even argue when I told her that she shouldn’t try fighting for custody. She didn’t even say a word, when I told her that we’ll have to speak through our lawyers.

I was broken, yet I couldn’t even feel it. All I could feel was numbness, creeping in, overtaking my every sense.

Still, the next few days were unbearable.

Zubair and Imraan had convinced me that signing the papers formally was enough for now. It would leave Mohsina unsettled and not knowing where she stood. I put my phone off for a few days, knowing that if I entertained her, my heart wouldn’t be able to handle it. I would find myself confused and angry. Upset and frustrated, all over again.

It took every ounce of me to drag myself to work every day, till the weekend.

Zaid was edgy and tearful without Mohsina during the evenings. I wanted to give in, to let her keep him, but the thought of her and Faadil made me sick and I couldn’t take my mind off what had happened when he saw her that day. I couldn’t even think what the situation would be if she was really involved in the fraud.

If it wasn’t really anything, why would she even see him? And if she saw him then, who knew how many other times she may have seen him?

I couldn’t even process how messed up this situation was.

I wanted to bury myself in my bed for days like I did when our proposal broke off, but Zaid needed me. To put him through that killed me, and I hated Mohsina for what she was doing to him. The fact that she barely fought for him made it clear that she wasn’t concerned.

As long as I knew her, with Mohsina, I knew that I could never know what she was thinking or what went through her head. We avoided each other expertly. She came to see Zaid when I wasn’t there, and made sure I never had to clash with her.

It was two days later when Zubair told me that he confirmed something about Faadil that was a breakthrough. He had gotten enough evidence that Faadil had framed himself at Hammonds. Outed himself for the money that was being taken over the past year. Zubair’s uncle had also played a part in cashing in. It was an anonymous tip-off that was traced back to him, and Zubair’s conclusion was that there was a greater reason he did it, and the only thing he could think of was because he wanted Mohsina back in his life.

And of course, that made me sway.

Imraan had gone back home, because Saaliha went to her mother, and I was left to my own delusions, trying to figure out what to do with the information Zubair had provided. Rabia, despite me thinking that she would have tons to say about the situation, said very little. I kept remembering the words Mohsina had said about her. I kept thinking that she would never say something that wasn’t true. But then again, she hadn’t told me she was going to marry an idiot, so I had no idea what else to think about, and no one to talk to about it.

My parents didn’t say much. I didn’t tell them about the chain. It would have hurt them to know that Mohsina’s ex-fiancé had done something to interfere. They were expecting a separation, and the fact that Zaid was now with us didn’t seem to be strange to them either. They accepted it as part of what Mohsina and I decided to ensure his safety and meddled very little in my life.

And so, with Imraan and Saaliha back home, Rabia and my parents tiptoeing around me, all I had was the Qur’ān for company.

And honestly, it was all I needed. When it seemed too much to bear, all I had to do was open the Qur’ān and feel the weight shedding away. And it helped, without me even realising it. It was the only thing that kept me from going completely insane.

And as I sat with Zaid one night, reading Qur’ān to him until he slept, my heart feeling lighter than it had in days, it was a few moments of peaceful relief when my entire life seemed so much clearer.

For the first time since the entire thing happened, I realised that even though things may not be perfect, I’ll be okay. That I could do this. I could picture us, as Zaid grew up, being a decent little guy. I could picture Zaid, with Liyaket’s body build and Layyanah’s eyes, looking up at me and actually admiring me for who I was. I could picture him, in the future, maybe even amicable with each other, not feeling like we had failed him as parents.

I held him tighter as we slept that night, placing his bottle next to us, for the first time since I left, he was calm and contented, as he slept in my arms.

I awoke at the early parts of the next morning, a buzzing next to me, as multiple messages came through. I had blocked Mohsina, but I knew that she wouldn’t message me anyway. She was in contact with my mother about Zaid and I preferred it that way.

I pulled my phone to me as I shifted, seeing Zubair’s name on the screen, and then Imraans missed call too.

Zubair: Did you see it? The article

There was one more from a guy at work, who knew that I was married to Mohsina. The next message was from Imraan.

Boss. You signed just in time. Your name is nowhere there.

I opened the messages and finally found the link to the news article they were referring to, feeling my heart beating incessantly, because I knew that this would happen, sooner or later.

It was a business news article on a well-known site, but it spared no details. The article spoke about Faadil as the CFO, the accusations that were pinned against him and what Hammonds is doing to upscale the law suit. I read carefully, pausing at the part where Mohsina’s name appeared, taking a deep breath as I read it

… an ex-employee, who seemed to have a connection with the transactions, has been questioned. All allegations were denied. Further investigations prove that there may have been some foul play, and Hammonds is awaiting the trial to go to court before pressing further charges against her.

Crap. It was bad. For her.

Not as bad as it could be, but bad enough for people to do some digging and find out that her so called ex-husband was also an employee at Hammonds. For a few seconds, I felt my heart contract painfully, feeling genuinely horrified for everything she had to go through on her own. I had tried not to think about feelings, but it was because of how deeply I felt for her, that I hated to see this happening.

I breathed out as I tapped a stirring Zaid off again, shifting off the bed, wondering if I should message her, just to see if she was okay.

I trashed the thought, remembering her betrayal, and moved toward the bathroom instead.

My phone buzzed in my hand, and I glanced at it as I saw Imraans message.

Make Shukar. Allah saved you at the right time. Sawls and I are making duaa that it all comes together again. 

I scoffed and shook my head.

Imraan and Zubair were the only ones who knew about the chain, and yet they still both rooted for us. I didn’t want anyone else to know what pushed me over the edge.

And despite the conflicting feelings that I felt right then, despite the hurt and the confusion of the past week, despite everything that seemed so hopeless right then… the fact that I had been saved from something that could have tarnished my reputation too, was nothing short of a miracle.

Make shukar. Yes, I had lost something, but perhaps all that I lost was the only way I had been saved. He was right.

I just felt like the scum that I was sitting there, unscathed, when my wife was probably broken by the events that were happening in her life.

I made whudhu and sat on the musalla that night, until the light from the sky became visible, because the little relief I felt, was constantly tainted by a sense of loss. I missed Mohsina like a hole in my head.

It was something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel until that night. Whether she felt the same about me, was a wonder.

And I knew that there was probably so much going on in her life, that she barely had time to think of me, but I hated that it had come to this. I hated that there was no way we could be, that would appease us both. That I couldn’t even speak to her, to ask her how she was holding up. I hated that she wanted to cut me off as much as I wanted to cut her off. I hated that I hated her.

I had honestly thought that she’d be grovelling by now. In honesty, right then, it was I who felt like grovelling at her feet, but I knew that there was no way that I could, without remembering the pain that I’d felt just the week before. Without remembering that she wanted me out in the first place.

Besides, we were now the eye of the storm, when everything was hitting the fan in a most stinking way, and I knew that there was no better time to let this be than right now. The good and the bad were now blending into one experience that was drawing me to Allah, and that’s when clarity was never more stark than it was right then.

Suhayb ibn Sinān Ar-Rūmi (may Allah be pleased with him) reported that the Prophet (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam)said: “How wonderful the affair of the believer is! Indeed, all of his affairs are good for him. This is for no one but the believer. If something good happens to him, he is grateful to Allah, which is good for him. And if something bad happens to him, he has patience, which is good for him.”

I had somehow found that patience within me. I had always said that I needed something to fight for, something worthy. For me, I knew that Allah Ta’ala was showing me what that could be, through this very unconventional part of my life.

I had to keep fighting, to keep having a cause. To keep having hope. To keep being grateful. To be the best father and believer I could be. Ramadhaan was approaching, and with every day that passed, I could feel my heart aching for it.

All I had was the hope that I had to keep aspiring to be more than I was.

All was not yet lost, I realised, as I drove back from Fajr Salaah that morning, watching the contrasting colours of daybreak, ignoring the messages that were coming in from colleagues and people who knew Mohsina.

Mohsina. Seeing the sky once more only brought her to mind. The darkness had turned to light, and there was only one thing that I could think of, when I saw it.

Hope. Though it ached to think of it, I could still remember me telling her that hope was never a mistake. To return to hope after heartbreak, though… to the beginning… to the start line, was the ultimate act of courage.

Even after the storm, there is always a hope that calmness will reign once again.

Even though everything felt like it was falling apart, like the little light in the sky that peeped out and then spread its wings across the earth, even after the darkest of nights, time was going to heal it all.

---

Hope. SubhaanAllah.

I know it may not have been the ending we wanted before Ramadhaan but it definitely gives me a little hope. Hope that Allah is always looking out for us. Hope that He is saving us from sin. Hope that everything is always under His watchful gaze, and He would never break us without us needing to turn back to Him for fixing.

May we always turn to our Rabb, through every trial, in every circumstance, through every heartbreak… may it still bring us hope. 

May Allah grant us strength and resolution this Ramadhaan, to be the best Muslims we can be. I’m not sure if I’ll manage another post.. do you guys want one? It may just leave more unanswered questions so rather not.

Please remember this weak and sinful author in your precious Duaas.

Much Love Always,

Witg lots of sabr and shukar this Ramadhaan.

A x

Suhayb ibn Sinān Ar-Rūmi (may Allah be pleased with him) reported that the Prophet (may Allah’s peace and blessings be upon him)said: “How wonderful the affair of the believer is! Indeed, all of his affairs are good for him. This is for no one but the believer. If something good happens to him, he is grateful to Allah, which is good for him. And if something bad happens to him, he has patience, which is good for him.”

Sunnah of Duaa

Begin your dua first with praising Allah and then by sending peace and blessings upon His messenger ﷺ. Then, make dua for yourself, dunya and akhira, for close family and friends, and then the ummah at large. Finish your Duaa by again sending peace and blessings on the Prophet ﷺ and praising and thanking Allah.

The Prophet (ﷺ) said, “Du’a (supplication) is worship.”

In all situations, let’s bring in the Sunnah of Duaa every single day this Ramadhaan and after.

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

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Scars that tell Stories

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 82

He breaks you to build you. Deprives you to give you. The pain in your heart was created to make you learn less for this life.

And to yearn more for Jannah.

Jannah. The epitome of beauty. The greatest of gardens. The most sublime kind of bliss.

My eyes moved to the message next to the bed, my senses overwhelmed with a bright new perspective as I read the post it once again.

And yes, I felt so blessed. I couldn’t help myself. Reading that post-it now on Zubair’s pedestal gave me all the feels of early morning bliss. I breathed in deeply, taking in every scent, every sound, every movement surrounding me.

‘Ubaydullāh ibn Mihsan al-Ansāri al-Khatmi (may Allah be pleased with him) reported that the Prophet (may Allah’s peace and blessings be upon him) said: “Whoever among you wakes up in the morning secure in his dwelling, healthy in his body, and he has his food for the day, then it is as if the whole world has been given to him.”

(Tirmizee Shareef)

I felt like Allah’s mercy was raining down on me, as I processed that I actually was here, married and a little (if not a lot) bit in love.

I knew that he didn’t usually sleep in after Fajr, but last night had been a late night and Papa had given him the day off his duties. He had even offered us one of the new glamping tents that had just been completed, but Zubair was insistent that we would stay nowhere but his humble littel bachelor-inspired abode. And I didn’t mind.

The flower pots by the window sill that Nusaybah had livened up with the most spectacular blooms were perched near the window, looking like they were giggling away at the sunlight streaming through. I could see that she had spent a lot of time livening up the pretty simple one bedroom cottage and I was so grateful to her, as I looked around me at the place Zubair called home for the past few months.

Despite the fact that it was so simple, it was homely and the personal touches added by Nusaybah them both made it feel exceptionally welcoming.

I couldn’t help my mind running away with itself as I processed this, turning to glance at Zubair again.

My gaze flickered to that mark again, and I studied it as I shifted up on the pillow, tracing the outline of what looked like a shape and some print on his upper arm.

This one was different. It wasn’t just another one of his numerous scars inflicted on his bronzed body. He had told me that he had been gifted with proof of his many different expeditions that he never wanted to talk to me about, unless I really wanted to know.

I didn’t mean to stare. An array of curved marks that tapered at the ends, elongated ones that looked like blade slashes, and then stunted scars that looked more like bullet holes.

Like a walking example, he reminded me of the conquests of the Sahabah Radiallahu Anhu that I would read about. The tales of valiant men who would take to the battle filed, leaving their brides or their children, with no fear whatsoever; sparring and fighting despite being injured and hurt, knowing that their end goal was nothing but Allah’s pleasure.

The tales of heroism were awe-inspiring.

And though Zubair denied that he’s ever had noble intentions, I knew that every scar had a tale of untold bravery but Zubair wasn’t eager to share any of his past. I understood why, knowing how much he had gone through, as I edged closer to get a waft of his spicy, pine-washed scent, inhaling him while I stared more closely at the mark below his bicep.

And before you think that I was obsessed, the actual reason why this particular mark had caught my eye was because of its specific shape. It was blurry and untidy looking, but my gut feeling was that once upon a time, there was a tragic story behind that very scar that I desperately wanted to know about.

Thinking that he wasn’t yet awake, I touched its slightly raised surface once again and then quickly pulled my hand away as he stirred in his sleep.

I glanced out the gap in the curtain,  already certain that it was going to be a gorgeous day to be out in the garden for a bit, trying to divert my attention so I could stop obsessing over Zubair’s past life.

Stop obsessing over Zubair in general.

Zubair was such a character that I could barely stop myself from falling head over heels with his humility, sincerity and the way that he made me feel that I was the centre of his in universe, over and over again.

I wriggled my toes as I stretched my arms out, trying to silently shift away to head off to the bathroom and do the whole fluffing out my hair, looking normal and brushing my teeth thing when he suddenly shifted again next to me, already awake and turning to face me, and my heart felt like it was about to burst from happiness when he looked at me and smiled.

I honestly could not believe that this was all normal and halaal and I already felt that I was drifting on some kind of elevated cloud fifty-nine.

“Hey beautiful,” he murmured, touching my nose lightly with his index finger. “Assalamualaikum.”

I could barely breathe. I mean, I knew that he was my husband and I had to get over it at some point but the ease in which he embraced everything made him feel like a dream.

“Wa alaikum salaam,” I almost whispered, like a dork, staring into his mesmerising eyes as the morning light shone through the cotton curtains.

And then of course, I covered my mouth immediately because even though we weren’t so close together I knew that morning breath could be a knock out and I didn’t want to scare him away already.

I could live with waking up to this every morning.

“You up early?” He said softly, still giving me that intense look as he spoke, half yawning it’s his own mouth covered, a slight frown forming on his face, almost as if he didn’t like the fact that I was up so early.

“I’m- err,” I started, because I didn’t want to give him the impression that I was a spoilt brat who couldn’t sleep without block-out blinds. “Just can’t sleep once I’m awake for the day. And Mohsina had messaged to let me know that she may not be contactable today. She and Hamzah are going somewhere out of range.”

Of course I couldn’t tell him that I was sitting and staring at him like a weirdo while he slept. And Mohsina had woken me up earlier with a text to say that she hoped I was okay. I wanted to ask her more about what they were up to but I also knew that things were a little fragile between her and Hamzah, and Mohsina wasn’t always eager to share feelings.

I finished my excuse weakly as he broke eye contact and turned on his back again to face the ceiling. I had a feeling he was thinking about Hamzah too. I knew that the two of them were close, and as he lifted his arm to type a quick message on his phone, the crooked mark on his arm was visible again and I instinctively touched it lightly, not expecting him to flinch as I did. He put his phone away and turned his face to look at me.

“Sorry,” I said, immediately retracting my hand as an unknown emotion suddenly flashed across his face.

It was a milliseconds before it faded, and then he suddenly smiled, as if to cover it up, reaching out for the hand that touched it, grasping it in his own, and shook his head.

His reaction was so confusing.

“No need to be sorry,” he said quietly, bringing my knuckles to his lips. “Was just sending a quick message. Scars really fascinate you, don’t they?”

I swallowed and nodded as he turned to me again, looking like he was contemplating deeply.

Yours do, I wanted to tell him, but I wisely kept silent, because I was feeling a little weird about what had just happened.

The cotton sheets were pulled up to my shoulders to cover the straps of my cute but slightly revealing pyjama set that Maahira had sent for me via express courier that week from London, and I felt weird to have them anywhere but up to my chin. The daylight was a stark contrast to the privacy that the night had presented, and I felt like we were starting all over again in some ways.

As morning came, all awkwardness was now in full force.

I was shy and conscious now, and I worried if I was being too forward and nosy by asking these questions. Zubair wasn’t an easy person to read.

Nani would probably scoff at me and say that I had no shame, asking the man about marks on his body. She was probably right, and I couldn’t believe I actually admitted that she was right about something. In actuality, she kind of redeemed herself when she behaved at the Niikah and reception, despite feeling disappointed about her darling doctorsaab.

The thing was, marrying Zubair it felt like I was unwrapping this huge present full of goodies and I didn’t want to stop until I revealed every one.

”You don’t have to tell me about it,” I added quickly, as he shook his head and sat up, placing his feet on the floor, his back to me as he pulled a blue t-shirt over his head, still not turning to face me.

”You have a right to know,” he said, not looking at me as he spoke. “But it’s nothing courageous like you think… or some mark of bravery. It was a reminder of who I was. A symbol that the people I worked for used to use when you pass your first test. It was a tattoo that I removed.“

A tattoo?

it was the first time I’d ever heard of anyone I know having a tattoo.

I didn’t know what to say. I knew that tattoos were haraam, but I knew that it was also becoming some sort of trend for young people despite that.

“So you removed it when you realised that you needed to change your life?” I asked him.

He turned to me and shrugged.

“I removed it when I found out that all my ibaadat may have been completely futile since getting it. Years went by and to think that not a thing I did might have been accepted… I was devastated- having that reminder of the very thing that tainted me would have ruined me a li. I had to remove it. The scar is there for life.”

The scar. He said it with such venom, as if he hated everything it meant to him.

This man. This man. He just got me. Every time.

Zubair had changed his life, AFTER he got the ink. Many may argue that what is in the past, has past away.

There were far greater crimes that were committed in the times of ignorance, where they use to bury their little daughters alive out of feeling ashamed of having girl after girl and no sons.

They were forgiven for such a horrendous act, and yet, he took it on him to remove that evidence.

Despite the fact that the process of tattoo removal was probably torturous and expensive, he chose to remove it because he was so intent on changing everything about his life.

Despite that fact that our Creator knows everything, inside and out.

He didn’t wait for some loophole or favourable fatwa or take a chance. He wanted to erase every bit of his sordid past.

“Was it painful?” I asked softly, watching as he slipped on his shoes emotionlessly, already switching the kettle on for coffee. Sometimes I wondered if he truly let himself feel. It was like he was surviving on autopilot.

I sat up against the wall behind the bed, knowing that I should probably stop being so lazy but still feeling like extremely self conscious about my strappy pyjamas. It wasn’t completely indecent but I wasn’t exactly ready to be so forthcoming either.

“It was more uncomfortable than painful,” he said, frowning slightly as he probably recalled the sensation of that on his skin. “But it needed to be done. And I stuck out the pain because I was stupid enough to get it.. I didn’t exactly have the guidance I needed in my teenage years to know that it wasn’t allowed. It was before Nusaybah left that my uncle started to contact me, and my father had already given up on parenting way before that. It all downhill from there. I was just sinking lower and lower and my uncle had no mercy for cowards, even though he was one himself.”

He said the last part with a certain edge to his voice, like he usually spoke about his uncle, and I desperately wanted to ask him more.

“Did he do anything bad to you?” I asked, softly, but loud enough for him to hear as he sat on the office chair and wheeled around to face me.

There was a mixture of pain and grief on his face as he looked at me, and I instantly regretted asking him. I so badly wanted to take all that pain and tuck it away; where he would never had to feel it again.

“He did enough,” he said bluntly, instantly closing up now completely, his face blank as I could see him putting up walls as I looked at him. It was like the mention of his uncle immediately shut him down. “My uncle is not a kind man.”

I noted how he spoke in present tense, sensing that emotions surged through him like never before.

I hated that I had said something that brought it back for him, and I hated that he still looked so vulnerable when I asked him. I didn’t care about slightly revealing pyjamas anymore.

Zubair had now morphed into a somewhat of a little child as he sat there, and all I wanted to do was go over and hug him fiercely, so he would know that he didn’t have to worry about his uncle and he was safe now.

Well, I hoped that was true, of course.

“I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, shoving off the covers as I  got up and moved toward him, as the dazed look in his eyes lifted and he met my eye once again. “I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone who you could turn to, or who could protect you.”

He shook his head as I reached him, losing pluck to embrace him as I sat on the floor next to him, trying to stay as close to him as I possibly could, not knowing whether I could hols him or not.

It was weird, and Zubair wasn’t always someone who I knew how to read. Right now, he was all stiff and untouchable, and I could tell that emotion was hard for him. I instantly wondered whether not being able to touch him at times had to do with something that happened in his past.

Was it possible that this man was scarred more deeply from a pain that existed within? I didn’t want to even think of the possibilities. There was definitely a story that he didn’t want to tell.

“It’s not your fault,” he said stiffly, his body rigid now, as he pulled out two cups. “I didn’t have many people I trusted. I didn’t have the kind of upbringing where right and wrong was always clear cut. And yesterday, well, I felt like when Maulana spoke, he gave a bayaan just for me that I really wouldn’t ever forget because it really hit home.”

I looked at him as he said it, wondering what the Maulana had spoken about.

”What sterling marriage advice did Maulana give?” I asked with a smile, really curious now.

For him to remember that on his Nikah day, it must have been really quite something.

“He spoke about Tarbiyah of kids,” Zubair said simply, and my grin immediately turned into a flush that made me feel only slightly embarrassed as he said kids.

On his handsome face was a tiny smile that I could barely decipher. Kids. Okay. It’s a teeny bit too soon but I suppose it wasn’t completely off the charts to talk about.

“Don’t get alarmed,” he said, his greener eye darkening with the dry humour. “I know you guys have Zaid and it’s been a transition and to be honest, I don’t even know how I feel about kids. I just really felt it deeply when Maulana spoke about Tarbiyah, and how kids need nurturing. I know how much I lacked growing up. Now… its like as a new generation… we have so much to learn… with technology and always being so distracted, there’s so much we still need to master to ever be worthy of being parents. I know that I’m still young but it worries me that I’ve been so off track and that I’ll never reach that stage…”

His concerned expression caught me by surprise. It took me a few seconds to realise that he was scared, but not by some external factor. He was scared of himself.

“You’re not your father, Zubair,” I said softly, remembering him telling me that his father was too caught up in his own grief to really worry about Zubair after his mother passed away. Nusaybah was left as the one kid who raised the other. “Or your uncle.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said roughly, running his hands through his hair and giving me a sideways glance. “I managed somehow. I eventually realised that I had destroyed the better part of my life with sins, and when I found Allah… I realised something else so valuable that it turned my entire life around.”

I knew that his past was filled with things he wasn’t proud of. But being an orphan, and feeling like you were all alone was something that made me feel so sorry for the littel boy that he was once.

“And what was that?”

I almost whispered it as I watched him pour water from the boiled kettle, while his pretty eyes stayed fixed on the cups in front of him.

And then, he looked at me, his brown eye twinkling ever so slightly as he spoke.

أَلَيْسَ اللَّهُ بِكَافٍ عَبْدَهُ

(Surah al-Zumar, Ch.39, V. 37)

“Is Allah not sufficient for His Slave?” He said quietly, his voice so passionate when he spoke, and I realised, not for the first time, how much Zubair had taken upon himself. How much he had dealt with, all these years, on his own. How much he had truly believed and felt that verse that he had just uttered.

“And what am I, if not His ‘abd?” he continued, his gorgeous teeth now visible as he gave a small smile. “Whatever Allah wills for His slave, whatever trial He brings my way… for all the darkness within me, all those wasted years…. how can I not reform myself if Allah has said that He is enough to be by my side?”

I breathed out as he said it, tears flooding me eyes and my heart not able to hold all the emotion that seemed like his realisation was choking me with.

He was hurting in so many ways. Over his past. Over his father. Over his uncle.

I desperately wanted him to be free of if all, but I knew that I could never help him unless he let me. And I had to try.

“Zubair, you’re not who you think you are,” I said softly, touching his arm. “Maybe your father was too caught up in his grief and disappointment to know better. He should be honoured to have you as a son. He would be if he saw you now. You’ve change so much. Allah is so happy with you, you have no idea.”

”He knows the real me, Jameela,” Zubair said curtly, obviously not believing a word I had said. “And my father sees me for who I am. There’s nothing to be proud of.”

He said it as if it was common knowledge and I refused to accept it, as he promptly added a jar of sugar to the coffee tray.

”You deserve to be happy, Zubair,” I argued with him, frowning as I watched him carry the tray to the table near the window.

“And I don’t deserve you. I’m not just a black heart, Jameela. I am darkness. Disgraced by my sins and scars. You… on the other hand… are nothing but light and hope, and I still don’t deserve you.”

I couldn’t help but feel my heart clenching at his words that he was and never will be good enough. His feelings about me did nothing to douse the rising anger at his constant self-bashing.

He had settled the tray near the window and I couldn’t help but think that it was the perfect spot to sit and enjoy the scenery that the outdoors offered.

Now I know why Zubair loved this little house. Why he also holed himself up here and never came out, to grace others with his presence.

I wanted to shout to him, to let him know that he was wrong. He thought so little of himself. He didn’t realise who he was. How much he had to offer. All he saw was blackness and jagged scars deep beneath the surface, that were still bleeding in ways he didn’t know.

He was drowning in self-doubt and denial that he was worthy of so much more. Carrying on like this was not a way to live. It was difficult and hurtful, causing him so much more than was necessary.

He was convinced that he deserved no good in his life, and I had already made up my mind that I was going to save him from himself, whether he wanted me to or not.

---

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

When the Heart Matters

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina 

Part 64

Life isn’t perfect. It never will be.

Everyone has their own hang ups. Their unsaid fixations and obsessions. Their flaws, and their faults that make them imperfect. Their little scars that have made them bleed and caused others to bleed too.

But with matters of the heart, it doesn’t really matter. People can change you. You can make people change. And as we go through in life, we come to learn that everyone we meet, all we experience in life, has a purpose… and it is we who choose whether to realise that purpose or not.

The thing is, it takes us a while to realise it, but every single thing, every challenge, every experience in our life was only intended for one purpose: to bring us back to our origin. Everything has flaws. We love what we love and reason doesn’t always enter into it. But we need to realise that if somewhere along the way, we’ve given our heart to the world, we have to take back the keys, and we have to reclaim it once again.

And with that…. I was still battling.

I had many hindrances. My past. My career. My sins. Social media was threatening to absorb my time again, and with being home with no Hamzah and only Zaid for company, I found myself turning to my phone more often.

But the heart, when it turns… it changes all that. So this time, I caught myself in time. I knew that I had to do something to stop it.

Diversions. I had to keep myself busy. Occupy my mind. Do whatever it took to keep myself off it.

And though I tended to find myself with feelings  caused by neurobiological withdrawal from the sense of being constantly connected… I knew that the only solution was to plunge myself into more productive tasks, like making dozens of mini cheesecake casings and considering doing a full online cakery to keep myself busy.

It was an idea that I was toying with for a while and it was my perfect opportunity to actually carry it through. I just had to have a proper plan.

And with the series of ups and downs in the past few weeks, things between Hamzah and I were actually smooth-sailing, for the first time since I could remember.

”Did he tell her about his new air fryer that he bought himself for his birthday?” Hamzah whispered, as we sat in my mothers kitchen and he stirred his coffee. “And his journal that he keeps a record of everything he eats for the week? I hope she knows what she’s setting herself up for…”

I whacked him lightly on his arm as he said it, trying to stifle my own laughter.

Poor Jameela. It wasn’t in Jameela to complain. She wouldn’t even say anything bad about him, except that he wasn’t really into traditional food. That part was a shocker.

I think the worst part here was telling Nani that Doc was a complete fail (and that he rejected her bajias)… especially when she still carried on as if the sun shone out from his behind…

“Sooooo handsome,” Nani was saying with an excited look, as Hamzah watched her almost running her hands together in glee. “And he is head doctor there, you know? Our Jameela will be the perfect wife for him, I just know it! She knows how to cook, how to bake, she will see to everything. Not like our Mohsina who can’t even fry samoosas properly.”

I narrowed my eyes, but ignored Nani as I saw Hamzah strain himself not to laugh. I was glad at least someone found her funny, because I certainly didn’t.

And okay, I know that I burnt the samoosas slightly when I was helping Nani earlier on, but she was just being a hater.
Papa still really enjoyed them.

Ma was murmuring to herself and I could see my father standing silently in the corner of her room and watching my sister, almost as if he knew her better than anyone else.

And then… There was Jameela, meek as ever, looking out into the meadow as the sun set over the grassy meadows, almost as if she was lost in a world of her own.

She was a such a dreamer that I actually could not even imagine what went through her mind at times. Her head was always in the clouds and her thoughts about life were exceptionally… romantic.

What she wanted from a spouse was probably exactly what I didn’t want. I wasn’t quite sure who would catch her eye, but I also had a feeling that once she fell for anyone… she would probably go all in, with zero defenses.

I caught her eye as I watched her pick up Zaid, fiddling with his little topee as she took it off and placed it on his head again, smiling as if she barely heard what Nani was just saying.

“He looks so cute with this on,” she said, hugging Zaid as he gurgled into his fist. He was sucking as if it was his lifeline and I had a strong feeling that his teeth were going to start cutting at any time. That was going to be fun.

And as much as I didn’t like it, Zaid had just been growing so fast. It was like I had just blinked and suddenly he was this gurgling baby who was already starting to crawl. From the mere roll, he was now crawling along on his body and it was only a matter of days before he would be moving around and probably driving me batty too.

“The topee?” I said, grinning as I turned to my sister again. “Hamzah insisted he wears one out now, so he gets into the habit of it as he gets older. I feel that he’s still a baby, but it can’t do much harm now, can it?”

I smiled as I watched him, feeling sad for a minute as I thought of Liyaket and Layyanah, who would miss every milestone that he would conquer… My heart ached momentarily as I smiled at Hamzah and caught his eye, wondering if his mind was also thinking along the same lines…

“Of course not,” she said quietly with a distant look in her eyes, snapping me out of my own thoughts. “And I know no one is perfect but I love that Hamzah has that… awareness… you know?”

I narrowed my eyes slightly, leaning close to my sister as she hugged Zaid again.

“So it’s a no?” I whispered as I sidled up to her, pretending that I was helping to pack the biscuits away. I could see from her expression that my sister was far from interested. “Doc?”

She had barely even looked at him when they were leaving.

If his mother and sister weren’t so stuck up, I might have actually pushed Jameela to go for it, but I didn’t really want her to marry into a family who was so laa dee daa. All they spoke about was brands and overseas trips, and I could definitely tell that his sister was another version of Rabia, except that she was married with two kids.

Instagram was her absolute lifeline.

“It’s an ‘I don’t know’,” she said with a grim expression. “I want… I mean… I need someone who knows where he comes from. Who knows his Rabb and loves Him. I want someone who I want my kids to take after… someone who I can talk to and listen to me and who sees into my heart, you know? I need someone who knows me here.”

She touched her heart and I smiled, suppressing the urge to tell my sister that those kind of love stories only exist in Utopia.

Nevertheless, I knew what she was saying. She didn’t just want someone who isn’t just good, but someone who doesn’t count all the good things he does. Someone who not only respects you, but someone who who would go the whole mile. Someone who inspires, who sees her for who she was, someone who made her smile…

It sounded idealistic, and that my sister was… but I knew that she had one thing that she found most important.

She was after someone who would stop at nothing to please Allah… who had Him in his heart… someone who showed her what real love was always meant to be like.

How can you ever fall in love with someone if they don’t love Allah first…

The heart matters. It matters a lot. That feeling… the inclination you feel towards someone who moves you in a way that only Allah’s love can inspire, is something completely unique.

The thing is, she was right. You had to have someone who was going to have that ‘awareness’. With Deen. With family. With kids.

If you compromise even on smaller aspects; who is to know the quality of Deen your kids will acquire. If you’re not giving them Deen, you’re giving them nothing at all… They were only the greatest gift if they could benefit your Aakhirah. What use if not for Allahs sake?

When a person passes away, his deeds come to an end, except for three:

1. Continuous charity 

2. Such knowledge, from which benefit is derived. 

3. A righteous child, who supplicates for him. 

(Muslim Shareef)

A righteous Muslim childs good deeds is the most vaulable gift to be a source of reward for the parents. Parents are encouraged to guide their children, towards righteousness, so that they can gain maximum benefit, when they are most in need of it… and that will be after their passing.

And just like her, I also wanted that. It’s what I had wanted from Hamzah too.. and I saw that in him.

And as I watched him, I could see Hamzah and Nani chatting like two metres away while Zaid had already been taken by mother, who was rocking him off to sleep in a corner of the room.

“Was it that bad?” I asked my sister, not wanting Nani to catch me prying. She won’t approve of me bad-mouthing the perfect catch.

“He was flexing his biceps at me, Mos,” she said with a shake of her head, genuinely in shocked as I watched her recall it.

I wanted to giggle at the image in my mind but supressed it.

”Ah, Jams,” I said, smiling slightly. “You’re so pretty and sweet… I could only imagine that he was trying really hard to impress you. Can you really blame him?”

She looked troubled as she smiled, shaking her head.

“Impress me?!” she asked, her voice still low, but as if she couldn’t believe he would want to impress her. “In the end, he told me he thinks it all went well and I should come see him at the hospital sometimes, and now I feel bad because what if he really proposes… I don’t know…”

With guys, you just never know. Sometimes they play along and act as it they’re so interested and just change their mind at the last minute. I’ve had friends who waited through an insane amount of Samoosa runs to finally find the one who actually proposed. It was a seriously complicated process that I just could not understand…

Jameela was so lovely, sweet and innocent that I could honestly see the anguish on her face as she remembered the guy who she had met, probably thinking about how it would ever work.

And now that I looked at her, Jameela, with her softness and her natural femininity, needed someone who was to bring out the best in her. Her heart was on her sleeve and her head was filled with flowers and fairy tales and I hated the thought of anyone who would burst that illusion she had of life. She was wholly consumed by moments in the open fields, of life on the edge of reason… having this ideology that everything that happens is with true purpose that living for each other was a rule of nature.

My sister was simple enough but she had fairy-tale illusions. I wasn’t exactly sure what she needed but I did know for sure that she didn’t need a self-absorbed guy who treated her like an accessory.

And she would never say it aloud, but I figured that this guy was not exactly the most fitting match for her. I didn’t want my sister to feel uncomfortable or forced and as Hamzah caught my eye, he leaned forward to tell me to be easy on her, seeing the complicated look in her eyes.

I watched my sister as she packed some biscuits back in the container, biting her lip nervously as she did it, almost as if her mind was on something very concerning.

“Jamz,” I said to her softly, moving away from Hamzah as he went over to show Muhammed Husayn something on his phone. “Nani will understand. There’s no such thing as you have to say yes.”

She flashed me a quick smile and nodded.

“I know,” she said quickly, and I could sense her tension ease.

I smiled at Hamzah as he squeezed my shoulder lightly, my heart feeling a surge of gratitude as I looked at him.

“I’m just going out for a smoke,” he said softly as he felt around in his pockets for his cigarettes. “I’ll see you after Asr?”

I nodded, smiling at him as his hand slid over mine lightly, before he headed out again. Nothing was perfect, but I could positively feel that the last week had been good for us. Really good, in fact.

It sounded almost fairy-tale like, even to myself, and I also felt that it probably had to do with the fact that for the first time since we were married.. we had a whole week to ourselves.

I had emailed Faadil with the proof of payment for all the money I had owed him, but what I got from him was a reply saying that he wasn’t sure why I had sent it because he never asked me for the money back. Not wanting to continue contact, I left it at that and didn’t think much of it, knowing that it was settled and feeling so much better now that I didn’t have to keep lying to Hamzah.

With everything on a better footing now, somehow it felt like I was giving more of me, instead of putting up the usual walls that I always built. With Hamzah, love was something that I had just begun to understand. Anyone can love a thing because. But to love a someone despite, is rare and perfect.

That’s what mattered….

And that’s what got me. Despite everything, The thing with Hamzah was that he knew my secrets and he knows my flaws but despite it… he wasn’t holding it against me. He had a good heart. He still made me feel safe. It was a foreign feeling to me, because I had always been the one to protect everyone else.

Whether it was my father, my siblings or my entire family… for the first time in my life, it wasn’t just about financial security. Hamzah made me feel protected, made me belive that that no-one could ever harm me if he was there.

And I knew it sounded stupid, but even that scared me. I was scared to let go. Scared to give it my all. Even during the moments I wasn’t scared, there was still something within me that held me back, made me question, stopped me from just letting go…

And even though we had stumbled a bit, with the rockiness over the past few weeks, for some reason, I felt like things were getting better. We were getting closer, talking more, sharing moments with Zaid and stealing any minute we could find for ourselves, just to be together and give a little bit of each other… to each other.

I knew that Hamzah had been taking his grandmothers advice to heart when she told him to keep Rabia and I apart. Rabia had been shipped off to the farm and boy, was I glad that everyone refused to bring her back, even though she was insisting that she could not cope and needed to see Zaid. And although I felt a little guilty, I also knew that it was for the best.

With Rabia’s interference, there was always a hindrance or moments when our privacy was invaded. Moving into the new place also helped tremendously, and it was all the more reason for her to demand Zaid’s time.

And as the week passed by, busy minding my own business, with Rabia’s messages to both Hamzah and I about when she could come over, she was still in my mind.

The thing was, I was a pretty forgiving person, at most times. I didn’t really hold a grudge against people, especially when they may not know exactly what it was that they had done.

And because I was feeling a teeny bit bad for her, as we sat over supper towards the end of the week, I couldn’t help but ask Hamzah about her… not really expecting my thoughts to drift to her past and her marriage, but curious nonetheless…

At first, he shrugged and looked at me, almost as if he didn’t want to talk about it.

“I wont say anything,” I assured him, holding his gaze as he looked at me. “I just want to understand her better.”

I really did. And as I watched him, I could see him mentally relenting, as he twisted his long fingers.

He looked troubled as he frowned and then sighed, almost as if he was battling with himself over the words to use.

“It was an ugly divorce,” he started slowly, scratching his chin as he said it. “At first, everything seemed good. He seemed normal enough. Rabia… She saw some messages on his phone about five months after they were married.”

“Messages?” I asked curiously, hoping he didn’t mean what I thought he did.

“He had someone else, and his parents knew it… right from the start,” he said with a sigh, and it was obvious that it had hurt him.

Ouch. I physically grimaced as he said it.

“I think she loved him way more than she should have,” he continued, shaking his head. “I’m just glad that there were no kids involved…”

I was silent, digesting what he had told me. He was right about the last part though.

Kids made everything a lot more complicated. Who knew that better than I. Zaid was the reason that everything in my life changed. But that was a good thing…

”So is he married now?” I asked, my eyes widening. “To that other woman?”

Hamzah nodded, and a slight pain flashed in his eyes as he said it.

”I think that’s what gets her more,” he said with a shrug.

I raised my eyebrows, wondering at what point I would have found out if he hadn’t told me. That was hurtful.

“How did she take it?” I asked carefully.

I felt bad for judging her and always getting annoyed with her, but I also understood that her reasons for being the way she was kind of made sense. That must be awful.

“For a long time, all we saw her doing was cry,” he said softly, his honey-brown eyes gazing straight ahead as his grip tightened on the glass that was in front of him. “You couldn’t even talk to her properly. She was completely…”

”Heartbroken?” I finished off, my eyes softening as he nodded, taking a sip of his water and looking at me. The heart was something so fragile and gentle, and sometimes you just can’t contain how much it feels until it’s too late.

“Yeah,” he replied, breathing in shakily, anger flashing in his eyes again. “He was also substance abusing. When you’re on stuff, then it’s just an ongoing spiral downward. So it was like one thing after the other, and Rabia.. well, before marriage… Rabia was actually a really good girl. She didn’t even have a phone. The complete opposite of me… you know.. I was starting my articles, after final year… messing around while she was the epitome of piety, if you can believe it.”

Rabia? I couldn’t. He glanced at me and continued.

“She even wanted to go into Niqab but then he came along… they met through a friend’s brother… and he didn’t want her to and so she just changed her entire role and dream to fit his expectations…”

Oh my word.  I never thought I would say it… but poor Rabia.

And how on earth did she even end up with an idiot like that?

And no matter what had happened. How she had provoked me. Even if she really did intend to cause problems between Hamzah and I, I really wanted to be a bit more understanding towards her.

Sometimes I wonder how that’s fair. That she was so good and pure and then her whole life and marriage gets turned upside down. I knew that Allah had His plan for her… but I was so glad that I didn’t take off with her like how I felt like doing.

Silence is golden. Even silence of the thumb, when I felt like lashing out and telling someone off on WhatsApp or social media, but sometimes you have to just hold yourself back. As tempting as it is to have your say… to say your piece…

You never know someone’s story. Maybe they had a bad day or a bad week. Or just a bad patch…

To control what you say was hard at times, but so worth the Sabr in the end.

And although I was feeling bad for Rabia, not having her around was good for us as a couple. We had gotten closer, spoke more, indulged each other a little more than we would have otherwise.

And as Hamzah and I spoke that night, drifting off to sleep a little too late for a week night, I barely even noticed him leave the room in the early parts of the morning. I was still thinking about Rabia and her past, feeling a little depressed about it in general, and as I fell off to sleep again, waking for Fajr, Hamzah was already in the shower.

And I didn’t really expect him to be ready to leave at that time. I still thought that he may leave for Fajr and jump back into bed for another snooze.

Instead, I had barely even heard him get up to take a phone call during the middle of the night. Whatever had happened during the night… I had no idea… but the cool and calm Hamzah that I thought I knew and had gotten to know so well was no longer there.

“Where are you off to so early?” I asked, watching him as he pulled on a jersey, not meeting my eye.

Was he hiding something? It was strange. This sudden change in mood.

I couldn’t tell what was going on. Did Rabia say something to him? Was it me? Was it what we spoke about the previous night?

Was it someone else that he had spoke to or upset him…

“I need to be somewhere,” he said briskly, his voice sounding strained. “It’s urgent.”

“Hamzah,” I said, sitting up and hating that my voice sounded a little too desperate. “Whats going on?”

He turned and looked at me for a second, his expression unreadable as he stuffed his hands in his jacket pocket, breathing in deeply as he met my eye.

“We’ll chat later,” he said quickly, planting a quick kiss on Zaids forehead as he touched my cheek, and hastily turned to leave.

Something was going on.

I had no idea what it was about but for some reason… I could barely still the hammering of my persistent heart.

All I knew, as fear gripped me, was a horrible feeling creeping over me that something was very wrong…

---

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

 

The Battle Within

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 52

Hamzah

The buzzing of my iPhone in the early parts of the morning had already awoken me in a cold sweat, as my breathing quickened.

And there I lay, so far from that nightmarish reality I had just witnessed, in the stillness of the night, I could still feel the wetness of my t-shirt clinging to my back. I turned slightly, feeling the slight weight of my wife’s slender fingers on my shoulder, sliding them away as gently as I could, and shifting toward the edge.

I was almost holding my breath as I shifted toward the edge, with one eye open. I had already glimpsed the caller ID and my heart immediately sank, even lower than I had thought possible at that moment.

Hashim (3)

Layyanah’s brother, the new bane to my life, was at it again, and this time, I could see his relentless pursuit of Zaid’s credentials and custody preferences.

The message came a few seconds later.

Call me back or ul be sorry

Why he couldn’t and wouldn’t let this go, was still beyond me.

It was late. Too late for the crap. Almost 2AM, and I rubbed my eyes, closing them momentarily as I pictured it again the scene that played before me. This time, it was a little earlier than my habitual waking, that I had been doing consistenly since Ramadhaan. The last third of the night. The Barakah of praying then had always brought so much more to my day.  Coming back from Al-Aqsa that Ramadhaan had stemmed a whole lot of vigour in me, but  the haunting dream I had just endured was also due to it.

Spitting on my left side, I tried to desperately suppress the emotions, as raw as the first time I had seen the little girl in them, her blue-grey eyes large and almost translucent, brimming with tears flowing continuously…

“Please don’t shoot,” she was crying, speaking in Arabic, and I had gazed her in the dream, not even understanding how a tiny and pristine creature like that could be abandoned, with not a single soul one to even account for her.

Soldiers had been streaming into the scene at that point, an open road all around Al-Aqsa, running to her, as if she was an enemy out to get them. I was helpless, unarmed and wondering how I could ever assist… 

I had only been able to shake my head, trying to decipher how anyone could ever even think of hurting such an angelic and defenseless child.

“Baba, where are you?!” She cried, searching around her, her eyes filled with terror, sobbing then, as she calls out for her mother.
And as the dream goes on, I attempt to find who she is looking for, but as I turned to look around, I glimpse the blotches of blood splattered on the floor, and without even processing what I was seeing… I already knew that there was no one left… her family’s gone… only a brother, whose barely 5 years in age, lingers around.

And as she wanders, through to the street, I wondered how anyone could be so heartless to hate a child so innocent. I wondered how a child so small, could ever deserve this? How could pointing a gun at a baby, who screams, “please, don’t shoot”, ever be justified?

And as I follow her, thinking how absolutely afraid, yet self-sufficient she looked, she turned to look up at me, her eyes conveying a message of deep determination that I can’t even begin to understand…  just before the muzzle of the gun is felt in my neck as fear shoots through me, and then everything just went black.

It was something close to terrifying, that last part, but it had been a while since the dream had played out again… almost 10 days since the last, but it felt more real than ever this time. I couldn’t understand why it haunted me, but my subconscious was obviously a lot stronger than I knew.

And I knew I shouldn’t have been as terrified because for a believer, martyrdom was the purpose. Not the wealth or booty of this world, we had become so obsessed with, but the feeling of victory that came with the name of Islam flying high once again, was absolutely untouchable.

And of course, I could only have a glimpse of how much they had to endure, from my 10 day experience there. The persistence of the Palestinians, even in the face of death was something that made me fully comprehend the strength and vehemence of even the littlest of children. Their fervor. Their courage. Their utmost perseverance and Tawakkul, even in the face of imminent danger, was unbelievable. And the thought of what they are subjected to made me shiver with terror, I couldn’t seem to stop try mind from replaying the scene over and over again.

I opened my eyes again now, staring into the darkness as my eyes adjusted to the room light. It was the first time since my Nikah that I had had the dream, and I was aware that the events of yesterday that were still fresh in my mind had probably brought it on. I recalled the accident scene we had witnessed on the way back from the doctors room… the raw emotions that came with it and everything that had been gained and lost through it all.

There was a mixture of aching relief that came with the realization. I was one of the lucky ones. The ones who lived in peace, with no fear of war in my midst. The ones who were still alive, despite everything that had transpired. I was the guy who had seen so much, yet couldn’t make it to even voice my inner most thoughts.

I sighed, as my gaze fell on the two people who I now cared about more than I could describe. The reason for my resistance. The point of my patience. The motivation for the heartfelt emotions that were travelling through my veins. The battle within me was one that I didn’t realise yet that I was fighting.

I turned my head back again, with the light peeping through the gap in the curtain, to reassure myself that I wasn’t imagining the blessing I had been endowed with.

I couldn’t quite believe that here I was, next to my wife as Zaid slept soundly on her chest, just a week after my Nikah. And that when I got it… what Liyaket meant when I had watched him all those months back, and I didn’t even know how it had happened.

Somewhere, in between the sins and the thoughts that haunted my mind, in between winging parenting and tip-toeing around each other’s feelings, we had reached this comfortable place. A place where things were good. Hopeful. A place where I felt like I could finally breathe and fill my lungs with a good dose of gratitude  and awe at the great favour of Allah on me.

Unconditional love.

There was a reason that I once told Liyaket that I would be happy alone. It was somewhere in between my breaking things off with Mohsina and his passing and finding Allah had just been the most satiating thing for me.
Also, having felt the way I had felt before, I knew that falling apart over a girl once again, was something like having a huge hole that needs to be endlessly filled. I had battled with every urge, every temptation and every prospective vice before I made it through. It wasn’t that I really thought I’d be happy alone forever. What I was scared of was, was feeling broken to the point of never finding Allah again.

What if I found that I needed the love of someone and then depended on it? What if I actually ended up with the feeling, and actually liked it?

But there I was. I know life can be pretty messy, And as I sat, my heart somewhere precariously close to being on my sleeve, I felt alive in a way that I had never quite felt before.

So let me be honest and just say that I wasn’t ever completely convinced that this was the right thing. That coming back to this place with Mohsina would be the best idea.

But circumstances had happened and we had been somewhat forced to cross paths again. Seeing her, having to interact with her… well, it was different from the image I had conjured up in my mind. The pieces weren’t quite fitting together. Instead of being the money-obsessed Instagram girl, I had seen a new person.

But this was the thing with Duaas, and I remembered Liyakets one with absolute clarity, as I tried to avoid every technique he was using to get me settled.

I never quite knew the meaning of love, of what Liyaket had always wanted for me, until I met Zaid.

And although I had, on many occasions, joked and mocked him about it, when I first held him in my arms as he looked at me like I was the only hero that he would ever know, I couldn’t hold my heart back.

”So this is what you talk about,” I said to him, still looking down at the little human he called his son, not entirely sure if I believed that this child actually belonged to him. “Unconditional love.”

”You got it, bro,” he said, his smile all sentimental and cynical at the same time. “Doesn’t it make you want this too?”

I looked at him and narrowed my eyes, lying through my teeth.

“You think I’m crazy?” I asked, fighting the feeling, as I handed him back over a little sooner than I wanted to. “My life is way too easy without worrying about women and poo nappies.”

He grinned, his dark eyes twinkling with laughter.

”One day,” he said, putting Zaid over his shoulder and smirking. “Someone’s going to make you change your mind and you will eat your words. And that’s going to be my Duaa.”

“No man,” I squealed, still not believing his audacity. “You’re supposed to be my best friend.”

”Exactly,” he said knowingly, a glint in his eye. “And I know what’s best for you, but Allah knows better. I just have a feeling that it’s going to happen in a way you least expect.”

And he was right. Maybe not the way he expected either, but a Du’aa was a Du’aa.

And I knew things weren’t perfect. It had taken a week to get to this point, anyway. The point where all barriers had been crossed, and something very close to love had completely taken over. The point of no return, well, at least for me.

And it had been brought on by a number of things… after the scene of the accident we saw on the way from the doctor had evoked all kinds of emotions. The crumpled mess on the side of the road had made it seem like we were reliving Liyaket and Layyanahs death all over again. We had entered the silent house, walking up to our room, placing Zaid down in the cot I had brought for him from Liyaket’s place, still reeling from the shock of what we had just witnessed.

For once, I wished for noise of a busy household. For people around, to tune out the turbulence in my mind. The house seemed almost lonely without Rabia, who had made a trip to our cousin ten minutes away, on account of us coming home so late.

And of course,I could not stop thinking about what we had seen. For a while, I wished that I did look. At least then, I would have known what had really happened, instead of tormenting myself and thinking of the worst possible scenario.

I had no jokes, pranks or witty remarks to even soften the blow for Mohsina, as she hung up her Abaya and avoided eye contact at all costs.

”You okay?” I had asked, my voice sounding coarse and even peculiar to myself, as I looked at her, full of emotions.

It had been a helluva lot for one day. The advices from the doctor. The fact that Zaid may have an immune deficiency that needed to be confirmed with bloods. She was so strong, for taking this all on… for wanting to go ahead with feeding him, and as I watched her,  her hair tied back in a ponytail, I couldn’t help at look at her in admiration, because it just struck me right then how amazing she was and had been all this time.

And yes… I knew that a lot of this was about Zaid and even though she was still silent, I yearned for something… anything… to prove to me that she wasn’t in this just for him.

And as she approached me, and her arms enveloped me one of the most fiercest of hugs, all we did, for a few minutes, was stand there, in silence, knowing exactly how the other felt, seeking some kind of comfort, fully comprehending how painful the entire experience had been.

It felt like just yesterday, when that sting of loss had sunk us to the depths of grief.

It felt like hours ago when I had first gotten the messages, confirming for me that my lifelong friend had lost his life, much earlier than I would have ever imagined. All I needed right then, for the first time ever, was to let myself sink into the consolation that this degree of closeness had brought, and draw every bit of solace that I could.

“Liyaket was part of my life for almost two decades,” I whispered, and I could feel her breathing quicken as I spoke. “I feel like I’ve lost a major part of me, a portion of my heart and my sight. I can’t erase those chunks of my life, and go on like it never happened.”

She nodded, pausing before she spoke.

“I know,” she said softly. “Two decades… Why would you want to erase it?”

I shrugged.

Because it hurt too much to remember.

Two whole decades of the best friend someone could ever have, guiding and advising me, loving me explicitly, always having the most diplomatic and amazing way to look at things. I loved the guy with a helluva part of my heart. I felt incredibly lost without Liyaket.

”I feel like we are losing more and more of them, every day,” I said softly, breathing in her familiar scent. “I want to hold on…”

“I feel like we’re trying to take over their roles,” she said, so softly that I barely heard her.

I nodded, feeling the same way. Were we unintentionally trying to fill their shoes?

“What if we hadn’t lost them?” she asked softly, and I could hear something that I never heard from Mohsina before, in her voice. It was almost like fear… like an uneasiness that had consumed her, as she said it.

“It was Allah’s will,” I murmured into her hair, knowing that was my only consolation… thinking that’s what she wanted to hear, my voice finally steady. “You can’t question-“

”It’s not that,” she said firmly, pulling back and looking up at at me, her eyebrows slightly furrowed and her brown eyes glistening with tears. “All these questions are going through my mind and I can’t help but wonder. Where would I have been then? Where would you have been? If all this hadn’t happened, would I have changed? Would you have even come back…?”

I knew all these questions. I had asked myself the same ones over and over. I had so many more too. What if things didn’t work out? What if she changed her mind? What if she woke up one day and decided that even though I loved Zaid with everything I had, I wasn’t the right guy for her?

But I knew the answers already. For me, things were either black or white.  I had decided one thing, before I decided to marry her, and that was what I had to stick to. I had never asked her, but from the day I had seen her in Bossman’s car, I figured that he had some sinister intention and though she denied it at the time… I assumed something had happened between them. And though it had plagued me… Right then, though… well, right then, he was the last person I wanted to talk about.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, shaking my head, my eyes holding her gaze. “What I thought or what I wanted… What happened or who featured… Can we just stop thinking?”

And it was true.

Because she had apologized. I had apologized.

And at times it happens that we apologize, but the trust is still shattered. You forgive them but to look at them the same way, is something that you are tested with every day.

And I had felt that. I felt that deeper than I ever thought I would feel anything, but thats where Maulana Umar got me, when he explained it to me.  Allah Azza Wa Jal, in His infinite mercy, not only forgives, but even wipes away the sin completely, as if it never happens. Allah Azza wa Jal, in his astounding love, even commands the writing angels to erase those sins, as if they never happened.

Ar-Rahman forgives those who ask forgiveness with repentance. In the noble Qur’an Allah Almighty says:

“. . . and let them pardon and overlook. Would you not like that Allah should forgive you? And Allah is Forgiving and Merciful.”

Forgiveness. Only Allah knew how much it had taken out of me… how much it hurt me not to ask… but it was that verse that pushed me to overlook. I had made that promise to myself, because of what Maulana Umar had told me.

She had changed. Whatever had happened, we had to both let go.
And it was no coincidence. This is not something that happens by chance. This was not something that you decide to do on a whim. A desire to turn towards Allah… towards Deen, towards goodness, is only from Him. Only a favour that those who are blessed and truly loved can ever be privileged enough to encompass.

It was nothing short of Taqdeer, and destiny had a funny way of making everything fall into place.

It all seemed surreal for a while, coming home with so much of devastation and loss… as we grew together, as a family, but what I didn’t anticipate was feeling the way I did. It had been the most emotionally taxing day, but somehow, as our hearts took over, I had silenced the concerns that had been in both our minds, broken down the barriers Mohsina had put up and found solace in the comfort that only a wife could offer. The love, that was slowly creeping over my heart and overtaking it… well, it took me by surprise.

And though our road had been rocky, the way it had panned out, it felt almost as if Allah had made it happen in such a way, that the entire journey I had been through was leading up to what was playing out in front of me.

From Yemen ; back home, and then to Palestine, and then coming home again, with the intention of such great responsibility, I thought that through everything I had been through and seen, I was ready to go all into this.

A new era was approaching, and my resolution was to put everything else behind me, and head in, with a clear motive.

Like at the time of Hijrat, when the Lion of Allah, Hadhrat Hamzah (RadiAllahu Anho) entered the borders of Madinah, he knew that there was much opportunity for the Muslims. Within his breast was Imaan so strong and steady, that the first flag in Islam was handed to him. Within them all, was forgiveness, and hope, and a hope for a new tomorrow.

It was just that, as I walked out the room with my phone in hand, in the early hours of the morning, I now felt more on edge than ever.
Within me, I was fighting a bigger battle. I felt on edge. Threatened, and unwavering. My resolve to protect Zaid from Hashim was even stronger now, than ever. That lion within me… the one that sometimes made its way to forefront in the most trying situations… was bearing its teeth again.

I wasn’t one to back down. I picked up my phone, wondering if I should call him back right then. Let him know that I won’t stand for anything. Be the man I felt myself become, over these past few months.

But as much as I wanted to, something within me held me back, and I stopped myself. Maybe it was Imraan’s words, that had told me not to ask for trouble with him. Maybe it was the thought of starting something that I didn’t yet have the power to finish. All I knew was this Jihaad was something I would fight with my heart and soul.

And for me… as I kept this in mind… I knew that if I had to challenge Hashim from that point on, life would never be the same again. Putting up a fight could harm more people than I wanted. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t help but stop myself, because I knew that nothing good could come out of it.

I knew people like Hashim and I knew how they worked.

But now, as I looked at the caller ID glaring at me again, a wave of ferocity washed over me as I renewed my intent. No matter what. No matter how. I knew that I would stand by my word.

No matter what happened or who came in the way, I was going to protect them from every bit of it, with every ounce of me, but I was also fully aware that I couldn’t ever let Mohsina get an inkling of this.

And in doing that, as I fought my inner battles, what I didn’t know was that I was risking losing everything else in the process…

---

Authors note: I was aiming for a bit of a change up with perspective. Will try and post sooner this week InshaAllah … x

Abu Qatada reported Allah’s Messenger (may peace be upon him) as saying: A good vision is from Allah and a bad dream (hulm) is from the satan; so if one of you sees anything (in a dream which he dislikes, he should spit on his left side thrice and seek refuge with Allah from its evil, and then it will never harm him.

Sunnah of Forgiveness:

With the New Islamic Year already here, and these auspicious days, one of the lessons gfrom the Seearh is how Nabi (SAW) forgave his oppressors, and let go of old whims.

A sublime quality that Nabi (SAW) inculcated into his life on various occasions, and especially on the occasion of Hijrah.

May Allah Almighty give us all the ability to forgive others for the wrong they do to us and make us more productive Muslims through this and may Allah forgive us all for our sins, ameen.

O Allah, purify our hearts from grudges, envy, and cheating. O Allah, amend our relations with our relatives. O Allah, amend our relations with our loved ones. O Allah, make life an increase for us in every good and make death a relief for us from every evil with Your mercy, O Most Merciful of the Merciful.

Aaameen.

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..💕

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

Old Wounds

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 47

We all have things we don’t say. No matter how hard you try to avoid it, somehow, the truth always surfaces, and somehow, old wounds sometimes open up…

“Mos,” Hamzah called, as I speedily made my way down the cobbled pathway ahead of him, hearing his footsteps right behind me.

I didn’t turn back, even as his black trainers came into view, as I kept my head down. I wasn’t exactly angry, but sometimes, I could swear that Hamzah did need a filter on his mouth. And also…. well, it was good to make a guy sweat.

I was still in good spirits, despite it all.

And one of the reasons was that last night’s function had gone off smoothly. Being the first family function after years, it was actually great seeing everyone… even the annoying cousins that I usually didn’t enjoy seeing. On top of that was an influx of family, work friends… even Mickey and Lesley with Muslim guy from HR had pitched up and it was simply so amazing  to have them there on our special day.

Afterward, knowing  that Hamzah was planning to leave the next morning, we had retired to our own homes for a few hours, already exhausted, due to Zaid’s fussiness as he slept for all of four hours, before Hamzah came to fetch us both.

And it was expected that the goodbyes were a little more emotional than usual. My parents had both grown immensely attached to Zaid, and so had Nani and Jameela.

“Mohsina.”

His tone was pleading and he was slightly out of breath, having had to jog to catch up with me, but there was very evidently a speed limit on my performance, due to the baby in my arms.

”At least let me take Zaid so you can sulk in peace?”

I shot him a stony glare, not surprised to see the grin on his annoyingly handsome face.

“Open the door,” I said feistily, holding tighter onto Zaid as he fumbled in his pocket for the keys,

”Only if you forgive me,” he said earnestly, stepping forward to take Zaid from my arms. “Really. I did say I’m sorry. I was trying to avoid your question so I gave you a dumb response…”

Hmmm. Was that even an excuse? Comments like that weren’t completely baseless. That was the part that got me.

“What do you mean?” I asked, narrowing my eyes and looking up at his face, noticing his suddenly grim expression, as he glanced at me back.

The conversation in the car had happened just a few minutes ago, but the words he had said hit a little deeper than intended.

The drive was pleasant enough, and surprisingly, Hamzah was a quiet driver.  While I chatted, snacked and munched  (mostly on chocolate) Hamzah kept his eye on the road in true dedication, determined to get there to our destination by late morning.

And even as I glanced at him from time to time, it took me a while to figure out that while I wondered if he was being quietly grumpy or if perhaps he wasn’t a morning person, that he was, in fact, actually reciting Qur’ān. As he drove the four hour drive to the local destination, sliding his phone open from time to time, probably checking some error or word he may have missed on his 13 line Quran application, Hamzah’s only purpose was to make sure he did his two para dhor for the day.

It was  after pulling into the most breathtakingly scenic road, seeing the mountains ahead of us, I had already figured that we weren’t exactly heading along  farm route like I assumed, and my first instinct was to ask him exactly what he had planned.

“So can I ask where we’re going?” I said, giving him a sideways glance as we sped along the smaller road, Hamzah’s eyes planted firmly on the road.

“Of course you can,” he said blandly, now glancing at me momentarily. “Doesn’t mean I have to tell you.”

I rolled my eyes at him as he smirked, and then turned serious again as he opened his phone again, and then moved his eyes to the road. Typical Hamzah.

And of course, as he did it, my whole intention was renewed, because even though he could obviously be a reclusive, irritable old grouch at times, I remembered my own attachment to Quran that had inspired me to change my life, and my pursuits and my spirits immediately lifted.

The fact that he was so dedicated and used this time for something worthy was quite admirable. I mean… This was, ideally, how our lives should be.

In the airport or the park, in between rounds or even in the shopping mall … our entire purpose and aim should be Qur’ān.  Qur’ān. Qur’ān. And how beautiful was it that the reading of it never makes one tired or weary… but it’s recital only increases ones love for the beautiful book of Allah. In fact, the heart only grows fonder, as recitation increases, and one finds himself or herself even more immersed in its love.

And if our hearts were pure as they should be we would never tire of reciting it.

And while I sat there watching him with severe FOMO, because I didn’t know enough of Qur’ān to recite without looking (and knowing that the minute I tried opening my phone application , I would immediately feel sick), all I could do was silently wish him to read louder as I put my head back and listened to his barely audible recitation as he continued.

“I had thought we were going to the farm,” I said when he stopped, feeling particularly soothed after three and a half hours in, not being able to take my eyes off the streaky sky that now came into full view, and seemed to stretch to beyond forever and more.

Hamzah didn’t look at me.

“Nah,” he said, as we turned into a dirt road. “Isn’t the farm standard a little… basic… for girls like you?”

Ouch.

Girls like me?

I frowned and I could immediately see the regret on his face as he realised what he had just said, and instantly apologized.

But the damage was done, and it stung. He had just implied that I was only after the big bucks. Again.

Besides, money and finances were a bit of a touchy subject for us … and I really didn’t want to delve into it.

It was just that, even my father didn’t know the full truth about what had happened when Hamzah had called off our Nikah and maybe it was time to see if Hamzah may know a little more than he let on…

But first, well… I had bigger fish to fry. He had just admitted that  there something he was hiding, too, and right then, I was determined to find out what it was.

I clenched my jaws together to stop my teeth from chattering, as we stood outside the door of the chalet where we would be spending that night at. I was literally freezing up.

I looked at his unflinching gaze, trying to read his expression. As always, Hamzah gave nothing away.

”Tell me, then, Mister,” I demanded, still annoyed but wanting to know more about the truth he wasn’t willing to reveal. “What you are avoiding telling me?”

I stepped back and plonked myself down on the cement bench behind me, not anticipating the coldness seep right through to my bone.

Yeech, it was frrreeeziing.

“Okay Missus,” he replied, shivering slightly in the morning cold too, even as he pulled on another puffer jacket over his current lightweight one. “Can we at least go inside first?”

I had one of my warmer coats over my grey modest tracksuit, while Zaid was covered in about four layers. Though the body heat was keeping him pretty comfy for now, I knew that it wasn’t a wise idea to be out in these cooler temperatures. I could also feel the tip of my nose going slightly numb, and I could assume that it would only be a few minutes before it started running unattractively, and I wouldn’t even have a hand to wipe it.

I nodded, a little half-heartedly, as Hamzah fiddled with the bunch of keys. It took a few tries before he got it, but eventually, the old wooden door creaked open and as he pushed it, signalling for me to go in, before he did, and pulled the door behind us.

And as I stepped in, I couldn’t help but feel immediately awakened, somewhere deep within me… a part of me that had been asleep for way too long.

The place was beautiful. Gorgeous, some may say. And if the door was any telltale sign of what lay beyond it, I might have thought that the place was a dump, but in actuality, I was kind of mesmerised by the untainted view before me.

SubhaanAllah. It was simply glorious. It had been a long time since I had appreciated nature like that.

The huge glass windows before me boasted most spectacular scenery, overlooking one of the most amazing canyons. For some reason, I always loved the time of year when everything bursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale… for days full of a fine, pale sunshine that sifted through the late, leafless golden red array.. Autumn had always been my favourite season. The air was as crisp as the leaves on the trees, and a sky so blue spread before us, that you could drown in it…

As I stared, for a minute, I forgot that I even had Zaid in my arms.

”Do you like it?”

I withheld my answer until I put Zaid down, glad to see that he didn’t even stir. He had been up early, despite the late night, and it was about time he caught up with all his missing sleep.

”This is stunning,” I said truthfully. “I’m not sure how you even found this place.”

It was tucked away at the end of one of the most bumpy dirt roads, but it was worth getting up at 4am and travelling eternity and beyond for.

It also looked like a woman had a hand in the room preparation.

Rose petals were scattered along the floor, and bottled grape juice was perched on the bed pedestal. I wanted to ask him if Rabia had been involved, but mentioning her would probably immediately dampen my spirits. I didn’t want to stoop down to her level and rat her out, but Rabia had come to take Zaid the night before, it felt like she gave me the complete cold shoulder and I was a little annoyed about it.

Like, what did I ever do to her, except give her tit-for-tat when she really deserved it. She couldn’t really be holding a grudge from so long, could she?

Either way, I had made a firm resolution after Ramadhaan to keep myself out of people’s business and avoid picking out their faults. Even if it meant overlooking my slightly annoying sister-in-law, and acting as if it didn’t affect me, I was at least going to try. At least Saaliha was nice, even though she kept apologising to me for her sister gatecrashing the wedding towards the end.

That was a cute thing though, and when I met her, I found myself instantly taking a liking to Fareeha too.

”I saw it online,” he said easily, pulling off his jacket as he looked around, feeling the air around us ease off, as the under-floor heating warmed it up.  “Imraan knows the people who own it. Strangest thing ever. They have an Instagram page.  It actually looks exactly like the pictures.”

He had that look on his face and I knew he was trying to provoke a reaction and the old squabble we always had about social media, but nowadays, it didn’t bother me much. With all the excitement during the past two weeks, I didn’t quite need the dopamine influx and had kept my Instagram posting to a bare minimum. I had come a long way. I no longer had the urge to show my life to everyone who followed me.

The reality was far more engaging. I just hoped that I didn’t slip into old habits when things calmed down…

”I can see what you’re doing,” I retorted, narrowing my eyes at him as I pulled off my scarf and cap almost unconsciously. “Trying to distract me so I don’t ask about what you were hiding. Just spill it.”

And as Hamzah opened and closed his mouth, almost as if he was going to say something witty back, but got thrown off, and it only struck me then that it was the first time that he had actually seen me without my hijab, and I kind of wished that I had at least been a bit more dignified about removing it.

Why was I like this? Maybe Nani was right when she called Jameela and I jungalees yesterday.

“Okay, gorgeous,” he said breezily, after a few seconds, walking toward the glass doors that led outdoors, feeling my cheeks reddening slightly at the impromptu compliment.

He had pulled opened the door that led outside slightly, promptly lighting a cigarette as he stood there and turned to me.

“I’ll tell you, alright? I didn’t want to go back there because there are too many memories.”

He placed the cigarette in his mouth and pulled in deeply as we looked at each other, me slightly confused, before I finally asked:

”What memories exactly?” I said carefully, knowing that things may have happened there that I probably had no idea about. I had taken a seat on the ottoman at the end of the bed, facing him.

He didn’t say anything straight away. Instead, he turned his face toward the open door, releasing a cloud of cigarette smoke than dawdled in the crisp morning air almost rythmically, before he turned back.

”Memories of our friends,” he said in low tone, after a few seconds of silence. “Liyaket. His wedding. Being there with him almost every holiday before that. Memories of all the good times I want to forget. Those kind of memories. You know?”

I swallowed and nodded, feeling an inevitable wave of grief overcome me as I digested just how lost Hamzah seemed right then.

I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect him to actually have real emotions that affected him and made him into entirely different and softer kind of character, who wasn’t always messing around and chasing the next good thing.

Death. One of the most painful reminders about the inevitability of this life. One of the most resilient kind of forces that pull you right out of your comfort zone.

I wanted to go forward and comfort or hug him, offer him some soothing words, but… well, we weren’t exactly at that kind of comfort level with each other as yet and I couldn’t even think of what to say…

Also, he was puffing away at his menthol cigarettes with such ferocity that I wasn’t sure that he’d even notice me through all that smoke.

As you may have gathered, I wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of Hamzah’s smoking habit and often stayed as far away as possible.

And it was just as well, because Hamzah had already slipped through the opening, onto the balcony, and I didn’t blame him.

It was a most enchanting outlook. Mountains upon mountains, with the sun at its highest point right then, almost unveiling the naturally landscaped glory of nature that mesmerised us so completely.

A wired little bird feeder was situated on the edge of the balcony, and while I watched, tiny, colourful birds made their way in and out through little squares, arguing and teetering in a most adorable fashion as they pecked along at the scattered seeds, almost as if this was their most eventful meeting of the day.  I was sure that Zaid would enjoy watching them when he woke. He was starting to notice things and this would probably have him gurgling in glee.

And as I watched Hamzah, though I wanted to venture out too, I had a feeling that he needed his privacy right then, and I didn’t want to lose myself in the beauty as yet. Actually, I didn’t want to immerse myself in the moments, as much as they were calling out to me…

For some reason, I was still holding back. So much had happened in such a short time, and I felt as if needed to just let myself deal with it in the easiest way possible…

And as I turned away from him, knowing that Zaid would need another bottle shortly, I kind of absorbed myself in my tasks for the time-being.

I quietly folded my scarf with the pin on the counter, pulling my legs up onto the couch, I hastily pulled out laptop to check up on emails, as I tried to think of something to say when he came in next.

I stared at my laptop, a little displaced. I didn’t have anything to officially submit, but it was my new tool to keep me off social media. It wasn’t that I didn’t go on at all. I was just majorly limiting posting and getting carried away with baseless and mindless content.

Also… well, it had become a goal of mine to at least try and be the kind of wife that I wanted to. Maybe it was circumstances. Maybe it was history. Maybe it just needed more time.

I wasn’t there yet, but I knew precisely the kind I wanted to be.

An intelligent woman, a sincere well-wisher, a pious soul, a patient human, a comforting wife, a caring spouse, a loving mother, an expert homemaker… The Ideal Woman and a dream for many…

It was on the famous occasion when Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alaihi wasallam) stood up trembling, heading home to seek rest and solace in the tender care of none other than Sayyidah Khadeejah (radhiyallahu ‘anha).

This great woman, the best friend that she was, calmly comforted Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alaihi wasallam) giving him the strength he needed.
She addressed him thus, “By Allah! Allah Ta‘ala will never disgrace you! Indeed you join and maintain family ties, you bear the burdens of others, you earn for those who cannot acquire a livelihood, you extend hospitality to your guests and you provide assistance when a calamity or disaster strikes.”

Sayyidah Khadeejah (radhiyallahu ‘anha) spared no effort in consoling Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alaihi wasallam) at this greatest moment , which is perhaps the greatest of her deeds.

But this was the best of the best… and I knew that there were no greater examples that the Sahaabiya, and as looked into her life, I could tell that this was who  Sayyidah Khadeejah Al-Kubraa (radhiyallahu ‘anha) was.

And though I was inspired and aspired for something even close to that, I always knew that I would fall short, because of course, my husband wasn’t the greatest human of all time, Nabi Muhammed (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam).

Yes, we all want that perfect kind of love. The beautiful life that you want to live every moment and never share, because you just want to have it all to yourself will it. Everyone wants things cut out for them..

But that was the test, wasn’t it?

Everyone has their battles, and their bridges to cross. This was a unique kind of situation and I knew Hamzah and I still had multiple hurdles to cross. Ill feelings may crop up. Old wounds may open. Encountering speedbumps were inevitable and without delving into the whole bed of roses advice, I already knew that in fully winning my husbands heart, I was going to have to be a little more than just the basics.

And we had gotten this far, and while many people try to please everyone else in gaining their admiration, I knew that there was so much of beauty in the Hadith that stated that when the woman pleases her husband, then immediately, her Jannah is made.

I wondered what I would tell him when he came back. Maybe I would be explain to him that it was how it was all meant to be. Maybe I would tell him that perhaps those who have passed and left have so much better that had been prepared for them.

And as my ears picked up the sound of a cutely disgruntled moan from the bed, my heart immediately lifted because I knew just the thing to be the perfect ice-breaker. Zaid. I knew taking him out, armed with him on my hip would immediately clear the air to say what I wanted to.

Getting to him before the squealing became a full-on howl, I hastily picked Zaid up and checked his nappy, glad to see that it didn’t need a change right then.
I had bundled him all cosily, up in his jacket and beanie as I stepped out the door, all psyched up to conquer the unknown, ready to make the announcement that Zaid the cutest, cutesy was awake.

And as I felt the icy gust of wind hit us as I stepped onto the wooden deck, it was at the very same moment that Hamzah met my eye, as he sat on the wrought iron chair, talking on the phone with his mass amount of stubbed cigarettes next to him.

He turned to me as he saw me, and something about the way he looked at me right then told me that this wasn’t just a regular phone call.

I paused for a minute, wondering if I should maybe go inside, but he raised his hand at me, as if to signal for me to wait.

“Listen, bro,” he was saying, sounding a little hostile as he spoke. “Today is not possible. I don’t know when is. I’m not even in town. I don’t care how urgent she thinks this is-“

There was silence as I assumed the person cut him off, and as Hamzah looked exasperated, he promptly said he’ll call back and cut the call.

Zaid let out a huge, excited gurgle and threw himself forward as he saw Hamzah, noticing that he was there, but Hamzah just smiled half-heartedly and seemed extremely preoccupied.

“Sorry, Mos,” he said, his voice low as he typed something in his phone. “You will never believe who that was.”

And of course, my mind was already in overdrive as it  already concocted all the plausible possibilities… and as I deliberated which one to voice, Hamzah was probably too stressed to even notice the worry in my own eyes.

He had already lit another cigarette, puffing away as he looked outside, almost as if he was trying to draw some serenity from the beautiful view.

“Who was it?” Was all I managed to half-croak, intensely afraid of what the answer may be.

Hamzah’s expression, as always, was unreadable, and my heart thudded incessantly in my chest, as I wondered if our entire day would be spoilt with that one phone call.

And just when I felt I couldn’t take the suspense any more, Hamzah walked up to me, gently lifted Zaid up to his shoulder, whilst pensively meeting my gaze.

“That was Hashim,” he said quietly.

The mention of Hashim’s name already stumped me. I couldn’t imagine what he wanted.

And like picking the scab of an old wound, the pain my friend had once felt had resurfaced now, for completely different reasons.

“He wants to meet Zaid.”

---

Dearest Readers,

I think I am due for my short break and am hoping I didn’t leave the readers with a huge cliffhanger ❤️
Just a quick one that I’d love to know how readers feel about:
I’ve been deliberating over this, and I’m just wondering if Mos should tell Hamzah the entire truth about her recent corporate past. Just curious as to what the readers think… and what would the correct thing to do be.

Love to hear from the readers ..

Much Love

A x

Don’t forgot our Mission Sunnah Revival

❤️

The Sunnah of Giving up arguing and having good manners…

Whilst we grapple to keep that connection alive out of Ramadhaan, and approach the month of Dhul Hajjiah, let try and increase our Ibaadat.

Abu Umamah Al-Bahili Ra reported Nabi (ﷺ) said,

“I guarantee a house in Jannah for one who gives up arguing, even if he is in the right;

and I guarantee a home in the middle of Jannah for one who abandons lying even for the sake of fun;

and I guarantee a house in the highest part of Jannah for one who has good manners/Akhlaaq.

In line with love for Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Salaam), a narration goes like this:

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..💕

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah ­

­

The Lion Within

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 37

Hamzah

There’s just something about the great warriors of the past that stand out for me, like nothing else can compare. A task, never for the faint-hearted, for those who die in Allah’s path, the Mujaahid sacrifices pleasures, treasures and every desire he has, for the pleasure of Allah.

In what is known to be a meeting with the true Beloved, a break-free from the shackles of life and an attainment of sublime status… there comes a time where it becomes essential for the the true Lions of Allah to make their show at the forefront.

Now and again, when the state of the world becomes such that corruption is rife, and peace and harmony becomes rare… when truth and integrity are trampled upon… we are reminded that amongst all the modes of death, martyrdom, in the way of Allah, is truly the most excellent and unsurpassed.

And do not say about those who are killed in the way of Allah, “They are dead.” Rather,

“They are alive but you perceive not.” (Surah Baqarah: verse 154) 

And in the verse is just one reminder of the undying status of the Shuhudaa, but others came at me in many forms and shapes over those weeks that I was away, as the pungent smell of gun powder and smoke settled thickly in the air as I trudged up the alley on that day which I hadn’t yet known would be the last.

As a reaction to what had just happened, as a blast hit the centre of Sanaa, many were fleeing upwards in an attempt to move away from the hot spots. The city was divided into two territories, and through the piling up rumble of the red zone, my eyes settled on a fully-clad woman kneeling over an injured man, my heart felt like it had been subjected through way too much over the past two weeks to even feel anything significant.

The truth though, was that this war-stricken reality was really unparalelled. An awakening for the soul in slumber, a means for the lion within to make his show, I turned my gaze as we kept walking, noting the sound of the protests of young warriors, chanting against the continuations of the Saudi-led coalition, where Houthi members were said to dominate the area.

Young soldiers, underage, were loitering around, or moving back to their posts. Education, for them, was a distant dream. To defend their country, their town, their home… was their honour.

And once all the fending off was done, as I looked around me, smiling faces could be seen now.

When all was quiet again, Abdellah, who stood at the gate near our motel would smile and say: “Maafi Mushkila”, meaning no problem, in Arabic- a sentence that Yemenis would repeat constantly, even in the worst situations one could imagine.

And as I reached him, Mohsin too, turned to me with a wink, and a cynical smile on his face as we walked along.

”That one scared you, didn’t it?” He said in his refined South African accent, the movements of his brisk walk creating a swishing sound as we walked through another silent alley.

The drone attack just a few minutes back was sudden and unexpected. It was the second time in the last two weeks and this time, we were out on the open, with nowhere really to take cover.

It was a lucky escape, but it gave me an insight on the reality of life once again, as a resident in a war torn country. Even for the lucky ones, who have access to essentials, life here was quite unbelievable…

I looked around me as sunlight streamed through dusty windows of deserted shops. The warm lighting reminded me of India, where I had been once on a holiday with my parents as a teenager. I remembered places I visited for their light, but the circumstances were worlds apart though and as we trudged along, me checking my phone for the 15th time that hour, signal and the concept of time was still completely non-existentent.

The sound of gunshots had ceased for a few minutes now, and all I heard was the intermittent but undeterred shouts of passers by, as they slipped back into their routine. Passing through a new neighborhood now, my mood instantly lifted as l spotted a dingy store that sold coffee and had a cardboard board written ‘WiFi’ on its window.

I nudged him as we passed, and Mohsin, being Mohsin, immediately saw my need for connection in this war-torn suburb.

Even though he had been out of South Africa for years, he was the kind of guy who, as soon as I met him, just clicked with me. I tried to ignore the fact that his name was one letter short of my ex-fiancé’s, even though it may have had some significance, but as soon as Maulana Umar’s brother Yusuf had introduced us, from the onset, our friendship had already taken off. For almost ten days now, Mohsin and I were already almost inseparable.

And it didn’t matter that he looked like a complete misfit here, with his European skin tone, blonde beard and green eyes. Mohsin was as comfortable as a local, because his passion for journalism, his deep desire to search for truth, had forced him to settle here and live amongst the people that he claimed to be a part of, that nothing stirred him.

After studying Arabic in Jordan and Madinah, he had completed a number of Islamic courses before going into journalism. I would say that he was as learned as many scholars, but he hadn’t yet finished his Aalim course. The amazing part though was that he was in no rush to.  He always said that for him, as a revert, his journey was never enough… and his pursuit would continue until he dies. It was an unusual way to look at life, but it made me see everything around me in a different light too.

And as he spoke to to the guy in Arabic and retrieved the WiFi password in the dingy corner shop, we took a seat on their rusted metal chairs and ordered their pungent local coffee as the sound of men talking jovially around us continued.

For a minute, as I listened to the noises around me, it felt almost as if we were in some other place, where there was peace and joy, and the daily living of these people were barely affected by the bombing and conflict that was always in the backdrop.

For a moment, the atmosphere felt unhindered, almost as if I was in a cheerful suburb back home, as money moved from hand to hand, and people smiled and shared what they had. It felt almost like we were in a place where Shiasm and Sunni-ism didn’t exist as a new dimension that they were now brainwashed over fighting over…

And as usual, as we sat, one could never enjoy food alone, in a place like Yemen. Two men had already come up to the table and Mohsin entertained them unreservedly, offering a genuine smile whilst chatting seriously first about this mornings events before they all broke out into laughter about something I didn’t quite understand… and to tell the truth, would probably never fully get.

How they smiled and laughed amidst all this, was beyond me. How they would welcome, with open arms, anyone who crossed their path, was something I had yet to see in the western world that I had become so accustomed to growing up in..

The thoughts hounded me incessantly as I glanced around, glimpsing the streaky skyline through the obscured window, instantly wondering why I just didn’t stay here forever, before the WiFi finally connected and all else was immediately forgotten. I delved into my phone, seeing iMessage after iMessage come through, now breaking slightly into a sweat as I read the messages that had come through two hours ago . Mohsin and his two newly found friends were drowned out as I flipped through, not believing what I was reading, as I dialled Imraans phone, hoping against hope that he would answer.

It was almost midnight in South Africa and my heart was doing things that I couldn’t quite control. Liyaket had been in a severe accident. Layyanah had passed away just a while after. It was like my entire world was crashing around me, as these people around me tried to rebuild their own…

“I have to go,” I said to Mohsin, getting up suddnely, knowing that I had to try and get myself back on a flight.

”So soon?” The one local guy said in English.

I shook my head, unable to speak.

Mohsin immediately excused us, and I could see him hastily handing over some local currency to the shop owner before we headed out again.

“Something’s happened?” He said, and it was barely even a question.

“My best friends been in an accident,” I managed to get out, as I walked as speedily I could toward the little motel we were all staying at. It was still a ten minute walk away. “I need a flight home as soon as I can…”

“I’ll sort it,” he said, instantly picking up his own locally connected phone and dialling someone who he spoke to with purpose, and then turned back to me.

“Can you get to the airport in an hour?” He asked, as I glanced at them time.

I nodded. The airport wasn’t too far from where were were staying, and if all checkpoints were easily passable, we could be in luck.

I could hear him confirming something as I gave him credit card details and made my way up to my room to hastily pack up whatever was lying around it was a haze of events and a whirlwind of emotion as I greeted Molvi, Yusuf and the two other guys who had joined us, promising them I’d see them at home as they sent me off with the most amazing Duaas…

They still had a few days left before they would leave, and as the flight took off, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of displacement as I left, my heart completely torn now between this amazing place that had stolen my heart and the situation at home that I wasn’t yet quite certain of where it was heading.

And as I eventually touched down in Jo’burg, almost ten hours later, the message about Liyaket’s passing came like a torrent of emotion, almost knocking the wind out of me completely.

إَِّنالَِّلِهَوإَِّناإَِلْيِهَراِجُعْوَنَالَّلُهَّمْأُجْرنِْىِفْىُمِصْيَبتِْىَوَأْخِلْفلِْىَخْيًراِمْنَها

(Innaa lillahi wa innaa ilayhi raaji’oon. Allahumma’jurni fee museebatee wa akhlif lee khayram minha)
Verily we belong to Allah, and to Him will we return. O Allah, reward me for undergoing this difficulty and loss, and grant me something better in replacement for what I have lost.

I sat, in my aeroplane seat, unable to move, as I let it all sink in. How short is this life that we behave like we are living forever?

How foolish was man, that here we were, still unyielding in our pursuit of this world.

And despite it all, I had made it just in time. It was almost as if Allah had kept him back in this world, just a little longer, for me to return in time to see him off. With the hospital protocol and trying to get out of the post-mortem, the Janazah was already set for two hours time and although I knew that it was going to be heart-wrenching, there was a little relief in the fact that I would be there for the final parting.

And yes, life is painful at times. Like a sudden punch in the stomach, losses are devastating, to say the least. Tragedy pulls at our heartstrings even long after the blow has hit. Difficulties and tests and trials are meant to polish us and rebuild our bond with our Creator .. to bring us to the ultimate… because that’s when Allah gives us the reward.

And as the news hit me, I couldn’t help but think of Mohsin’s words. Where we had just been, of course, was somewhere that martyrs were honoured. They had, in essence, given their lives for a cause… for the people… for Allah, and this too.. what Liyaket had endured was very much the same status.

As one of the Shuhadaa… what a way to leave this world. The most honoured, by far, martyrdom was the desire and purpose of a true believer.

And there was my friend, in all his glory, on what I hoped would be his best day yet. He was one of those who left behind this entire world too, as I lowered myself into the six-foot deep hole to assist , holding him close to me for the last time, before he would be left alone forever.

The grief right then was overwhelming, and I felt my shoulders shake almost involuntary as we shovelled the first lot of earth onto his calico-clad body, barely able to hold myself back any longer.

At that point, it was wave after wave when the grief came at me, like never before, as I made my way to my car, doubled over, unable to digest what had just happened, because I just couldn’t believe it all.

It wasn’t that long ago when Liyaket and I, as jovial school boys, bared our souls to each other, pouring out our hearts and shared the greatest dreams of distant futures that had become the recent past way too fast…

There he was, as I pictured him again , like a film rolling through the years where it would feature my best friend with the most memorable times of all. In my minds eye, he was forever full of life. Best academic of the year. Full of charm and optimism.
Sterling cricket player. The greatest personality. Academic Dux award. Superb colleague. Full of sincerity. Most dedicated team mate. Bestest buddy a guy could ever have.

Most of all… the most extraordinary influence that completely changed my life.

Because with all these worldly achievements, which had never come without the most stringent of effort, it still wasn’t the most influential thing I learnt from him.

The greatest thing yet was the eagerness that he possessed to change everything… his entire life, just so that he could have a chance to do it right… and once again, I was so grateful that there was so much I had taken from him, as he grew, and with him, I did too.

I wondered for a moment if the lessons and memories of him would stay that way or if they would fade as the years went by…

The waves of emotion had ceased and I finally breathed in deeply, not even thinking further. Not wondering about what comes after this, or what may lay ahead …

All I knew as I finally reached home after the longest day I ever felt, was to lay my head on my pillow and forget about the events that had literally turned my world upside down that day. I was exhausted, mentally, emotionally and physically… and for those few hours, I sought refuge in the serenity of slumber, as I sunk deeper and deeper into a realm where reality was very, very far from me.

I awakened, drenched in sweat hours later, starving and perplexed by the array of  voices I could hear from down the passage. I threw back the pale grey duvet cover, laying there for a minute as I took me a few moments before everything came back into focus once again… and the truth of this life made its ugly head apparent once again in my mind.

Death was savage. Hardest on the living. It was a reminder for the the most complacent, that everything in this world, one day, will mean nothing.

And yes, it breaks homes, and yes, it shatters souls. It is awful and painful, yet only a reality that we have to face. As if it was ripped apart, my heart will never be the same again.

My heart sunk as I remembered my friend, his wife, and his child whom I still hadn’t gotten news of yet, but knew I had to check on.

It contracted painfully, yet again, as the memory resurfaced, as I pulled myslef up to leave the room, almost still in a daze as I shielded my eyes with my hand, trying to protect it from the offensive burst of daylight that poured through the passage window.

I could hear Imraan and my mother speaking in low tones as I walked down the passage. He had been here for the funeral and had probably stayed over for the night.

Pulling my kurta over, I knew that I also had to make my way back to the funeral house, to see if they needed anything else, and as I walked over to my mother to greet her, she held on tightly to me, obviously knowing the turmoil that I was still feeling as I still struggled to accept Liyaket’s death.

He had, throughout our high school and university careers, been like an additional member of this home. The loss was something that we all felt together, but as I pulled back and breathed in after my mothers and brothers comforting words, there was something about the words they had said that gave me an immense sense of peace.

Allah Ta’ala never takes anything from us without granting us a better substitute. What better substitute can there be than the love of Allah Ta’ala and His togetherness, which  will only be attained with sabr (patience) and expectations of rewards. As for those who have passed on, what could be better for them than to be cared for and pampered by Allah Ta’ala, in the most beautiful of places?

And they were right. Of course, he was in a better place. He was, after all, of the Shuhudaa, the ones whom Allah had favoured immensely with a gift that not many can easily attain. He had changed so much of his life, and reached Allah at a place where there wasn’t much question about how he would reach Him…

Time, right? Time is all it would take. Time heals all wounds. Time eases all pain.

And as I eased myself into the meal, forcing myself to nourish my body after it’s ordeal, I could see my sister hanging around in the background, almost as if she wasn’t quite sure how to strike up conversation. Her expression was morbid, as she sat next to me, offering me a sympathetic hug and a wavering smile as she watched me eating, without saying much else.

My mother had dished out a generous serving of curry and rice that I was unashamedly tucking into when Rabia suddenly looked at me, as if she couldn’t bear keeping silent any longer, because it just wasn’t in her nature to keep things inside, she turned to my mother and said:

“So you didn’t tell him yet, did you?”

And it went without saying that she immediately had my attention, as I swallowed the last bit of rice that was in the front part of my plate, and held it out for another serving.

And for someone who didn’t feel like eating much, I didn’t quite realise how much I had missed home food.

I glimpsed my mother shooting Rabia an unreadable glance as she took my plate. Even Imraan, who was sitting on the couch nearby, waiting for me to finish eating before heading out again, was shifting in his seat slightly uncomfortably.

“Tell me what,” I said, taking a sip of water as I looked at them both.

Rabia obviously wasn’t getting any hints to tone down with her conversation, or frankly didn’t care.

“Let’s not worry about that now,” my mother said. “We can talk about it later in the week.”

”Mum, please,” Rabia said, sounding peeved at the very idea of postponing whatever she was on about. “He has a right to know Mohsina was here.”

Wait. Did she say Mohsina? Or maybe she meant Mohsin?

Was I just too tired to hear properly. Did he call? What was even going on?

I was probably still too tired to even process…

”Who?” I said, as if to clarify. I didn’t know what else to say. The ‘white guy’ sounded a bit offensive.

“Mohsina,” Rabia said, giving me a strange look. “The girl you were supposed to marry. Remember? She came to drop something off. Something to do with Zaid.”

Well, when she put it that way, there couldn’t be a mistake.

Of all the things, she was something that I didn’t exactly want to deal with right now.

But wait, did she say Zaid? After everything that had happened in the last thirty-six hours, regrettably, I hadn’t given him much thought. I remembered someone mentioning that he was still in hospital, but mentally and emotionally, I just couldn’t deal with the possibility that he too, could be gone.

But he wasn’t, it seemed, and my heart lifted as I looked at my mother and my sister, waiting to hear what else they had to say.

”What about Zaid?” I asked, ignoring the fresh plate of lamb curry and rice that my mother had placed in front of me, now consumed with concern for my best friend’s orphaned child.

“She came to ask you to sign his paperwork ” Rabia blurted out.

My mothers eyes widened as she looked from me to her. Rabia was obviously not supposed to know that. For all I knew, she was probably eavesdropping on someone’s conversation.

“You’re the executor to Liyaket’s estate. His mother is incapable. She needs your permission for sole guardianship.”

I turned to look at my brother, glimpsing the look on his face, already knowing that this wasn’t something that he was ready to delve into.

I knew that Liyaket had put me as executor to his estate. He had told me that months ago. But his kid… well, that was something that held much more weight. It was his most prized possession.

And in my heart, I also knew that guardianship rights was something that I wasn’t prepared to give up. It wasn’t about power or pride. This was something that knew that I couldn’t just forsake, for the sake of my life long friend. He entrusted me with this, and there was a reason he did. I couldn’t just give it up.

Never, in a million years.

Which meant I had one question to ask.

I already knew the answer, but I just had to hear it out loud. Somehow, there was a fiercer, more protective part of me that was making it’s way to the shore, and I simply couldn’t ignore it. The lion that I knew within me was about to come to the fore…

I turned to Imraan, swallowing hard as I looked at his worried face, my own expression hardening, before I asked:

”What’s my chances?”

His grim expression was a dead giveaway. He looked at me dismally, and despite my solemn resolutions, my heart sunk for the fiftieth time that day as he said it.

“I hate to say it,” he said quietly, barely meeting my eye. He already knew that I would do what it takes and this was the part that he was dreading.

“I already made some enquiries,” he continued. “It’s a last resort… but if you want to contest it, looks like you’re going to have to take it to court.”

---

Dear readers… I’m going to desperately try and tie up loose ends before Ramadhaan… please make maaf if I’m unable to do more than one post. 💕Your questions are welcomed… just so i know I’ll be covering it all…

InshaAlla

Request for duaas

Much love

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival

Revive the Sunnah of Giving Constant Sadaqah.

Sadaqah as a means for cure, a way to cool the anger of Allah and proven to ward away calamity. There are many other benefits, and this great deed was a practise that is not only a reward but a barrier agonist the fire of Jahannam.

Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam), with the commencement of Ramadhaan, would become even more generous. 

It is narrated that he was most generous to the people and even more so in this blessed month that is approaching. Let us try and increase on our Sadaqah, InshaAllah ❤️

Du’aa for Sha’baan 

اَللّهُمَّ بَارِكْ لَنَا فِى 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.”

#ReviverheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When Emojis don’t Cut it

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 23

Mohsina

I’m not sure if there’s an emoji for betrayal. Like a knife going through someone’s back, or an arrow piercing through a heart or something painfully relevant.

Or was there an emoji for utmost devastation..? For feeling mentally, physically and emotionally broken? For terrifying fear… for the unprecedented event of shattering someone’s heart, breaking their trust,  without knowing how to stop yourself from doing that one thing that they thought you would never do…

Is there anyway to condense emotions so intense, into something so futile?

And even if there was… even though I had always turned to social media, to tapping away on my device, to channeling all my energy into a dedication or pictured post for my relief, I wasn’t sure if it would have made any difference. The emojis, I mean. A little symbol that had become a way of expression could never divulge how real and raw emotion can cause so much of turbulence within. Can emojis ever cut it?

The thing was, and always had been for me: A social media analogy was far less of a drainer. When you post something wrong or controversial, it’s easy to retract. To dilute with emojis. To send out an apology. To delete the post. To deactivate an account.

In real life… You don’t just lose a follower. In real life you lose someone you valued. You lose a friend. A beloved. Someone who you once may have had a real connection with, and in real life… well, it was so much more real.

What if every like, every face expression, every heart, and reply we give to someone online is actually taking away from our offline relationships?

And it was all coming at me at once, my entire world feeling rocked and a little more complicated… as I tried to rummage through my emotions and how I was feeling…

The feelings were so overwhelming, and I was breaking under them.

And then there was darkness, as if the trigger had been pulled, thoughts scattered like debris.

In the avenues of my mind, I was trapped at every turn…

I sat on the bench outside the hospital, unable to control the shivering as I tried to make sense of everything that had just happened. My mind was tripping with the lucid thoughts and accounts of what had just occurred, and I knew tonight would be no exception.

I couldn’t reach out. I couldn’t break free. I was completely submerged in ghastly thoughts. My mind was a haze of broken events that had transpired, and my heart was, through it all, feeling like it was horribly shattered.

”Your father owes me money,” the man said as he stared me down, me feeling all cramped and edgy with the most unfortunate thoughts, in the back of a Ford bakkie with a canopy, racing over the highway like we had some kind of urgent destination.

The man’s voice was surprisingly mellow, although his demeanor was repulsive. He watched me as I sat, silently at first, the vehicle bumping along as I kept hitting my head behind me.

No one had cared, and to tell the truth, neither did I. The little bumps were like jolts of rude awakenings that reminded me that it was a tormented reality, and not just a dream that I was hoping it was.

”You going to talk or we going to have to make you?”
He asked, after a few minutes, a wry smile creeping on his face.

I didn’t like the way he was looking at me then but I was already in a compromising situation, so there was nothing much I could do to help it, except co-operate.

These people didn’t appreciate an attitude but I was in no mood to be polite.

”So what do you want from me?” I asked boldly, not even knowing where I got the pluck from. “How do you know I’m going to be your solution?”

”You have money,” the guy said steadily. He was probably in his forties, with a small beard and bald spot on the top of his head. “You’re the accountant, right? We have an idea that you’re where your father is drawing money from every month.”

I sucked in my breath, angered by the way they were painting my father. Like some kind of beggar.

As much as I wanted to play his bluff, a game with him to irritate them, I didn’t want to spend any longer than necessary with these horrible people. I was in the worst possible situation and my only intent was to get out of it.

The memories of them searching me, unfazed by my aversion to their touch, was making my stomach churn with revulsion. Humiliation was putting it mildly.

I was at that stage where I realised that nothing I did or said was going to stop them, except if I gave in to them.

“I am,” I said carefully, my voice sounding foreign even to myself. “I’ll give you what you want. Every penny. But I don’t know how much you talking about or how long it will take.”

How I managed such a lengthy response, I didn’t know.

Middle aged balding guy looked at me, probably unsure of whether to believe me, but also as if he was seeing someone else beside some corporate rich glamour girl who could sort out his bills.

“And if you don’t?”

I swallowed. The way his eyes were penetrating, almost through me, was enough to break me whilst they sent me down memory lane.

Two years back… The image of the masked man who had cornered my father in the parking lot of his supermarket building, the butt of his ugly gun smashing down on my face as I tried to stop them, still haunted me… I still carried that scar… a significant physical mark on the corner of my cheek. If it was the same people, I knew these people would stop at nothing… I knew they could not just hurt me, but take away my dignity while they were at it.

And there’s always a story… and as our one goes.. my dearest uncle was the biggest player in this mess. The selfish drug-addict often borrowed money from people – leaving many people, including my father with the debts, and directing everyone to him for payment. Papa had been struggling with keeping his shop open and the added debt wasn’t helping the situation. Now, of course, we had an entirely different scenario, with angry loan sharks and aggressive drug-lords. Who this guy was, I wasn’t sure, but I knew either way, he wasn’t good news.

What a terrible price to pay for a few hours of a drug-induced high and pleasurable sin…

”We need at least half,” he demanded rudely, his face hard and devoid of any compassion. “Like yesterday.”

These people had seen too much.. dealt with too much … killed too many to even give an atoms worth of consideration for my mental state. He was chewing something, and spat out the window before he looked at me once again. He wasn’t finished.

“Else you’re not getting to go home tonight,” he said almost as an afterthought, his eyes telling a story that I never wanted to find out about. “There’s other things we can do with girls who look like you.”

I shuddered as he glanced at mw suggestively, nausea overcoming  me almost immediately. My eyes widened involuntary as he edged closer and I felt my body shudder with fear as his eyes did a complete once-over me.

He touched my cheek, unashamedly, scrutinising every bit of my body. The guy who had shoved me down the staircase had morphed into our designated driver, but I could tell them the guy in front of me was the disgusting master-mind behind it all… and I couldn’t even break free from his unyielding grasp.

And I wasn’t sure how I even did it. How I convinced him to let me go. How I managed to log onto my accounts then, showing them that I would hand it all over, if they just left me alone. I sat, cross-legged with a Dell laptop on my lap, hands trembling while they watched over me, my phone in their hands for OTP’s and controlling any incoming calls or stopping any like of mobile tracking, to do that payment they so desperately wanted. They were rushing for it to be over so they were out of risk, and then they hastily shoved me out of the van as we passed by the same route, leaving me to scramble off the road just in time to flee a passing car.

I was mortified. Unmistakably robbed and violated. I had basically handed over the bulk of my savings and it wasn’t even the full amount that was owed to them.  The repulsive odour of the older man as he breathed over me, watching me do the transaction he was instructing me to was implanted in my memory, even as I tried with all my might to shove it out.

And he wasn’t thrilled but I promised them that the next week I’d have the rest. I assured them that I was offered a promotion with a huge increase. I would be getting a hefty incentive and a bigger salary every month… and of course it would all be settled.

And even though I was now safe, sitting on the bench for a moment longer as the breeze sashayed over me, my heart was heavy and burdened because the knowledge that they kept so much more than just my hard-earned money was what was breaking me beyond all boundaries.

They couldn’t just stop at that, it wasn’t enough.

And because they could see how I was clutching onto it, how valued it was to me, it had become their prerogative to take from me one of my most irreplaceable items I’d ever possessed.

It was the necklace and diamond pendant that Hamzah and family had gifted me just the week before, symbolising the finality of our commitment. The proposal. And the memory of that afternoon the had handed it over was as clear as day as I recalled how we had just finished talking alone, about future plans and how we wanted to live a different kind of life to the office life we had known for the past year… when he leaned toward me for a brief moment and said, with a smirk:

“I chose it myself,” he said, his eyebrows gesturing slightly towards where his mother was standing and watching us, with a longish jewellery box in her hand. “They insisted you would like the other one but I think I know you better than them.”

His stunning lashes were even more attractive close up and I looked away as his mother chased him down the hall, telling him that it was their time with me now, and he needed to behave himself.

Of course, I nodded and agreed with them as he pulled his face and then grinned at me before making his way off to the men’s side. And as his mother popped open the box, I couldn’t have been more in love with the the stunning piece of jewelry that already became my best friend. Call me superficial, but if I wasn’t certain about Hamzah before that, this was most definitely a winner. It was a simple and elegant diamond piece but I knew that it cost a fortune, and I instantly felt horrible and shallow because he felt like he had to spend so much of money on me… like, I wasn’t complaining.. but did I appear to be such high maintenance?

In any world, a 1-carat diamond pendant was no play. But despite that… that itself wasn’t the big deal. I knew what it was because it was highly trending and I had seen the chain being advertised on social media.

It was called the ‘Eternal Flame’ setting which was inspired by this legend of undying flames, which continues to burn despite all external elements. Apparently, according to some lengend which was probably a load of hogwash but got the sales coming in at a steady pace..  these eternal flames, which burn continuously, join two souls together in unconditional love. And it was extremely intense and romantic, and even though it did make my tummy do a slight flip-flop, I wasn’t going to show him that he had won the trophy. Well, not yet.

I stood silently as Hamzah’s sister-in-law, Saaliha, gently clipped the necklace on over my grey chiffon scarf. I had work a white dress with grey detail that day and the pendant accessorised it perfectly. To tell the truth, I was on cloud nine, and that chain was a memory and the only thing of real value… of surmount importance, and because of their blatant disregard for my dignity, had been yanked off me as collateral…

I pictured Hamzah’s face for a second, as I sat there, trying to tune my senses out of everything that had happened.

How will I ever explain to him why I couldn’t salvage it? Why didn’t I fight to keep that one part of my self-worth, the part that should have been one of the most important right then…

My heart was still beating rapidly, even though it had been ten minutes since I had been freed, shoved me on the pavement outside the hospital. How my wobbly legs had carried me over to the entrance, I wasn’t sure. It was late and my phone wasn’t returned, but I didn’t care. My worst fears were over for now and all I wanted to do was crawl into my bed and sleep this away as if it never happened. There was no use going to the police. This wasn’t a criminal issue. It was a self-inflicted problem that I couldn’t ever divulge to anyone…

I had already made up my mind that I could tell no-one about this. My fathers reputation… his pride… his Izzat, as Nani would say… all of this… I could never let them know that things had gotten so bad that I nearly had to give myself up. Nearly. I couldn’t even think what might have happened if I hadn’t prayed fervently to ask Allah’s help to shield me from any evil intentions.

I took a deep breath as I lifted myself off the bench, finding my bearings, and then entering the hospital once again. They had left my keys with me so I could get home, but anything else of value was taken and stashed for when I paid the rest. I took a deep breath as I made my way down to the elevator. It was now close to midnight and I assumed that everyone had gone home. I’m sure that my mother had tried contacting me, but I would have to deal with that tomorrow.

Of course everyone had left by then. I didn’t know that they had left to search for me. That they were fervently reciting their adhkaar and tasbeehs, crazy with worry and hoping for my safe return, I didn’t even realise how much of time had passed. When the security guard saw me, I could see him talking into his Walkie talkie hastily, but as I waved at him easily, he looked confused, and then just shook his head and nodded back at me.

How I cleaned myself up, re-did my make up in record time and even drove home that night was like a blur. Tears flowed freely as I sat there, my mind taking me when I finally reached my driveway, I stopped as the gate closed, and sobbed my heart out for a few minutes before I finally drove up to go to the house.

And I was a little shocked as I saw Ma, Nani and Jameela all crowding around me even before I entered, racing down to the garage as they realised I had arrived, looking as if the entire world had collapsed in my absence. In all of that, I didn’t even realise how long I had been gone.

“Shukar to Allah!” Nani was saying loudly as she saw me, looking as if she was utterly distraught.

I paused for a second as she said it, again and again, and it was as if my entire world was being revived, with those words.

Shukar to Allah. Shukar to Allah.

I mean, how had I not even thought this… to thank Him for bringing me out of what had been a most unexpected ordeal? How had I not seen Him with me, all this time. In my hour of need, whilst I sat in my little bubble of hope of escape, was it not Him that brought me through? In my darkest hour, when I didn’t know if I’d ever see the light of day again, was it not Him that brought me home?

Allah. Allah. Was it not Him only, that despite my sins, despite my disregard, despite everything that I had done that proved my complacency and heedlessness… that had come through for me?

Allah, of course; it was only You. When I was caught in a maze, a place of uncertainty, a web of greed and hopelessness… it was only You that brought me through. When I was lost in a forest, and every path looked the same… it was only You who brought me home.

I was slightly shaking while Nani wiped her tears away and grasped me by my shoulders gently. I cringed as I remembered how those repulsive men had handled me.. I couldn’t stand anyone touching me, not without thinking about the horrible feelings I had been subjected to… not without that memory leaving it’s horrid mark on me.

“We were so worried,” Ma whispered, shaking her head, and just looking plain down relieved.

Muhammed Husayn was making calls, saying I was fine and had come home, to whoever he was talking to.

Ma’s eyes were brimming with tears as I stepped back, feigning indifference as they asked me again and again if everything was really okay. Jameela and Muhammed Husayn were standing around, looking like lost puppies, and I kissed their cheeks, putting on a brave front, knowing that I’d have to think up a workable explanation in record time.

I took a deep breath and put a smile on my face, knowing that I couldn’t show any weakness.

And that’s why I made up my mind that I couldn’t say anything to them about Papa. It would only cause more worry and concern. I explained to them that my phone was stolen and there really was no need to panic. It was slightly stressful  but I was okay, and everything was going to be okay. There was a reason Faadil had offered me that incentive, just a few days before. There was no time more than the present that I could do with it.

All I had to do was mail him, tell him I was ready to take that offer, sort the cash situation out, and put up with a year or two more at Hammond’s. That’s all.

There had to be a long term plan though. After that, I could pursue my dreams. I knew that I had to think about something for my family to be sustained, that was going to put less pressure on them. And missing work the next day, because I knew that I couldn’t face everyone, (especially Hamzah) yet, I spoke to Jameela about her plans for her coffee shop. She actually had worked things out quite meticulously. My sister had good business skills, and I found myself l among towards this as a small business to start up. Papa had to get out of what he was doing. The supermarket was becoming a risk.. there were too many factors attached.. too many horrible people involved now. Factors that haunted me and made it extremely dangerous.

And it so happened that Papa was discharged the next day, and seeing him almost made me tear up again. I wasn’t sure how to describe it, what kind of emotions were pulsating through me as I tried to explain the feeling of broken trust, of humiliation, of extreme and piercing sadness… and then of pity, as I wondered how we had gotten to where we were.

The way he looked at me when he first came in, for a split second, I felt as if he knew the ordeal I had endured and then when I looked at him again, I was sure I was mistaken. That rush of emotion… that overwhelming grief and terrifying fear as I relived it… no words, expressions or even emojis could do it justice.

And even though I was brimming over with frustrated emotion, I wasn’t going to bring it up. And maybe I could have at some point but not when he was in this state. I knew I should be a good girl and quietly deal with my own emotions. I had long ago accepted that I had to take care of of my family. I also understood that we had to somehow drag ourselves out of this… somehow, we would pull through.

For the first time in years, I didn’t care about my phone. About new posts. About downloading all my applications and keeping up with what was going on.

I read my Salaah a little more fervently those few days. Prayed a little harder. Asked a little more desperately. I deeply craved some guidance. Some hope. Some unfiltered sign that I was doing the right thing.

My heart was aching. Breaking. Undeniably shaking in conviction and faith, and I had to set it right.

Oh Allah, only You know my condition. Oh Allah, I am tormented with nightmares. I’m traumatised by those oppressors. Only You know my pain, Oh King of Kings. I want to be freed. Oh Allah, erase all these evil memories from my mind.

Oh Allah, you choose whats best and protect me from hurt, protect me from others, and protect others from me. Oh Allah, when no-one else was there, You saved me… You’ve shown me how big You are, and how small I really am. How Great you are, and how insignificant I am. I come to You in weakness, You help me with Your strength… Oh Allah, I entrust all my affairs to you, I surrender it to you… 

My eyes were, for the first time in years, brimming with tears as I pleaded.

I didn’t know how else to handle my emotions. Who else to pour it all out to..

I didn’t know what to think about my future. About my marriage. It’s not that I didn’t care. I just had no energy  to burden someone else with our family problems. I simply could not come clean, and in the back of my mind, although I knew that what I had to do may cause a stir…

I also knew that there was no other way and presumed that whatever small hiccup this would cause would soon pass.

And although I maybe expected a tantrum, an argument or a fight… what I didn’t expect was my decision to do what I needed to, to be blown completely out of proportion. By the end of the following week, after making my final decision and everything feeling like it was going way too fast, the phones were ringing off the hook…

Jameela was tearing up, trying to ask me what was going on. Ma was desperately trying to understand if what was said and what she had heard was really meant… and Nani… well, Nani was the giveaway. The one sign that stood to show that the situation was entirely hopeless… as she sat on the kitchen stool, her head hanging in her hands as she refused to speak to anyone as the entire thing went down in the most unexpected way.

Never in my life had I felt so disgusted with myself, so disappointed… so broken about everyone else being shattered too.

The day Hamzah exited our lives, when he called the house phone to ask for me… sounding completely civil  as he spoke to my mother and then my brother, and then they passed the receiver over to me, I barely recognised this person whose voice was dripping with painful venom whilst he said what I never thought I’d ever hear him say…

I knew that there was no hope for anything else. No expression, reaction or emoji could ever do it justice.

Everything was falling apart.

---

 

Sunnah of Making Salaam

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

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

٤ جمادى الأولى

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

(Bukhaaree Shareef/Muslim Shareef)

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

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

The Passage of Time

Bismihi Ta’ala

Rubeena

Through the passage of time, the memories of days gone by are often distilled by a series of muted moments. It’s funny that as the moments happen… they seem to last forever… yet if we have to try and when you have to summarize our whole life for a month or a year or even a lifetime, its documentation can sometimes be reduced to a single page.

The backdrop to my life during that rollercoaster of emotions consisted of my setting up a business plan for Ahmed, seeing to my kids, writing and editing the letters that Adam had put in my care and working on my (blossoming) marriage, which nourished me spiritually and kept me at ease, despite the imminent tragedy that had seem to be happening at the time.

The truth was that sometimes in life, you’re dealt out a little more than you bargained for. It changes you and brings you back to your Purpose. Sometimes Allah shakes you to remind you that’s there’s a Greater Power out there… to remind us about how little we are… and how big He really is.

”Mum, is Uncle Aadam going to die?”

I looked at my eldest son as he asked the question, not knowing how to answer him. He was looking at me with so much of unfiltered confusion in his eyes. This was so hard for him to accept. I didn’t know what to focus on. I wasn’t sure how much more I could manage. I felt like I was torn into a million pieces.

Ahmed sensed my emotion, and I smiled gratefully as he placed a hand on Danyaal’s shoulder and guided him out to the balcony. I didn’t know that Dayyaan had already heard his brother.

”Mummy, why does Allah make people sick?” His voice was curious as he asked.

I sat at the kitchen table at Adam’s apartment and looked at my second son, not knowing how to answer him either. For the twentieth time in the past few weeks, I so badly wished that my brother and sister-in-law were right here…. they always knew what to say.

”I think it’s because he wants us to turn to him,” I said carefully. “To ask Him to help us… because isn’t He the only one who can cure us? Isn’t He only one who can help us?”

Siraj looked at me as I said it. I felt like I was reminding myself and him, just as much as I was telling Dayyaan the truth of what Allah wanted us to realize.

”But why do people have to die?” Dayyaan pressed on. “Why do they have to go away from us?”

I took a deep breath and looked at him, swallowing as I thought about it.

”I think it’s because we don’t belong here,” I said softly, instantly knowing that was the exact answer that Khawlah would have given them. “We’re not created to live here, honey, and when people die, it’s because Allah has called them home… and believe me, boy, it’s like a million times better than any house you’ve ever seen here!”

Siraj’s face held a tiny smirk as he watched Dayyaan nod and then move off contentedly to where Ahmed and Danyaal were. Thank goodness. I wasn’t sure if I could handle anymore of the kids’ questions. I wasn’t sure if it was just me or if kids these days were really just getting way too deep for my liking…

”So much simpler to comfort kids, huh?” He said blandly.

”Too right…” I murmured. Once we grow older and begin to understand reality… well, it’s just that much more challenging.

“On a more serious note,” my uncle was saying quietly. “We need to start thinking seriously about what implications this will have. His deterioration is accelerating. It’s not going to be easy if he continues like this. We will have to get a caregiver. Someone to help him. Take him to the bathroom. Help him eat. We can’t expect his wife to take it all on…”

My heart contracted in my chest as he said it, and I couldn’t help but remember the constant ache in my heart as I thought about how suddenly it had all changed. Whether it was actually a stroke or just the result of the enlargement of the tumor was still unclear. Adam would probably be hating that he had become like this. It was his worst fear. Just yesterday he was talking and laughing. Joking about what a terrible patient he was.

Today, my mind just couldn’t process the damage that had happened overnight, but as I thought about it, it seemed to make more sense. The boys would get angry when I’d refuse to bring them, but what they didn’t understand was that Adam was almost always sleeping anyway. But yesterday… well, yesterday was different. Yesterday we had shared secret hopes amongst ourselves. Yesterday we had hoped that maybe the cancer had disappeared. I expected him to magically recover but what I didn’t realize was that maybe Adam knew better than us all. From the way he sat, I could tell that while we all went through the stages of grief, denial, anger, bargaining… Adam was already on the path of acceptance.  He had already moved on, because he knew that all he could do from now was to use the last reserves of his energy to give himself a memorable farewell…

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I thought of my brother. My favorite person. My best friend. My go-to guy.

Siraj swallowed hard, pulling off his glasses as he rubbed his eyes. I could see he was tired. He had been on night shift at a hospital and had rushed here first thing in the morning. With his new facial hair that had become his standard look, Siraj resembled Adam almost identically now. It was, understandably, a little freaky.

“Keep your glasses on,” I sniffed with a small smile. “You guys look too much alike for comfort…”

He pushed his glasses up his nose again, looking at me with a furrowed brow.

“I hear that there’s a baby on the way..”

I looked at my uncle a little hesitantly as he asked again, not sure confirm the news or not, I wasn’t sure if Khawlah wanted anyone to know.

“Adam told me,” he said softly. “Before he…”

I gave a shadow of a smile as I thought of how excited Adam was that night. He had called me just as he stepped out for Salaah to the Masjid next door. It seemed like he had called Siraj too.

“I have one more letter to write,” he said. “I could hear him gasping slightly for breath as he walked. “I’ll call you later. Before bed if I can get some time without her in earshot. We just found out that she’s expecting. I’m literally floating…”

I gasped in disbelief, shocked that at this time, when they were both understandably stressed and a little unprepared… that had actually happened. I knew my brother loved kids. I just didn’t expect it so soon.

“I’m so happy for you guys,” I said softly, my eyes dampening at the corners. “Masha Allah! What exciting news. Just please take it easy now. You have something to look forward to…”

”Stop stressing, Rubes,” he had said. “Whatever’s in the plan will happen. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You know how they say there’s goodness in every situation? I actually can’t believe that amidst this craziness we were given such a gift. I’ll catch you later, yeah? Maybe around 9. At the mosque.”

Though the masjid wasn’t far I always worried about him pushing himself too much. The truth was that my brother never missed his Salaah in Jamaat, unless he was feeling really terrible. That day wasn’t a good day, but after getting the news, he was  evidently on top of the world.

Ahmed and the two big boys had been getting ready to leave for mosque too and I waved to them as they headed off, watching my husband reverse out carefully from the narrow driveway. Everything had just fallen into place so beautifully, but it wasn’t always a walk in the park for me. There were moments when I wondered if he didn’t get annoyed with them for barging into the room or screaming from the top of the stairs. There were moments when things were crazy and a little testing. There were times when I couldn’t give him the attention I wanted and needed to because there were four young humans who needed my attention too. It was like I was waiting for an eruption of some sort all this time, but with Ahmed’s passive and accommodating personality, every day just seemed to be easier. He took it in his stride as we worked to find some kind of routine, sharing tasks and giving each other a break where needed. That was what it was about right?!

“I had warned him against it,” Siraj was saying, as my mind adjusted back to the present. “That he shouldn’t risk it. He was adamant. And then I found out that after a week that he was refusing to do the chemo anyway. Caught him by surprise one day at the hospital, chilling at the cafeteria…”

”What?!” I asked, now in shock. He wasn’t doing any treatment? That was crazy.

Siraj shrugged.

”He has no faith in medical intervention,” Siraj said. “Said it’s a waste of time. I couldn’t change his mind. He said that he would take his chances and what was meant to happen would happen..”

”But he used to go three times a week!” I exclaimed, still a little confused. Shocked, too.

”He’d go to the children’s oncology ward,” Siraj said with a shake of his head. “Play with the kids there. Give them some hope. The doctor there was full of praises for him. Said he’s really something. He really is…was…”

I shook my head, unable to formulate any words for a few moments. To play with the kids? My word, my heart was overflowing with love for my little brother. Adam really was one in a million.

”I don’t know how he did it…”

And all this time my mother thought it was jadoo that was getting him down. At least the imposter had been low on the scenes after her appearance on the Nikah day, and Mum was calmer now, as she sat on the side of his bed, trying to soothe herself as she watched my brother sleeping.

”Maybe it was all that cell phone radiation,” she was saying earlier. “I told him that technology wasn’t the best thing for him. Mothers know these things. Computers, iPads … gadgets … every day, all day… of course it must have its effect…”

I looked at my mother silently. Maybe she was right. At one stage work was Adam’s entire life. It had sucked him in. He was so young but so successful. All that meant nothing right now… and at the end of the day, whatever Allah plans will unfold…

It was precisely at that moment when Khawlah exited the room, and I could see that she had been crying. She came up to us while I stepped aside, whispering to me that Adam wanted to see me. I could feel my heart beat escalate. When I had gone earlier, he had turned his face away… like he didn’t want to talk to me about anything as yet. He just wasn’t ready.

”Adam,” I said softly, as I approached his bed. His breathing was audible and completely unnerving. “Can I get you anything at all?”

He looked at me cynically, and it was as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what I was saying. His hair had been combed and he was wearing a fresh t-shirt. He was looking as handsome as always, but I couldn’t help but notice that the left side of his face was very obviously limp. I could see the effect of the diagnosed stroke better as he spoke.

“You act… like… I’m… dying…”

His breaths were spaced apart and his voice was a little more hoarse than usual. His labored breathing had become even more heavy than the past few weeks, but today was scary. It seemed that infection had set in. His lungs had been taking a massive blow. Siraj said it happened with Immuno-compromised patients. It was something he’d either fight back or let get the better of him…

The corner of his mouth lifted as he glanced at me. As if this was the time for humor. I wanted to twist his ear.

Could any joke even minimize the horror of what was really happening to him?

”Shurrup,” I said quietly, swallowing my emotion and  pulling the chair up closer to him. In his right hand there was a Tasbeeh and I could see the beads moving slowly as he looked ahead.

”I … read your… e-mail.”

I had written him an e-mail almost a month ago.

Being the crazy and emotional woman that I was on my Nikah day, I had gotten a bit emotional when  I tried to thank him in person and decided to mail it to him. I knew that it was a bit unconventional but a girl had to do what a girl had to do.

”Don’t you think you could have done it earlier?” I asked snappily, feigning annoyance and biting back emotion purposely. I didn’t want to show him how much this hurt. I didn’t want him to know how seeing him this way was breaking us.

I breathed in.

”I wasn’t… ready… to say… goodbye…”

I met his gaze as he said it, the afternoon light catching the evidence of a single shiny streak that ran down his one cheek. I wanted to reach out to him… to hug him… to tell him to hold on for us just a little longer, but it was like there was a huge lump at the base of my parched throat that was obstructing anything coherent. Instead, all I could do was grasp his hand with vehemence and look down as my own eyes filled with tears. My little brother. This was my baby brother. How did we even begin to justify this? How was this even fair?

”Stop crying,” he warned, his words merging together as he slurred slightly. “You’re going … to spoil your… make-up..”

“Who cares about the make up?” I babbled incoherently, remembering him telling me those exact words on my Nikah day. I couldn’t stop the tears that were running down my cheeks. As much as I wanted to stay strong for him, I couldn’t hold it back any longer,

I felt so indebted to him. For sorting everything out. For being so accepting. For being such an amazing human. For giving me a chance, despite me giving up on myself. For showing me, through the letters he had made me so carefully pen… that true and real love for Allah Ta’ala could really exist.

Now I knew why he had put me on the task. It wasn’t about him not managing to pen them. There was a deeper purpose behind it. It was about him showing me a perfect reality that could give me hope once again. It’s what made me take the plunge. It’s what made me take a chance. It was the only thing that completely turned it all around for me.

What he and Khawlah had was something that I thought could never exist. I didn’t know that such a beautiful and uplifting love for each could be nurtured in this ugly world. They had given me so much of hope. Inspiration. Endless ambition…

”Aren’t you scared?” I asked him, my voice breaking as he looked at me trying to unsuccessfully hide my  obvious sobbing.

He shook his head and half smiled.

”I’ve seen… so much…” he started, slightly incoherently as he breathed heavily in between. “I’ve seen.. how Allah… can provide… from sources… you can’t even… imagine…”

How could I forget? 

It was too much for him to say. It was too much for me to even process. His chest heaved as he halted, and despite wanting to tell him so much more, all I could do was weep bitterly, right there and then, for everything he had gone through.

Of course. From sources we cannot even imagine. It was what I had told relayed to in the e-mail. The verse that lifted my spirits every time I read it.

And whoever fears Allah, He will make for him a way out. And provide for him from where he does not expect (sources he can’t imagine).
And whoever relies upon Allah – then He is sufficient for him. Indeed, Allah will accomplish His purpose. Allah has already set for everything a (decreed) extent.” (65:3)

It was a reminder of everything I’d witnessed. I’d seen so much of goodness when I turned to Allah. I’ve learnt so much about expecting the best from my Lord. Surely, when you have faith and trust in Allah… when you are conscious of Him, then He will never disappoint. He will provide from sources where our feeble minds can never even begin to comprehend. I saw it in every waking moment…

”I love… you, Rubes…” he whispered, almost inaudibly, his syllables unclear as he said it. My heart shattered as he said it, unable to hold the weight of what this all meant. Amazingly, I held it together as I closed my eyes, opening it to see my brother now already drifting into some other dreamlike world.

”I love you too, Adam,” I whispered softly, reaching out for his hand. I wasn’t sure if he had even heard me.

He closed his eyes as watched his breathing steady and settle into a rhythm. I didn’t know what to do next. Whether to wait for him or to go away. I sat there for a few more minutes, on the corner couch, staring at his sleeping form. It was the only time he seemed to get any relief. Not that Adam complained about the pain, but I could tell from the way he unexpectedly winced at times that his agony was far worse than he’d ever let on.

I sat there as the memories played in my mind… almost like a film in reverse… rolling through the years where it would feature my brother with the most memorable lines of all. In my mind, he was forever alive. Full of excitement. Always bubbly and jovial. His charm. His wit. His sincere compassion. His genuine inspiration.

The eagerness that he possessed to change everything… his entire life, just so that he could have a chance to do it right… I wondered for a moment if the memories would stay that way or if they would fade as the years went by.

Adam had insisted on reading all his Salaah that day. Khawlah had helped him to make a whudhu for Asr. Everyone was still hovering around, not sure of what to do. Even Zuleikha and her husband were unsettled. Eventually they had all left, and as per my brothers request, I had given Khawlah the letter and as she read it, I turned away, not wanting to feel the emotion that was probably overtaking her right then.

I found myself outside the room again, in limbo, because I couldn’t believe that this was actually happening.

I tried to steady myself as I walked out, using Ahmed as a support as he came towards me, a little overwhelmed by everything that had happened that day. Even he looked a little unsure of how to react. No-one knew what to say. What to hope for. How to deal with this…

When I looked at Aadam that day, I wasn’t sure what it was… but just before the Maghrib Aadhaan sounded that day, I could see only a look of intense serenity on his rested face..

I didn’t know that it would be the last time I saw my brother alive, although I was almost certain that Allah had selected him to be one of those privileged souls who were too special to stay in this tarnished world any longer…

They say that for those people whom Allah Ta’ala loves, He assigns an angel, specifically allocated to be at their service at the time of death. Just like how a doctor will give a sweet to distract a child from a painful prick of an injection… this guardian angel plays the same role by releasing a beautiful scent under his nose, making him oblivious to all but that sweet fragrance of what’s to come … and before he knows it, his Rooh is painlessly extracted from his physical body just like a hair is pulled out from a stack of hay. He feels nothing. Not even a twinge…

Amidst the cries of grief and loss that our hearts were submerged in, I could tell that as he was taken to the ghusl khana to be washed, his soul was almost pleading with us to hasten to his grave. Surely his Allah had fulfilled His promise. Surely his abode would be a pleasant one. Surely, as the prayer for Maghrib Aadhaan was called and his Janazah was prayed thereafter on that beautiful day of Jumuah, and we had that intensely peaceful feeling of reassurance… hope upon hope that his grave would be expanded vastly upon his arrival…

Yes, death was brutal. Like a punch in the stomach… Blurring your vision for a short time, and then bringing the reality of life that we had long ago lost the essence of into focus once again.

Death didn’t look at your wealth, status or your dependants. Death didn’t look at your youthful beauty, expectant wives, or wait for you to meet your unborn child.

Death, in it’s ferocity, didn’t even look at your age.

And yes, it breaks homes, and yes, it destroys souls. It is awful and painful, yet only a reality that we have to face. As if it was ripped apart, your heart will never be the same again. And my heart broke a little more, knowing that everything will change, yet also be the most real I had ever felt before.

Because the realisation then hit me:

This was only meant as a reminder… To remind us that indeed, each and every one of us belong to our Creator only.

The feelings were like a piercing through my very soul. With the passage of time, I’m sure I’ve forgotten more than I remember. Some memories I’ve willed myself to forget. Some I’ve clung onto for dear life.

But other memories of those final days…. well, they would surely remain with me forever…

 

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Mission Sunnah Revival!

Just a reminder, especially in these times of craziness and uncertainty to make abundant istighfaar and try and bring more Sunnah into our lives. Let’s keep the miswaak available for frequent use, InshaAllah. Let’s also try and fast – Nabi (SAW) used to keep plenty of fasts in the month of Shabaan. Allah give us the tawfeeq.

Hold fats to our Sunnah, istighfaar and lots of Durood, especially on this day of Jumuah…

Let’s do so with the intention that Allah alleviates all the trials of the Ummah. Aameen 

Much Love, 

A xx

allahuma baarik lana fi Sha’bana wa balligh-na Ramadan

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

Imam Shafi’i RA has stated: “I have heard that duaas are accepted

by Almighty Allah on five nights:

The night of Jumu’ah

The nights of the two ‘Eids

The first night of Rajab

The middle (15th) night of Sha’ban

Allah accept our efforts and Duaas.

A forgotten Sunnah. Eaten fallen particles… Sometimes we forget the Barakah that can be in even a grain of food. To eat what has fallen on the cloth or even the floor… SubhaanAllah.

Anas ibn Maalik narrated that when the Messenger of Allaah (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) ate, he would lick his three fingers. Anas said: “And he said, ‘If any one of you drops a piece of food, let him remove any dirt from it and eat it, and not leave it for the Shaytaan.’ And he commanded us to clean the plate, and said, ‘For you do not know where in your food the blessing is.’” (Narrated by Muslim, 2034). 

#revivetheSunnahofMiswaak 

#revivetheSunnahofAkhlaaq 

#revivetheSunnahofKinship

#revivetheSunnahofhonouringguests

#revivetheSunnahofdrinkingwater 

#revivetheSunnahofeating 

#revivetheSunnahDuaas

Twitter: @ajourneyjournal

#revivetheSunnahofhonouringguests

#revivetheSunnahofdrinkingwater 

#revivetheSunnahofeating 

#revivetheSunnahDuaas

Softening the Blow

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Bismihi Ta’ala

Khawlah

I was once told by my dear friend Nusaybah that there’s something magical about leaving your affairs in Allah’s hands. That there’s a beauty in submission.

I didn’t actually understand it at the time, but I remembered her saying that when we make Allah our caretaker, it means we submit our affairs to Him. We hand it over. We let go and we allow the One who is Ever-Living, All-Knowing and Eternal to take care of what He knows best. We take His name and we surrender to His will, no matter what is to happen. That knowledge alone will soften even the severest of blows…

And it can be scary to venture into the unknown. It’s scary to find out we’ve been wrong about something. It’s always scary when things are changing. It’s scary to imagine that at some point, for better or for worse, things will never be the same.

And yes, we don’t like it… but sometimes we just have to tune ourselves to the fact that nothing is within our control. As much as we try to plot, plan, organize and rearrange… despite it all, we have to understand that our plan is never the ultimate one.

The future, by default, is always changing. The future is the home of our deepest fears and wildest hopes. But one thing is certain, when it finally reveals itself…. The future is never the way we imagined it.

And as I tossed a handful of seeds into the ground and let the boys use their spades to compete in hastily covering it up, I couldn’t help but ponder about how I had gotten to where I was right then. In my minds eye, I was still a school girl who was babysitting her charges… but in reality, despite not ever anticipating it, I was married to the amazing uncle of these four boys that I had by some unexpected intervention, come to love so very much.

At that point, it seemed like my heart was bursting.  Allah had blessed me with so much and I couldn’t even find the words to describe how grateful I was. Of course, when we are at the top of the mountain… sometimes we just need to dwell in the glory before looking down.

”I want more seeds!” Dayyaan was squealing in exasperation from the patch he was working at. “Zia took all of mine! It’s so unfair, he always-“

”Okay okay,” I said, cutting him off and digging in my pocket for the other packets that Aunty Radiyyah had given me. Zia was tottering around happily and Dayyaan, on the other hand,  always seemed to be putting up a fuss about something or the other. Sometimes you had to just nip it in the bud.

I had finally gotten a chance to pop in to see my dear Aunty Radiyyah amidst my daily chaos, and I was so glad that I did. Of course, she had spoilt me with everything in her kitchen, plus sent me home with tons of goodies… and a variety of seeds that she had collected just for the boys. Since them days… it was her habit to collect all types of seeds to plant, which explained why her garden was such a mastery to walk in. There were varieties of fruit and plants that I had never seen before elsewhere before…

I placed one packet in Dayyaan’s hand, glad to see him content as he got back to work, enjoying the feeling of the Spring sun on us as we worked. I missed Aadam’s company and quirky humor that day, but since it was a Friday afternoon, he usually stayed home to preserve some energy for the weekend. It had become a routine for his mother to stay in the week, because, of course… she didn’t trust me with carrying out the dietary requirements. Of course, I wasn’t complaining. I looked forward to the uninterrupted weekend with my husband. Aadam always found a way to make it extra special, and I couldn’t help but smile as I thought of it.

I delved into the soil, pulling off my gardening gloves in haste and savoring the feeling of moist earth on my fingers. Never mind my nails would probably be filthy afterward. Never mind I would probably have to scrub them clean. I was prepared to make the sacrifice for my favorite hobby. I was still quite obsessed with gardening, and it was only after getting into it again after all these weeks did I realize how much I missed it. I hadn’t had much of a chance to go into the rooftop at Aadam’s place, and being with the kids too as they ran around, spraying each other with water and squealing excitedly as we dug into the depths of opportunity was a feeling of unmatched liberation that  I had completely forgot…

”Remember that time we ran in the rain?” shouted Danyaal as he looked towards me. “I almost wish that we could do it again!”

I smiled as I recalled, obviously not being able to forget that moment when I stepped up into cover and saw Aadam watching us with an amused expression on his face. It was almost a year ago and I couldn’t quite believe how the time had flown…

“Khawlah!”

I whipped my head around as Rubeena’s call sounded, wondering why she was outside. I had told her to put her legs up for a bit and relax while I saw to the boys, but Rubeena, as I had come to know her now, was not the self-absorbed and inconsiderate Rubeena that I used to know. It seemed like she had forgotten how to give herself a break and I was actually beginning to feel really sorry for her. And yes, though I was glad that she was giving the kids more attention and love, I knew that at some point everyone needed to slow down, take a few deep breaths, and enjoy some me-time.

”Khawlah,” she said, coming up to me and lowering her voice.

I watched her as she made her way to me, dressed in  a pastel pair of tights and a loose and flowey top that really suited her. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and she was tying her hair up into a bun as she widened her eyes at me. She was actually looking really good these days. I supposed not having to stress about Shabeer’s dramatics had done her wonders…

”Its Hannah,” she almost whispered, looking like she had seen a ghost. “Right here. Outside.”

Hannah?! The Hannah?

Oh my word. It was Hannah. For a moment I just stood there, blinking at her in confusion as she watched me. What on earth was she doing here?

”What does she want?” I asked, placing down the gardening tools carefully and wiping my soiled hands on my skirt. I knew it wasn’t the wisest thing to do but I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.

”She’s got her baby with her,” Ruby said, almost disbelievingly. “She asked to speak to you too…”

I gathered the boys up in one area of the garden, my mind racing as I made my way up the stairs and down the passage to the entrance hall. Danyaal was old enough to see to the others for a bit. I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, but I tried to relax and convince myself that Hannah wouldn’t be up to no good. Besides, if Rubeena had thought it was safe to let her in… well, I’m sure there was a good reason she had called me.

”Salaam Khawlah.”

I turned to the direction of the voice, already doing a double take as I saw this girl that I now vaguely recognized. Hannah had always had a pretty face, but I never ever anticipated the day when I’d see her in Hijaab. I was a little overcome by emotion, as I saw the change. Even though her face was looking thinner and she was looking a little weaker, I couldn’t help but notice the beautifully peaceful expression on her face as I looked back at her. It was the first time I had ever noticed her so serene and I was completely blown away. On the floor next to her was a little girl who looked like she was just under a year.

I smiled as she gurgled, already overwhelmed by how cute she was. What a lovely little girl… I couldn’t believe Hannah had a baby.

”I’m sorry to just show up like this,” Hannah said, looking a little out of place. “I know I should have called or something but I was scared that you guys would tell me not to come…”

She trailed off as I shook my head at her, not really knowing how to react. Should I hug her? Comfort her? Assure her that everything was okay…?

After everything, even though I had forgiven her deceptive stunts… I still found it hard to completely forget all the hurt she had caused… it was still a distant memory.

”It’s okay,” I said quietly. “It’s good to see you looking… happy. And her too…”

She nodded as I glanced at the baby, I could see hear looking nervous. I could tell that she wanted to say more…

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, picking up the baby as she squealed. “To apologise to Rubeena. And you. And also…”

She paused as the baby squealed, taking out a chip from her bag and giving it to the baby in her hand. Goodness… I didn’t expect Hannah to be so… maternal.

Rubeena was still looking like she was in a slight shock. I couldn’t imagine the emotions that she must have been feeling… to know that this girl had plotted her husband and basically lured him into bed… I was a little overwhelmed by the change that was right before my eyes.

“As I was saying,” she said, obviously  uncomfortable as we both stared at her.

Well, she kind of deserved the scrutiny.

“I also wanted to thank you for signing the forms and for giving me a chance even after everything that I did. I really do feel like I need to refocus and sort out my issues even more now, that I have this responsibility. You must really have a big heart to be able to overlook all my ridiculous stunts… both of you..”

I narrowed my eyes slightly as I looked back at her and Rubeena. Papers? The papers were with Aadam, as far as I knew. Unless he…

Ah. Of course he had. That was Aadam. Quick to overlook. Always able to deliver. He never passed up an opportunity to make someone else’s life easier. I didn’t even know how he had done it but somehow he was able to get a joint custody for Hannah and the lady who was looking after her daughter previously. Where I was hesitant, I was so glad, and immensely grateful that he had done it.

I smiled, wondering how Hannah was managing to support her and herself. She wasn’t a stupid girl. I was hoping she had used some of her intellect to get a job. She was definitely looking like she was in a better place than before. In a strange way, through feeling responsible for her and also living together for those few years… I was kind of proud of her.

”I hope you’ll take good care of her,” I said, hoping she knew what a great responsibility it was to have a child.

”I will,” she said softly. “I think of you often Khawlah. About how different things were back then. About how I saw a little bit of yours and Khalid’s world and I wanted to see more. I always thought that you two… well…”

She trailed off as she looked to Rubeena, and then decided not to say it. I supposed that I knew what she was going to say. I also supposed that she probably didn’t know that Khalid was no longer around…

My heart contracted as I thought about it again. I wanted to tell her but something held me back.

Its not important, something was telling me, knowing that saying it aloud would probably get me choked up again.

It felt like a lifetime ago, but it was so impressionable because I knew that it was through him that Hannah had glimpsed a different perspective. I remembered how she would watch us from the window, and then turn away when I looked back… almost as if she was playing a little game of her own that no-one knew about. I supposed that I was also a little stubborn, by not letting her into our world. It was through the little adventures that she had been watching where Khalid would never fail to enlighten me with miracles of Allah’s creation, that Hannah too had glimpsed some of the light.

Of course, the magic of Deen can have astounding effects on even a corrupted heart. It comforted my heart to know that Aunty Nas’s effects weren’t permanent. Maybe there was still hope for Hannah…

”Anyway,” she said, after telling us a bit about  her life now and the place she was renting that was next to the other lady who had been given custody of her daughter.

”I need to have her back home by 5,” she said as she grabbed her baby bag. “I just wanted to apologize… because I know I really made such a huge mistake and I really don’t know how I could ever make up for it… but one day.. I hope that I could.”

She trailed off and Rubeena looked at her slightly sympathetically.

I had a feeling that Rubeena might have even been a little grateful that Shabeer and Hannah’s short-lived Nikah had been the reason that she had finally seen the light. Although I couldn’t quite understand how you could ever forgive someone who potentially messed up your marriage… I suppose Rubeena’s one was a bit unique. We both knew that she wasn’t happy before that. Now,  for the first time in the three years I had known her, she seemed to be glowing from within. This time, through her pain and her struggle and her searching… she had truly found what she was looking for. I was quite certain that she had found Allah and I had a feeling that Hannah was on her way there too.

And as we watched Hannah leave with her little munchkin, I couldn’t help but feel emotional. Yes, of had been a helluva couple of years. From the time we had lost Mama to now, the going seemed to be getting a little easier.

And yes, we did have our tests, but there were times when I actually forgot about Aadam and the cancer. I didn’t want to think of it as the dreaded C-word. I lived for the moment when he’d come home one day and announce to us that everything was okay and there was nothing really to worry about. I lived in the hope that our longing and praying would reach the doors of the Heavens, and Allah would send His mercy upon us in showers. I lived with the knowledge that only ease was meant for those who were striving for Allah… but how wrong I was…

Nabi (SAW) said:

“The most severely tested people are the prophets, then the next best, then the next best. A man will be tested in accordance with his level of commitment to God…”

And maybe I should have seen the signs as my husband came by later that day with a big mysterious box, saying he wanted to spend some time with the boys and needed some company.

”Looks like you guys have been having fun…” he said, his expression only slightly tired as he watched us out in the garden. “You’ll carry on while I watch from here…”

There was no chance of that though. As soon as they saw it, the garden tools were already stowed away and the boys were all hovering over all the carpentry items that Aadam had brought. It looked like an unfinished piece that he had been working on, and as I watched them, I could see how thrilled they were that they would get to knock and hammer like real carpenters.

I looked at my husband as he left them to it. He was wearing a black kurta and prayer hat, but his thick brown hair was visible from the sides. His beard was combed neatly and I smiled as he pulled me into a sudden embrace, for some reason, sensing that something was different about him yet not being able to put my finger on it. Maybe he was just tired? Possibly.

“I missed you, beautiful,” Aadam whispered as he took my hand, his eyes smiling as he sat on the edge of the chair at the back porch.

I grinned back at him. I had missed him too, but spending time with the boys like old times was amazing.

“Thank you for sorting out Hannah’s papers,” I said quietly, not wanting the boys to hear. “She came by earlier.”

”Really?” He said, sitting up and looking at me with interest. “She actually came here? What did Rubeena say?!”

”She was quite mature about the whole thing,” I said, shrugging. “Personally, I think Hannah just brought out a very active side of Shabeer that Rubeena wasn’t able to see anyway…”

Aadam said nothing, but gave a knowing smile.

”I’m so glad she’s out of that,” I said quietly, as I squeezed his hand.

”Me too,” he almost whispered. “I’m so glad it’s all coming together.”

I didn’t read into his words, as I watched the boys as they started working with Aadam’s exciting tools. The boys were embarking on a real task as he watched, thrilled at their eagerness. From time to time he would get up, check on their progress whilst he gave them some motivating words, and then sit back on the couch.

”You’ve got them really busy, haven’t you?” Rubeena said as she stepped out, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun.

”I’ve got everyone on a schedule,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Mums sorting out the diet and cooking, and after a small chat, there are some good things that are actually finding its way to my plate. Ma is on the property front, looking out for a good investment apartment for me. Siraj is on the health front, doing all the important things and making sure my finances are in order… You’re doing my paperwork and admin, which by the way… needs a lot of catching up with…”

Rubeena smiled as I looked at her, wondering how Aadam was still worried about administrative aspects and finances when he was supposed to be taking it easy. It just didn’t seem important to me right then.

I didn’t quite understand why he was having me over in the weekends and his mum on week nights. Why he came to Rubeena everyday for lunch. It didn’t click with me why, after years, him and his father had taken a fishing trip down the coast, and why he came to spend time with the boys on a Friday evening despite being so exhausted.

Aadam was actually very carefully planning a way to spend private time with each of us in a very subtle way.

I watched Rubeena shake her head as she walked away. It didn’t faze me as I got up to get my bag, my mind occupied because the time time for my study session that Nusaybah would have my head about if I missed was nearly there…

“Khawlah,” Aadam said, a twinkle in his eye as I waved to the boys and leant down to peck his dimpled cheek. “I haven’t designated you to a task as yet…”

I raised my eyebrows at him as he smiled convincingly. I could already tell that his mind was occupied, planning for what would soften the blow…

“What can I do for you, sire?” I asked him, crossing my arms over my chest as he looked up at me.

”A small request, love,” he said softly. To me though, it sounded something like a death sentence.

“Can I have you to myself tomorrow?” he said, meeting my eye. “Early?! I have somewhere that I want to take you…”

---

 

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

 

 

#RevivetyesunnahofMiswaak 

#revivetheSunnahofAkhlaaq 

#revivetheSunnahofKinship

#revivetheSunnahofhonouringguests

 

#revivetheSunnahofdrinkingwater 

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Twitter: @ajourneyjournal

 

When the Tables Turn…

Bismihi Ta’ala

Rubeena

Everyone loves a good speciality. Trust me. I know.

I’m sure by now, you’ve at least figured that I’m not one of those sickly skinny girls who are obsessed with my diet. I do not spend my precious moments before tucking into my regular double-decker cheese burgers (with a fizzy drink) counting carbs and watching sugar intake. I don’t even understand people who guilt themselves about essential edibles.

And as the daughter of the locally sought-after culinary expert, I’m pretty well acquainted with the drill. And no, the skill is not hereditary, so please don’t ask me to cook for you. My food is passable and that’s that. It doesn’t mean that I’m the next Nigella or whoever the Indian equivalent is, but I do know that a pure butter pastry (margarine what?) tops the charts and that freshly ground garlic is the best thing you’ll ever waste your time making. I’ve learnt even though you can barely taste spices like turmeric, you cannot possibly make a good curry without it. I know that ready-fried onions makes my mother turn up her nose and rotis made with pure ghee are completely unrelated to those flattish pieces of dough that I sometimes buy from the shop down the road (when I’ve run out of my mother’s weekly supply).

My father can tell the difference just by looking at it, and if that isn’t skill, I don’t know what is.

The thing is, everything has its speciality, and I’m a big fan of the foodie version. There’s always a highlight of the lot. The exception to the usual. And we all strive to find that speciality, whether it be in a dish, a side or even just a extra thing we make for fun. We like specialities. We like to have ‘unique’ things. Everyone wants to be different.

I guess what I’m trying to say, is that there’s a little underrated thing that comes for free, that sets us aside from everyone else. It’s an inherent quality, and having it makes us unique. It makes us the speciality. Me. You. Anyone who has it.

Its called sincerity. It’s called beautiful intentions. When someone comes to you with a pure heart and goodness overflowing from them, there’s just something special about them that draws you to them and makes you love them. And wouldn’t you want to be the speciality of the human race, as we know it? And I’m not saying that everyone is out there to con you, but when people are truly sincere in what they do, Allah sees the truth in what you are presenting, whether it be the tiniest form of a charitable smile or the hugest trip of  lifetime ‘Fee Sabillilah’.

And then of course, comes the beautiful reality, because with sincerity comes a very special type of status. A status of exemption. The status of love. The Hadith of Jibraeel (AS) being summoned by Allah makes my hair stand on end every time I hear it.

Abu Huraira (may Allah be pleased with him) narrated that the Prophet (peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) said: ‘if Allah loves a person, He calls Jibrael saying,

’Allah loves so and so; O Jibrael love him… 

And make an announcement amongst the inhabitants of the heaven:

“Allah loves so and so therefore you should love him also.

 And so, all the inhabitants of the heaven would love him, and then he is granted the pleasures of the people on the earth.”

[Al- Bukhari and Muslim].

SubhaanAllah…

And no matter how often I hear this spectacular narration, I can never tire of it’s amazement. I mean, can you possibly even imagine Allah taking your name and mentioning it, not just to any angel, but the most noble of all angels that exist? The one who was given the honor of sending Wahee to the prophets and the likes. Can you imagine being so honored, that not only does your name leave their lips, but gets engraved with them so they are so much inclined to you, that they actually begin to love you?

The awe of it all just nearly sends my heart into cardiac arrest.

So, back to the point before I go completely off track here… Whilst on my pursuit to find the best form of sincerity in every action I did, like I had been learning in the Taaleem I’d been briefly attending before my Iddat, I had truly attained so much. Really. In hoping to be sincere in all that I did, I was making every attempt to move past my delusional past. I was hoping to find peace, contentment and to just keep my stomach full enough to stay away from sins and not put on exorbitant amounts of weight that will send my mother into fits of rage. 

The only problem was that it seemed like Shabeer was living in some kind of ‘stupid zone’ during this whole advent. While I was trying to ‘find myself’,  yet again, as I embarked on a mission to attempt to shake myself off of him and make future plans for the benefit of my kids and I, his constant calls and visits would come to throw everything off track again.

“Salaam babe,” his smooth voice came as I  raced down the stairs with my abaya, hearing the front door open.

Crap. He was early. And crap again. I really needed to remember to take his keys away.

Shabeer didn’t understand boundaries. He was like one of those irritating mosquitos that relentlessly stuck around no matter how hard you tried to slap the life out of him.

”Don’t babe me,” I said through gritted teeth. Honestly, was this man dense or just delusional?

“What are you up to? Getting bored yet?” He asked, ignoring my statement.

He said it with a hint of cynical humor, and I clenched my fist in preparation for a mental punch. Maybe a few.

I tried to picture him with a blue eye. It definitely made me feel so much better.

”You’re not supposed to be here alone,” I said, tightening my scarf around my head and glaring at him. “Why can’t you just ring the doorbell like a normal person?”

“I can come when I want. What is all this nonsense?” Shabeer said in a low tone, looking me up and down with an ugly frown. “ You look like one of those burka aunties from Fordsburg. Come on Ruby, we were married for 11 years. Now you acting like some untouchable hijaabi.”

”Shabeer,” I said, as if I was talking to a kid. “Don’t. you. get. it. We’re not married anymore.”

”Ruby,” he said, his voice sounding calm and collected, as I breathed out impatiently. “Seriously. Stop this silly game now. Let’s make up like good, responsible parents and sort this out. You know you can’t survive without me. I’ve worked my backside off to give you the best life I could. A beautiful house. A trending car. Extraordinary holidays. How would you keep up, doll? No average guy will be able to compare… All your friends would laugh at you. Come on, just let me come back home.”

“For what?” I asked, rolling my eyes. “So I can put up with more of your lies? Why don’t you call to speak to the kids once in a while? To pick them up? Spend some time with your sons? Really Shabeer, I haven’t even seen one thing change in you!”

”Ah Ruby, don’t be so hard,” he said, putting on his pitiful voice that I knew so well. “Baby steps, alryt? We can’t all just change overnight. Dammit, you have such high expectations. All you high maintenance women, and you’ll wonder why your husbands mess around. Don’t you ever get tired of yourself?”

“You are such a -“ I started, raging. All my aspirations to be a better person were going down the drain. Turning the tables around was Shabeer’s speciality.

”Sheeeeshhh!” Shabeer said, raising his eyebrows and waving his hand at me. “Behave yourself, woman. The lawyer is here. We don’t want any ugly words reaching his ears. He might just label you an unfit mother.”

Shabeer sniggered as he watched my expression turn to thunderous, and I honestly wanted to break him.

The man made my blood boil. He really wanted to play things this way? 

I glared at him with such venom that he promptly shut up and made his way out of my view to discuss what he needed to with the lawyer.

I knew that Shabeer needed money and wanted to sell the house, but I couldn’t even stomach the thought. He wanted to buy a flat for us, and get away cheap. There were lots of things to finalize and I didn’t want the kids to be around when we did it. Things that meant nothing to me, but I had to sort out for them. I had to get documentation in order so I could own the house, so I wouldn’t have to move out and disrupt their lives. I didn’t yet tell Shabeer about my plans, but I had enough money saved up to buy it from him, if he asked. I knew that this had potential to get ugly and I wanted to be prepared.

I sat on the couch and took a deep breath. I had to learn to breathe. Things were getting a little overwhelming for me and there was only so much I could do to stop myself from having an anxiety attack. And I knew I was that kind of person who didn’t deal very well in neurotic kind of situations, but as Shabeer finally left me in peace that morning, I knew that I had to get my act together and woman up.

And then of course, about half an hour later, just as  I finally felt the rising in my chest subside momentarily, my heart kind of shot out my mouth at the shrill ringing of the doorbell that caught me by surprise.

Of course I wasn’t expecting anyone.

The last thing I wanted while I was in enjoying my peace were people coming to annoy my life. I could just imagine what the ladies from gym would say. They would be looking at me all pitifully, talking about how I must be feeling like I’m in a prison. The facts were that it was the majority of them who were still stuck in that prison of an unfaithful marriage and chasing the world.

And sometimes I really did wish that it had turned out differently with Shabeer.  I still made Duaa that he would change some day, especially for the sake my boys. When I thought about how he had gone from bad to worse over the years, it was no wonder that my heart had changed too. I just couldn’t  feel that love anymore.

And thank goodness that as I glimpsed outside, instead of seeing half a dozen brain-eating women on my doorstep, I glimpsed the lean frame of my awesome brother who was resting  his shoulder against my front door.

He was alone, and as I pulled the door open to welcome him with the hugest of smiles (just because I was so relieved that he wasn’t Shabeer or a nosy woman who craved the latest gossip), something about the way Adam smiled back that day gave me a heads up that everything wasn’t okay.

“Assalamualaikum,” he said as he stepped in. “Where are the little guys? I’ve been missing them.”

Aadam had dropped them off the day before. Today, I had somehow convinced my father to take them for a few hours, just to kill their boredom. I wished I could be like those Instamums who did crafty arts and stuff with their kids all day long, but at this stage of my life, just the thought of paint on the carpet and glue all over the walls exhausted me. It was just hard to be at home with four kids all the time. They were literally eating my head in.

“They’re gone to mum for a while,” I replied. “I needed some time… can I offer you coffee?”

I didn’t elaborate on Shabeer as Adam nodded. Why should I bore him with my legal details?

He lowered himself into the couch, looking a little dazed while I switched the kettle on.

Now, I’ve always had an awesome relationship with my brother, and because he was generally so happy-go-lucky and barely complained about a thing, I knew him so well that if there was something bothering him, it was nothing that a good cuppa couldn’t squeeze out.

And of course, with my own neurotic tendencies, a cup of the condensed milk- sweetened version (with extra cream) was just what I needed to put all my anxiety at bay.  So when Adam sighed and rested his head back in exhaustion, I couldn’t help but prop myself up next to him with two mugs of luxury coffee, stare him down and force him to spill it out.

“You’re alone today?” I said, thinking it a bit strange since Khawlah was on holiday.

He shrugged. He definitely was not even remotely himself.

“She’s been busy,” he said, glancing at me momentarily.  “Her brother’s had somewhere to be a few days back. Some chic to see..”

”You mean Ahmed?” I said, my breathing a little stunted. He was going to see a girl? 

Adam nodded and shrugged. Goodness. My brother looked heartbroken. Maybe even more than me.

Focus Ruby. Focus on Adam.

“They didn’t tell you to come with?” I said,  really wanting more details, but also curious as to why Adam didn’t accompany them. He was married to Khawlah.

Plus, who was this ‘chic’ that Ahmed was suddenly interested in? The curiosity was killing me.

“She’s angry,” he said finally, raising his eyebrows. “We had an exchange. I suppose I didn’t think it was a big thing until I thought about it… but for her…”

I tut-tutted to myself as Adam spoke, feeling his pain, and forgetting my own inclination to know gory details of the samoosa run.

Trouble in paradise, huh? I just hoped it wasn’t serious.

“Was it something you did?” I asked him, not wanting to pry but itching to know. It was a completely tearing feeling.

“It was in the past,” he said, swallowing as he looked at me. “But I would never hurt her on purpose, Rubes. This is too much… she hasn’t spoken to me in days. She’s ignoring my calls. Doesn’t come out when I go there. It’s getting embarrassing to go there and I really don’t know what else to do…”

Adam looked absolutely distressed as he glanced at me and ran his hand through his beard. He was such a genuinely and sincerely nice person that I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He placed the mug on the coffee table next to him, without even taking a sip.

Never mind. More for me.

I sighed as I watched him, looking like some kind of lost person. I didn’t know my brother’s past inside out but I had met his previous girlfriend, and I knew that it wasn’t just the kind of relationship that doesn’t leave any scars. At that time I didn’t know it was wrong. We were ignorant. The thing was, with Khawlah… she didn’t come from the type of life that we knew. The dysfunctional life that was full of gross details, ugly sins and disturbing dysfunction.

For her 16-year-self, though she was exceptionally mature, I could imagine that certain aspects of our immodest life were too sheltered to even process…

She lived in a childish fantasy where everything was sunny and earthly, and though I loved that and her idealism, the reality was that life was absolutely appalling.

Especially mine.

And just as I was about to explain that to Adam, my words kind of died on my lips as a burst of rowdiness blasted through the front passage.

And it didn’t take a genius to figure out that all four of my boys were back. I figured that sooner or later my parents would get fed up of them, and as they burst into into the room we were in, there was a series of excited jumps and greetings as Adam welcomed them with open arms and boy-like gestures. And of course it was all fun and exciting, but as they high-fived Adam, and I glimpsed my mothers face… I was already reminding myself about all my aspirations for being a better daughter.

She had an irate look on her face as she stood there, her hands folded on her chest, and for once as I followed her gaze, I was so grateful that it wasn’t directed at me.

And because I was in the clear, I didn’t even dwell on it further as I busied myself making another cup of coffee for my wonderful father, while my mother shook her head at my offer and stood there with that expression that I thought had become her inherent one.

I was so busy counting my lucky stars and whipping up the perfect cup of latte, that I barely even noticed her staring with hostility at Adam’s retreating back. It was only when her screech for him reached my ears, did I fully process her unconventional attitude towards her darling son. 

“Mum?” He said, backtracking slightly and looking at her with a frown. “All okay?”

”Do I look like everything is okay?” She shot back, her face all stony and down-right disgruntled. “Have you ever seen me like this before?!”

”Errrrrr…”

That was mistake number one. I honestly wanted block my eyes. Though I completely got Adam’s point, let me just warn you that if you ever meet my wonderful mother, never… and I repeat, NEVER, let my mother know that her grumpiness has been noted before. She will never let you forget it.

“Let me just tell you something, mister!” She almost yelled, her face beet red. Thank goodness the kids were outside. “I spend my whole life trying to make both you kids happy and this is the type of payback I get!”

Jasses. Why did I get tossed in everywhere? I was the resident dump-site.  All I was busy doing was minding my own business.

“Mum-“ Adam started.

”You just listen to me!” she snapped, wagging her finger and edging closer to him as she tossed her newly highlighted hair back. “I won’t have you’ll making a fool of me. I will not be made into an unfit mother who brings up kids who can’t even hold together their marriages!”

She shot a look at me as she said it, and I cringed. I love how she blamed my failed marriage only on me. Like Shabeer was just a poor bystander. As if. 

“Mum, I don’t think you know what’s going on,” Adam said pointedly.

And, there we have it, folks. Mistake number two. 

Never, ever, tell my mother that she doesn’t know what’s going on. Even if she doesn’t know what’s going on, she still does.

”Oh, I know exactly what’s going on,” she snapped, raising her eyebrows. “I’ve had people asking me if you are also getting divorced. Already! Can. you. imagine. my. EMBARRASSMENT?!”

And I’m not even exaggerating with the punctuation there. That was exactly how she said it.

“They think there’s something wrong with me, that both of your marriages are headed for destruction! You brought that innocent girl into our home and you messed it up, didn’t you?!”

Adam was gaping at my mother like a goldfish. For once he had no smooth words to swizzle her.

”I warned you about this, didn’t I?” She continued with her resident glare. “I knew there’ll be problems. I even tried to show you before, but you were adamant!”

What? Was that what all her drama was about? I was dumbfounded.

When did the tables turn? How did people even know about the dynamics between Adam and Khawlah?

“It’s not as serious-“

”It DOESN’T MATTER!” my mother yelled, her glare still directed at Adam. “You fix this! I don’t care what you have to do or how you have to convince her. Even if it means that you sit outside her house day and night until she comes back, you make sure you put this right. You young people think that marriage is just a game! I won’t have both my kids moping around with failed marriages. I’m not an incompetent parent. Grow up and do what what it takes… or else!”

I was gob-smacked. Not to mention, absolutely terrified.

The last part was what scared me. From experience, I knew that ‘or else’ from my mother was not just a regular threat. It usually involved a helluva lot of sucking up, painful cajoling and sleepless nights of feeling like the failed and rejected child. Believe me. I know.

And despite my father gaping at her in shock yet again, and Adam looking like he really wanted to cry, with that, she tossed her glossy auburn-colored hair back, spun around on her dainty heels, and gracefully walked out.

---

 

WIll reply to all comments soon.. A longer post that hopefully makes up for the delay!

Much Love,

A xx

 

As per the previous posts, we are now on the Sunnah of Drinking Water 

1. The Sunnah of drinking water states that blowing on hot water or exhaling into a water glass can spread bacteria into the water. Therefore, it’s important that you move the glass of water away from your mouth after taking a sip so that you can avoid breathing onto thewater. Recite “Alhamdulillah” after drinking water.

 

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