In the Clouds

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 70

Travel. It had it moments. Sometimes when things get a little over the top, it’s good to remind yourself where the sunshine is. There was just something about the open skies with cotton candy clouds that made me light-headed with elation.

And then there’s one above that:

Praying to your Lord when up in the air. Well, that was just sublime. A feeling of being grounded, without actually being on the ground. A touch of freedom without actually being free. It was a most powerful weapon, a way to find home, wherever in the world you may be.

When your head finds the ground, and you are connected with your Rabb, there’s no other place you can go but higher.
It was a beautiful reminder that everything that happened and everything in existence was never our doing and always controlled by the Greatest Power of All.

And up there, amidst the great white cotton clouds, with natural silver linings from beyond, glared a light from the highest point of where one could ever conceive.

The view from the way up where even blue birds fly was something that reminded me of faith and fairy tales, and the feeling of being beyond it made my heart soar just as high as the airplane did.

SubhaanAllah.

I mean, have you ever stopped to think how Allah Ta’ala commutes people over seas, in a meagre piece of metal? How the airborne vessel actually stays up there, despite it defying every conceivable law that you’ve ever known? How Allah Ta’ala seems so much closer and greater as you peak out at the clouds, letting your imagination run wild as you wonder what Jannah really looks like, and what it really felt like to be able to have whatever your heart desires…

Narrated Abu Hurairah [ra]:

“I have prepared for My righteous servants what no eye has seen and no ear has heard, nor has it occurred to the human heart. Thus, recite if you wish, ‘And no soul knows what joy has been kept hidden for them.”’

(Sahih al-Bukhari, Muslim, at-Tirmidhi, and ibn Majah, Surah Al Sajdah, 32: 17)

It was a first for me. After Umrah with my parents years back, it was a first time I’d travelled so far and for such a worthy distance and it made me see life out of the bubble I’d always keep myself in.

The thing was; travelling not only opened your mind, but also offered a stark and rude awakening as to how status-driven the world was. The world judges according to what kind of holidays you had, how much money you forked out for your tickets and what kind of brands you sported while you continued on your mission of competing for the best instagram hits for your travel diaries.

Being tucked away in a farm in the corner of Gauteng, and with my nose stuck in books wasn’t exactly conducive to reality. This- being in the hustle of bustle of major movements and people of the world- was reality… and it wasn’t pretty.

On the up side, it was a welcome diversion from the last week at home when Nani had forced me to meet Muneer (aka Doctorsaab) again. Doc was making efforts to solidify his case as husband material, to the extent where his cringe-worthy shenanigans made me feel as if I wasn’t even remotely old enough to be subjected to his courting.

I had made sure that I maintained a safe distance on the couch at the opposite side of the room and excused myself when things got a little too haraami-like, my cheeks flaming red as Nani wiggled her eyebrows at me when I exited the room.

And there I was, thinking that the older generation was supposed to have a natural sense of modesty. Nani may have just been the exception.

I still, for the life of me, could never imagine myself actually married to him… leave alone being his smoothie chef and raising his rugrats for the rest of my life. Nani couldn’t understand how I could not want to be the wife of a Ken-look-alike who had a medical degree and the depth of a shallow pond.

I sighed, pulling out my backpack and my jacket and placing my doodling pad back in. Sketching was something I did to keep myself busy, although I wasn’t exactly amazing at it. I just didn’t want to get caught up in the in-flight entertainment this time, so I had carried enough to keep myself busy for all those hours, and not let the holiday spirit conquer the better parts of me.

I pulled my scarf on tighter, taking note that just because I was on a technical ‘break’, didn’t mean that I forgot who I was. It was a small reminder to myself that wherever we are in the world, we were Muslims first.

Dress wise, character wise and Imaan-wise. One slip could be disastrous. Deen was a complete way of life, a soothing for the lost soul, and a quenching relief when we are faced with the drought of hope that the world brings. Going out there, into the open, seeing so many new faces and places… well, it made our lives seem so small compared to the vastness that surrounded…

Being here, finally having landed in Heathrow Airport, I was feeling like an entirely different person. After going through the queues, searches and motions that came with regular travel took up a good amount of time and energy, but I was in awe of what kinds of lesson I took was going to take home here, even when my trip had just begun.

People watching had got my mind all fired up as I wondered what each persons story was… what they were here for and where they were headed. I grabbed my Qur’ān that I had placed in the seat holder, pushed my glasses up my nose, and headed out behind my uncle and aunty as they all started disembarking.

”Mo-Seena?” A voice said, and of course, I didn’t turn around because it wasn’t my name they were calling, but I heard it loud and clear.

My sisters name. Well, a version of it. But my sister wasn’t here, so…

“No,” the voice said, and I could hear her talking to someone else about how this girl looks like Mohsina but she can’t be her. “Mos’s sister, right? Jameena?!”

And at that, I swung around, nearly toppling over in the midst of people streaming around me, finally being able to see who the speaker was, and giving her a once over as I did.

A few people gave me annoyed looks and I blushed and quickly continued walking as I smiled at the girl, already recognising who she was.

I probably hadn’t seen her more than twice in my life, but I had heard plenty about her from Mos. It had been an amazing thing when she had reverted and seeing her at Mohsina and Hamzah’s function dresser completely differently to how she had been dressed the previous time had completely bowled me over.

I mean, what were the odds of meeting Mohsina’s long lost friend and colleague here in Heathrow airport today?

Definitely no coincidence. And what was her name again. Ah, yes.

“Lesley?!”

I was honestly gobsmacked to see the amazing transformation of this beautiful girl. Her hijab was tied beautifully, with not even a strand of her blonde hair showing. Her modest dress was flowy and loose, with her ankles covered, and I was honestly struck with a feeling of amazement as I watched her.

”Oh my goodness,” she breathed while I fell back and we trudged along with our hand luggage. She had echoed my own thoughts, leaning forward to embrace me, until her vanilla mixed with Orbit gum scent overpowered me. “It’s so great to see you! Assalamualaikum!”

”You too,” I said shyly, greeting back and trying not to stare, despite how intrigued I was, as we made small talk.

Her husband was at a few steps behind, dragging two hand luggage cases with him as we made our way through the long and wide corridors.

As for Lesley, who had actually just let me know that she was called Aalia, I couldn’t believe how much she had changed. She had a look of serene contentment on her face, and I couldn’t quite digest how Allah Ta’ala can take someone from zero to hero and make them one of His most beloved just through the gift of Hidayat. It was nothing short of a miracle.

When Allah wants to guide, there’s no limits.

”How is Mos, after… everything..?” She asked, her eyes concerned for my sister as we glimpsed a queue ahead. “I think of them so much. How is the baby?!”

She didn’t say it but I knew that she meant after Liyaket and Layyanah’s death. It always felt like people were too scared to mention them. I felt the same way too. Death pricks at parts of us that are sometimes buried deep below, and when we go there, sometimes it feels like picking at an old scab that doesn’t quite want to heal.

She smiled sadly and I remembered that they all worked together at one point. It was a loss that they felt unanimously.

“She’s… good,” I said, nodding. She was good. Mostly. “Zaid too. Coping. Mohsina has her moments.”

It wasn’t untrue, what I had said. I didn’t want to mention that Mohsina was having quite a few moments, up until lately.

Her moods had been a little weird lately. On top of their marital woes, they were still very obviously dealing with a tragedy, and I also knew that Rabia had gotten a little hectic too with targeting Mohsina, especially after she posted a little something malicious on Instagram last week.

I knew where it all came from of course.

And I pretended like I wasn’t shocked, but I actually couldn’t believe that Mohsina’s in-laws didn’t call their daughter out for doing it. I honestly feel that the girl had never caught a hiding from her parents before, and it entitled her to acting the way she did.

She had taken it upon herself to write a long post that about family members who were big influencers and supposed to inspire people, yet kicked people out of their houses and had sinister methods (with a whole lot more falsified drama to the story).

It was a very obvious jab at my sister and though Mohsina went a little crazy, and it came with more name calling and coverage that sent dms to @mostlymoshina too, I couldn’t quite understand what went through Rabia’s head.

Mohsina was still angry at Rabia (if not even more so now than before), and the thing was, I kind of felt sorry for Hamzah, who just looked at a dead loss when it came to the dramas between his sister and Mos. When it came to the relationship between sisters-in-law, I could see how it went.

Where Hamzah pushed to make things okay, both women pulled, making it even more complicated.

“I’m sure Hamzah is taking care of her,” Lesley was saying, after a few seconds, in step with me as we walked toward the queue. Passport control queue was going to kill us. “He always was a good guy.”

“He is,” I said, nodding in agreement, despite what Mohsina complained about lately. The usuals. That he was brainwashed by his sister and never stood up for her. But he was a good husband nonetheless. An amazing father and role model to Zaid. “That’s what’s important. And he’s good for Mohsina. You won’t believe how much she’s changed too…”

”I know,” she said, her eyes twinkling as we reached the gates. “I’ve noticed from social media… or should I say lack of it…? She’s so different to what she was… what can I say? Pre-Hamzah…? I truly believe that the best kind of spouse is one that makes you check yourself, lifts your Imaan and really brings out the best parts of you.”

Wow. To have that coming from Lesley was super inspiring.

“So true,” I said, with a small smile. “Sometimes he is the only one who can talk sense into her.”

He really was. Even when Nani couldn’t get through to her Hamzah just knew which angle to go in with.  I knew that the magic was in the words of the Qur’ān that had changed her heart, and the way she saw everything thereafter. Hamzah was just the product of her efforts, the continuation she needed for her love story with Allah to continue.

”I always knew the two of them had a thing for each other,” Lesley whispered to me with a wink. “I think everyone in the office did. Including Faadil. That’s why he sunk his paws into her. I still can’t believe that ever happened.”

I paused briefly, careful not give away too much in my expression, not aware that Lesley knew about Faadil. Not aware that Faadil knew about Hamzah either. All these office dramas were way beyond my understanding.

”Allah saved her from a nightmare,” I said, almost to myself, honestly wondering how she would have dealt with a marriage that featured someone who respected no one but his own selfish needs.

It was a twisted triangle where the better man had definitely won, and I hoped it would stay that way.

Haraam relationships had a way of biting you in the behind at some point. I just hoped that it wasn’t still making its way back to her.

And as we queued and made our way out, waving to Lesley and joining my uncle and aunty as they grabbed a taxi and finally got to the hotel, I was still completely in awe of the meeting with Lesley.

Once again I felt sublime gratitude that I saw this. That it made me appreciate Deen so much. That someone else had seen a beauty in it that made them want it too. That I could be here to witness and learn so much from what I had seen.

The hotel was a good half hour away, but getting to where there was some Wi-Fi was an amazing relief, and I couldn’t help but log on to WhatsApp quickly and send my mother, Maahi and Nusaybah messages to let them know I was in town and at the hotel.

I had to be quick because Nani was stalking me on WhatsApp, so I was afraid to go online. I knew from Mohsina that she had a habit of doing that, especially when she didn’t like the way something was going. It was a good thing that I didn’t check statuses because I kind of figured that Nani had probably put something about ideal, amazing husbands on hers, in an effort to nudge me toward the likes of Doctorsaab who seemed to fit every criteria she had set for me.

The hotel we were staying at was central but basic, and I sighed tiredly as we finally reached our rooms and plopped my bag on the floor. I had already splayed myself on the bed, enjoying the feeling of lying completely flat for the first time in over a day. M

As always, airplane seats were comfortable to sit in, but barely suitable to sleep in. Though the room I had now wasn’t big or fancy, it was neat and clean, and that was really all I needed right then.

I didn’t even realise how tired I was, until my head found the pillow and I almost instantly drifted off into a soothing slumber, only waking to the sound of buzzing next to me as I grabbed my phone.

All that flight time had definitely had it’s effect, and as I glimpsed Nusaybah’s name on the screen as I picked up, I tried my best to sound anything but drunk with tiredness as I greeted.

“Girl, where are you?” Her upbeat voice said, and I could hear the background noise as she spoke, almost as if she was in the middle of a bustling street.

I stifled a yawn, pulling my specs on, hoping I didn’t sound like a complete dead loss.

“I’m downstairs in the foyer. Waiting for you. Faheem is on call and dropped me off here on his way. Come join me.”

”I’m coming,” I croaked, trying to rub the sleepy drunkenness out of my eyes.

Gosh. Nusaybah was really something else. I couldn’t believe that she had come so soon.

I glimpsed a message for Maahira saying that she was working till late but may see me the next day. Pulling on an abaya and a scarf, I speedily exited the room before she came up to literally yank me out of bed. She was so full of energy that I really couldn’t keep up.

My mind was already overwhelmed with the new spaces as I ventured downstairs to the reception area, glimpsing Nusaybah from a distance, her niqab covering half her face as her eyes crinkled with joy.

Being in a new country hadn’t yet settled in for me.

But being here with Nusaybah… well, she was really one of those people who reminded you of Allah Ta’ala, just by seeing them. It was the reason I met her over and over again.
She was always so full of life and energy, and good advices, and it was only natural that her positivity overflowed to those around her. Seeing her already made me feel at home, even in this strange place. Just being with her gave me a whole new sense of purpose.

I couldn’t help but spend a few seconds admiring the view of the city behind us after greeting her with a huge hug, before I finally took a seat opposite her. She was studying a menu, and I didn’t even realise my tummy was rumbling until she asked me if I was fine with sharing a snack platter.

I nodded, knowing that the hotel probably didn’t offer much else halaal, just happy to see her for now.

”You’re looking jet-lagged,” She said with a grin, closing her menu. I had spoken to her on WhatsApp a few times since she left and she knew a little of what was going on. “How was the flight?”

”It was refreshing,” I said honestly. “I can’t remember when’s the last time I flew. Just glad to be here, finally!”

She grinned.

”The flight can be killers,” she said, shaking her head. “But Alhumdulillah. Everything okay back home?”

I groaned, knowing she was referring to Nani, especially since she was honoured to witness the first hand verbal assaults of my grandmother when she was going through what she called her very own kind of emergency.

”Err, kinda,” I said, still remembering Nani’s parting words before l left. “Honestly, I feel relieved to have some time out of the mix.”

I didn’t want to mention that Nani was far from happy about me running away in the middle of a proposal. Neither did I want to mention that Muneer actually did propose. Thinking about it gave me a weird feeling in my gut.

It wasn’t exactly the way I planned to spend my short break but with Nani, there wasn’t much compromising. She wanted me to give an answer in two days, no matter where in the world I was. She would have no other way.

Nusaybah smiled a quirky smile as the waiter came up to us with the platter two hot drinks that looked exactly like what I needed. It was freezing outside.

“You can tell me,” she said with a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard all the levels of cray cray and I’m not even kidding. My husbands ones sister is not exactly my cup of tea but I put up with her. Someone bothering you?”

Sounded like Nusaybah had a similar issue to Mohsina. Why were sisters in law like that sometimes? Why was Nani like this sometimes? 

Anyway, I could barely imagine Nusaybah being that kind of sister-in-law. But then again, I would never know, right?

”Remember the doctor?” I said, letting the drink warm my palms, and cutting straight to the chasr. “The one that came with a proposal.”

Her eyes widened and she looked at me and blinked once.

Exactly how I felt

“Oh Emm Gee, Jameela!” She exclaimed, and I was so sure she would spill her drink as she almost jumped up. “A stunning and amazing girl like you with so much of goodness in your heart… Of course he proposed! He would be an idiot not to!”

She chuckled to herself as she watched me, and I smiled shyly, wondering how to tell her that I was feeling completely in over my head here.

“And I would be an idiot not to accept, right?”

The question hung in the air as I said it, and she gave me a sympathetic look for a moment and grabbed a cracker, before she spoke again.

”You don’t have to do anything,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sure he’s a great guy, but I’ve realised that everyone looks for different qualities in their spouse. Usually, qualities that compliment theirs, traits that they don’t have. So if he’s got all those things that you always wanted, if he can build you to be a better person and pushes you toward Allah, then I would say, it’s a good match. But if not….”

She trailed off, and I noticed she didn’t meet my eye as she said it.

She knew. She knew that I didn’t want to marry this guy. Just like how Mohsina and Papa and my mother knew too. I just needed affirmation that I was doing the right thing. I mean, who turns down a handsome and upcoming doctor, who looks so good on paper. It was ludicrous.

But nonetheless. I still didn’t feel it, no matter how hard I tried to. The people milling around us seemed to fade out as we spoke, and I didn’t anticipate feeling it so deeply as I did then.

“What do you ask for?” She said softly, and I looked at her, slightly confused as she watched me.

“What do you mean?” I asked, slightly confused.

“I mean, like in your Duaas,” she said with a wink. “I would always tease my friend Khawlah that I wasn’t ever sure what kind of amazing Duaas she made. She got a Mr Perfect… and she got an amazing husband twice over. She had been through so much when she was younger, and then her first husband passed away when they were both really young… and I honestly wondered what kind of status she had when she got married again to her childhood friend who she never thought she’d see again. Seeing dreams come true is something like eating chocolate. Sweet and addictive. I know it sounds idealistic… but is this guy… this doctor… well, is he your dream guy?”

Dream guy. I mean, I didn’t even know if that existed, but I got what she meant. Was he everything I had imagined?

I hated to say it, but he was nothing like I imagined.

I shook my head, feeling like I’d disappointed myself by admitting it.
Nusaybah, however, looked unbothered. Almost as if she knew I would say that from the onset.

What she didn’t know was who it was that actually fitted that description for me. How I would daydream about him asking Papa about me. But of course, I could never tell her that. It was way too embarrassing to be crushing on a guy who barely even noticed I existed until I broke into his weapon house stash.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to know. I was just too afraid to tell her. What if what I said was too close to what are knew? What if she actually suspected that I was a little obsessed with her brother.

It was something I would take to the grave.

“So what do you ask for?”

What do I ask for? My Duaas were pretty basic. I didn’t really know what I wanted. The usual was a man who is brave and kind, puts Allah first and isn’t afraid to stand up for what he believes in. In this day and age, it was so hard to find the right person.

I think everyone is looking for someone who is good to them, unconditionally. Someone they can talk to and who they like to listen to. It sounds quite simple but it’s actually kind of hard to find both.

“I suppose I just want someone who is decent and has good values,” I said quietly, heading for the safe route. It was important to me though.  Someone who didn’t do others down was important. “Someone who l who sees me for who I really am…. instead of just a pretty face or whatever guys see when they look at me…”

I trailed off because I didn’t want to sound stupid. Good ethics was the best I had. But what do you know about ethics when you meet a person?

“That sounds fair,” she said with a nod. “Jameela, you’re so sweet. Like, one of the sweetest and unassuming people I ever met. You’re light and happiness and candy floss…”

I giggled as she chuckled at her own words.

I was candy floss. Really?

“I’m serious,” she said, her eyes going wide as she looked at me. “You are like that cute little poem. From the day I saw you, I thought.. ‘she’s sugar and spice and all things nice’. That’s why you need someone just as nice too, but with also a little bit of spice…”

She winked and I rolled my eyes, not even believing she was comparing me to a nursery rhyme.

“First impressions can be deceiving too,” I said with a grin, because she obviously thought way too much of me.

Nusaybahs eyes lit up.

“Zubair says the opposite,” she said with a grin, shaking her head, and my heart ridiculously raced at the mere mention of his name. “One of his many theories. Because I always ignore first impressions, and he doesn’t. He says you never get a second chance to make a first impression. Sometimes when you know, you know…”

I swallowed awkwardly, wondering how we ended up on the topic of Zubair again. And why, when it was precisely what I was trying to avoid.

“At least now that he’s away from my uncle I can have actual conversations with him,” she continued, almost absentmindedly as she went on. “He was so young when our mother passed away, and being there for him was second nature until something happened between my father and him and he fell into the wrong crowd. I honestly wish that I could turn back the clock, and guide him toward the right path before he got caught up, but it is what it is. My mother used to say that Allah’s plans for us are always more beautiful than our own wishes. Maybe it was my wish to always be there for him, but maybe it was Allahs plan for him to somehow end up right where he is.”

Oh my goodness, this was getting way too close to home.

The reality that hit me was like a wall of bricks cascading down. It had just occurred to me that I was so completely obsessed with her brother that I couldn’t even hear about him without acting like a complete idiot, and blushing as if I was already a new bride.

I was trying to walk away and hold on at the same time, and any thread of hope that she was offering was like glimpsing that silhouette of sunlight, like the one peeping out at me from behind the clouds.

What was wrong with me? I was so messed up. Completely done for. I felt like I needed to bath in Nani’s phook water. Or maybe I needed something stronger.

My mind is was in the gutter. Completely and utterly.

I was in the gutter. In the gutter. In the gutter.

But what Nusaybah said next was about to pull me out of there, and lift my hopes right to the clouds.

I just didn’t know it yet.

 

---

Dearest Readers

My sincerest apologies for the delay. Just that crazy time of year again, but I will try and post the next masala by Friday. Hehe.

Much Love,

A

x

Mission Sunnah Revival: 
Sunnah of Noble Character: 

Nabi (SAW) gave attention, spoke and showed love to even the worst person of a nation until the person felt that he is being given special attention.

May Allah make us of those who uphold the Sunnah of character always.

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

 

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When we Lose Ourselves

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 68

We all have our things that we do, that no one knows about. We all have our sins that we hide, until we find ourselves sinking into them. We all have moments when we lose us, who we really are, and become something that we’re not.

And as I gazed outside, the sun making its way out for the day, I found myself wondering at what point in ones life you hit that Nanima level, where the sun is at its brightest, and you can sit with a kitaab the entire day, and have no inclination to chase after the next best thing.

I often wondered, when I thought of Nani in great admiration, at which point I could ever be like that.

In theory, it sounded easy. Be good. Read your Qur’ān. Sit for Taaleem. Keep away from sin. Just stop craving excitement. Stop chasing the need to always be entertained.

And I wish I could just be so straight and pious, but the fact is that, as noble as our intention are, and as easy as it may seem in theory to only have Jannah vibes, we’re not always as strong as we think.

And it scared me. There were days when I felt that I was just barely pulling through. Almost like when you’re looking out after the sunset, into the darkness, trying to see the shadow of your hand… or even the glimpse of the shadow of it in front of you, and all you can see is the blackness.

That was me.

I was in a state the entire morning. I couldn’t sit. I couldn’t bake. I couldn’t focus on much besides the fact that Hamzah was completely ignoring my messages and I had no idea what had happened to make him like this.

Only, I couldn’t handle the pressure, and so I caved.

I slipped. I had spent way too long fighting my inherent tendencies to be the horrible person that I was, and so I caved and finally let it out. It had been way too long, staying away from all the haraami-girl things that I stayed away from during the last few months and somehow, I just gave in the the inner Shaytaan because I couldn’t hold myself back any longer.

Completely and irrefutably. I had absorbed myself in the new Netflix Turkish series that everyone was raving about while trying to divert my mind, until I realised that it was two-o-clock and I hadn’t even taken a shower.

Yes. That bad.

And then Saaliha messaged to say that Hamzah was there at the farm with some mafia guy and was meeting more mafia people and that’s when I turned into Nani and found myself losing every desire for haraam, because I felt like I was probably being punished for slipping up.

And I supposed that it happened for a reason.

I sighed.

And now, after all the drama of caving and guilt after, came a Mohsina who was panicking about her husband who seemed to have thrown himself into the midst of people who were most probably after our blood.

I was sitting on the couch, tasbeeh counter on hand, Nani style, diligently reading page after page of the book she had gifted me on my Nikah day.

My. Goodness.

I was turning into Nani. And the notion was making me feel all kinds of crazy, but as I sat on Friday evening in my burka and with my pansoora, as Nani would, making a very fervent Duaa for Allah Ta’ala to save us from all harm and destruction, I felt very positive that I was turning into my grandmother way ahead of time.

And although those moments were very rare, I had a very strong feeling that it was only in these private and desperate moments that I was finding my base, my truth and really connecting with my Lord to find my own self. It was true that dhikr was the only time that I could find myself warding off the tactics that Shaytaan always used with me…

There was just way too much going on all at once and simply being the way I was used to being didn’t help a thing.

And besides stressing over my husband having a death wish, the next thing I knew, Nani was WhatsApp calling me (like normal calls don’t even exist) and told me in her very secretive voice that Doctor Muneer had proposed for Jameela, and I went into a state of panic.

Jameela was nineteen. Nineteen. Was it really wise for her to be embarking on the marriage journey right then? 

“Don’t tell anyone yet,” Nani had almost whispered into the phone.

She didn’t call me often but when she did, you had to be certain that she had some really juicy news.

“Khairoon says he wants go there properly and speak to her again, but you know Jameela will think too much.”

“Mhmm,” I said vaguely.

She was allowed to think too much. Was Nani suggesting that she should just accept blindly, without even thinking properly, just because the proposal looked good on paper? 

She was still talking.

My sister was beautiful. Intelligent and amazing, and all the rest. I also knew that Doc was quite a realist and very much in touch with his own self, and it may be a bit of a shock to her. But also, well, isn’t that exactly what she needed to come back down to earth?

“…but I told them to rather phone and give proposal first and make it quick. You know Maulana was saying we must do whatever goood we can do fast fast, because the fitnas also are coming so fast. Fast fast.”

I wasn’t sure if Maulana had meant forcing your granddaughter into a marriage, but she was right about the fitna part. It was like things were overcoming us without even warning. Everywhere I looked, there was some new kind of challenge for people like me, who got trapped into everything. With social media so accessible, and everything so fast-paced… There were no gaps between to even give us a break between, and true to the Hadith, it felt overwhelming in every sense.

Just like the beads fall from a necklace, the fitan are falling with no relent… it felt like the darkness was layering upon more darkness until we were just slipping more and more underwater.

And who knew it better than me, who was always consumed with some social media event or something online. Our phones had become the main source and cause of this and the reason for Imaan leaving a person.

It is narrated on the authority of Abu Huraira that the Messenger of Allah (may peace be upon him) observed: Be prompt in doing good deeds (before you are overtaken) by turbulence which would be like a part of the dark night. During (that stormy period) a man would be a Muslim in the morning and an unbeliever in the evening or he would be a believer in the evening and an unbeliever in the morning, and would sell his faith for worldly goods.

It was so true. So true that we won’t even realise that the trials are overtaking is. So achingly true that we had to keep in guarding ourselves, even when we didn’t feel threatened.

“She doesn’t know how lucky she is,” Nani was still going on for herself. “He will make Jameela soooo happy. It’s not often doctor comes with marriage proposal.”

I wasn’t sure about him making Jameela happy. Being a doctor or a Maulana for Nani was the ultimate career option for a spouse. Being fair and Nani’s connection was an added bonus.

But all that didn’t matter, I reminded myself. What Jameela wanted was most important.

“As for you Mohsina,” she was saying, and I already knew that I was in for it. “Now you are moved into your place, you must make habit of Taaleem every week. All this phone phone phone business is no good for your silly head. You don’t know what what kind filthy fitna can come into your home..”

As much as I wanted to roll my eyes, I knew that she was right. And I knew that I needed to do it but I was just so damn lazy.

I sighed as went on a bit about how my mother is having Taaleem that week and I had to come, before she rushed off to make her whudhu for Asr, and I put my phone down, thinking about how much was going on.

My brain was overloaded and emotions were overwhelming. Marriage wasn’t always beautiful and easy, and the thought of Jameela heading that was making me a tad bit anxious.

Now, I had to do what I needed to build my shield. Now, I had to do whatever good I could do. Now, I had to keep encouraging my man to attend masjid for every salaah. Now, I had to make a resolution to do daily taaleem.

I had to immerse myself in so much of goodness before I felt like I was so overwhelmed with darkness that my heart was completely submerged.

”Oooh,” Rabia squawked as she sauntered in, making me jump slightly as I realised that she was actually here, in my flat, with Hamzah wheeling in her bag behind her. “Fanc-eeeee!”

It wasn’t fancy. It was just spruced up. Her eyes swept over my table setting for two as she walked in, scanning me momentarily as I held my chin up. Underneath the burka, I was all dressed up, a simple wrap over dress and I had even put on a little heel to appear more alluring.

Zaid was seated in his chair with some boiled carrots, stuffing his soft hammer toy in his mouth instead, and lucky for me, she had already gone over to him before any further comments were issued.

I glanced at Hamzah for a minute, putting my kitaab down and noting him give me an apologetic look as I moved around to the kitchen counter.

“Sorry,” he whispered, coming over and pecking my cheek as I got up to busy myself cutting cucumber while Rabia turned her back to us “I’m so sorry. It’s been a crazy day. Everything’s looking… wow. I didn’t get a chance to warn you about Rabia though…”

”It’s okay,” I said, plastering a smile on my face as he squeezed my shoulder apologetically. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

I really didn’t mind. After what if learnt about Rabia, I had decided to cut her some slack. So what if she annoyed me sometimes, right?

It wasn’t like I was the type to sit back and take it. I would just focus on trying to be a better person and make her feel that maybe I was on her side. Maybe I just needed to win her over. I could handle my own just fine.

As for Hamzah, after going through the notions of wanting to scream, strangle and then chase after him that day, I was now at the pathetic stage of just being glad that he was here, alive and in one piece. I really was.

And the thing was, I know that I hadn’t been the best person in the world. I had been selfish and petty. I had been proud and unapologetic at times. I knew that I had much to work on myself and the entire day alone was enough to make me rethink my entire stance on life.

I needed to be better. No. I wanted to be better. I had tried several ways to divert thoughts and improve the way I lived life, but I had still gotten caught up.

“How was your day?” He asked softly as Rabia took Zaid to the room with her, and he left his bag near the door.

Where did I even start? 

“Jameelas guy called to propose.”

The words were out of my mouth sooner that I could even think about them.

Hamzah raised his eyebrows.

“Mr Smoothie?” He said with a shocked expression, and I could help but let out a snicker.

Mr Smoothie, indeed.

Shame. He was just super health conscious, and according to Jamz, he was super smooth too.

”You think she will accept?” He asked, narrowing his eyes slightly as he pulled at his beard and leaned over the counter.

He had removed his kurta and hung it up on a coat hanger near the door that proved to be so useful.

I was having so much of fun buying all these sale items for our new place to make it functional.

Functionality was the new fashion. Decorating on a budget was also a great diversion from all the online junk I usually got caught up in.

“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging. “I heard that she got her London visa and I doubt that Nani will be happy about her going. She wants everything to be ‘fast fast’. Quote unquote.”

I looked at him and he smiled.

”That’s good advice,” he said softly, a hint of emotion behind his voice. “I wish we… anyway, it doesn’t matter. It’s good advice.”

And although it gave me a slight ache in my gut, because it was our choice to delay everything… I knew that he was right.

So much could have been avoided if we really did make it fast fast.

The topic immediately took me back to all the things that happened in between, and how things had digressed with Faadil and I really wished that sometimes I could smack some sense into my past self.

“Are you okay?” He asked me, standing up and glancing at his phone, a quizzical look flashing on his face as he paused to watch me.

I wasn’t sure what to tell him. I wasn’t really okay, but I had tortured myself enough for the day and I really didn’t need any more.

“I’m just worried,” I said truthfully, knowing that it encompassed most of the feelings that had been on my mind. Not about him getting murdered, specifically. I could be worried about anything, really. “Are you okay?”

So much was still hanging in the air between us. I wanted to ask him about his mafia people. About what was going on with Zaid. But Saaliha had sworn me to secrecy.

All I knew was that he was looking a million times better than he had that morning. That morning, he had been all agitated and on edge, as if he was waiting for a bomb to explode at any second.

“I actually met with Hashim,” he said, dropping his voice as he spoke.

I had to pretend to be shocked at least.

”Hashim?” I asked, feeling my chest constricting with the mere mention of his name.

He nodded feebly.

”Do you know how dangerous he is?” I said, realising that Hamzah probably had no idea of what Hashim was really like.

I was angry earlier, but now that I had calmed down and was getting angry again… it was like another emotion entirely.

I loved my husband, but he wasn’t always the easiest person to read and I hated that. I really wished that he was just more open with me.

“But it was all okay, Mos,” he said calmly, coming closer and reaching for my hand, trying to placate me.

I pulled back, not bothered about how this all looked if Rabia, who had just waltzed in, had to see. What mattered was that he had put himself into a situation that was completely compromising.

From what Saaliha had said, the entire thing had a potential to get so dangerous. And I knew that I was relieved that he had made it home, but him being so careless and flippant about it was what was frustrating me more.

He had a meeting with one of the people I had sworn to never give the time of day to, about our son, and didn’t even bother to inform me.

What was consuming me now was the possibility that Faadil and Hashim were conspiring against us in a most dangerous way, and I just couldn’t figure it all out.

What if it was all a big ploy? Somehow, all these pieces that seemed interlinked, just weren’t fitting together. All I knew that Faadil was never one to back down easily, and hurting someone else to get to me wasn’t beyond his abilities.

We needed to talk. Hamzah and I. Properly. But now, with Rabia here, was barely the time.

The thing was, as much as I felt like he was hiding something from me, I hadn’t been completely open with him either, and the more that I thought if this situation, I couldn’t help but feel that it was my fault too.

It was a long, torturous night. Hamzah was busy till late and with Rabia around, the conversation was completely stunted. It was extremely difficult having an argument with someone else in the house.

I knew that she sensed something was up between us. She hadn’t asked but the more Hamzah tried, the more annoyed I got. I wanted to have a full discussion but it was really difficult to fight with your spouse in the midst of company. I knew that it would have to wait till the following evening, if I wanted to have some solution.

I hated sleeping without speaking, but he had been busy on a call and somehow, things were still awkward between us the following morning.

And with the weekend starting, Saturdays were always a busy day. We often went to Liyaket’s mother to see her and spend some time with her, and Zaid sometimes stayed with her for an hour or two. He sometimes tried to go through some of Liyaket’s stuff when he was there. It was Hamzah’s way of fulfilling his duty to his friend, and paying tribute to the legacy he left behind.

With Hamzah and I still on shaky ground and Rabia around that particular day, I had decided to let Hamzah take Zaid on his own, and finish some baking before I headed off to my in-laws that evening. It just seemed like a feasible plan at the time, and I barely realised that it may have not been the wisest one.

I had already got a host of orders for the following week and as Rabia came in from the gym, which was literally opposite out apartment block, I gave her a once over while she sat opposite where I worked, sipping on a health smoothie that she had probably bought from there.

“Salaams,” I greeted kindly, cleaning out the bowl of cheesecake filling as she watched me work. “Did you have a good workout?”

I had ventured out on the gym scene for a few months when I had first started working but as soon as my mother found out about it, she had made my father stop me. There was way too much of free mingling for her liking, too much of blaring music and the thought of me being seen on the treadmill next to some strange muscle man gave her a hernia.

“Amazing !” Rabia swooned brightly, looking all shiny and refreshed with her hair pulled back and her cap on.

Somehow, there was no space for hijab in her gym attire. I wasn’t judging her but with her new vibe that she was trending, I could see that she was trying a little too hard to fit in to the whole new instagram fitness trend. I knew it because at one sordid stage in my life, I had been exactly where she was.

”Cool,” I said, not really wanting to engage in conversation as I piped a caramel topping over some completed mini cakes.

It took a certain amount of concentration to do them neatly, and I was kind of glad that it distracted me from saying anything I would regret later. It was her expression. The whole gym with instagram and having to always validate herself with her selfies. I knew exactly where she was in life and how illusive that world could seem.

“Lots of orders came in?” She said inquisitively, sipping on her smoothie again as I continued with my task. “I see you’ve been very busy with the advertising.”

“Mhmm,” I said absentmindedly, hoping she would get the hint and go and get dressed. The sooner we went to my in laws, the sooner the rift between Hamzah and I cousins be resolved.

I honestly just wanted to be alone so I could wallow in self-pity for a bit longer. I was feeling confused and depressed, and I couldnt quite figure out why.

“A friend of mine sells the most amazing cookies from home,” she said admirably, swiping her phone open to open sole insta account. “When she told me how much money she makes, I was shocked. The home industry has amazing potential, doesn’t it? I’m sure you’re coining it, nuh?”

I frowned slightly, wondering what she was getting at. Money wasn’t the most important thing.

Pastry cheffing was my passion. If my father hadn’t insisted I study something ‘real’, if would have been my default career. I loved every bit of creativity it squeezed out of me. I loved the thrill of completing orders, and the looks of utter besottedness that I see in clients faces when they fetch their orders.

Although auditing was fun, for me, that contentment was nothing like I felt when I saw the sheer appreciation with the result of my delicious creations.

”I love your ring, by the way,” she was going on, looking up from her phone and glancing at the diamond ring on my right hand, her eyes almost bulging as she gawked at it openly. “Is it your wedding band?”

She looked confused because there hadn’t been a wedding band. There was barely any time for that when Hamzah and I made nikah. We weren’t even thinking about those things…

”Hamzah gifted it to me a few weeks back,” I said quickly, before she said anything else. To tell the truth, when we got married, we were both so bowled over by grief and emotion that we didn’t think beyond Zaid and just trying to make things work between us.

”Wow,” she said, looking surprised. “So the eternal flame pendant… and now the ring…”

I narrowed my eyes slightly, feeling the acceleration in my chest as she mentioned the pendant, hoping she wasn’t going to ask me about the pendant.

Be patient, Mos. Rabia doesn’t really mean to annoy you. She just can’t help herself. 

I wanted to be good. To be strong. I had slipped yesterday and didn’t want to lose my resolve to be a better person. I had to try, as hard as she made it.

“It seems like my brother will do anything for you,” she said, her voice sickly sweet, but I could tell from a glance at her that she was being anything but.

I breathed in deeply, avoiding eye contact with her. What was this girls vibe? 

I had a resolve to be better, but she was making it really difficult to. 

”I didn’t ask for the ring,” I said stiffly, knowing what she was thinking. She was implying that I was a gold digger. Duh.

“Oh, you don’t have to ask,” she said. “Hamzah lurrrvs to spoil his women.”

His women? Did she really just say that?

“I’m not women,” I said bitterly, anger rising like bile in my chest. What was her problem? “I’m his wife.”

I wasn’t sure if I was being sensitive, but I felt almost as if she was poking me where she wanted it to hurt most. Why, I wasn’t even sure. She was way too comfortable with talking people down.

“Well, since you made it here by default,” she cooed with a cynical smile, cocking her head at me. “I hope that you don’t plan on cashing in from him this entire marriage. I’ve seen the type of things you like to show off…”

My mouth dropped open as she said it, looking so serious as she stared me dead in the eye, and I couldn’t help but gaze at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to say she was joking, or at least retract her statement.

But she didn’t. She didn’t, and I was not going to stand here, in my home, in my kitchen, to listen to her saying things to me that made me want to break her lip-glossed mouth.

“Please leave,” I breathed, my cheeks flaming and my voice steady as I glared at her, just as I heard the key in the door turning. “Leave.”

At that point, I didn’t care what she had been through, and I didn’t care what I sounded like. I didn’t care that Hamzah was there, staring at us now as he entered, as I placed down my piping bag, stiffened my shoulders and gave her a death stare.

All I knew was that this girl needed to go, right then, before I lost my mind. Before I lost myself.  All I knew that there was no way I could spend a single second longer in her company, without punching her in the face, and so I had to get rid of her before I did.

“Please just go,” I said again, my voice thick and slicing through the air like a knife.
“Just leave my house and never come back.”

---

A little bit of dramatics… is Rabia pushing the limits or is Mohsina overreacting… will reply to comments soon 💕

Love to hear from all the readers

 

Much love

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: 

Being able to view the lives of others as if they are our own in the main building block to social media life.

It is only human to begin to think that the lives of strangers appear to be so perfect, as opposed to reality. Little do we notice that their content is carefully crafted to do this very thing, making us discontent with our lives.

To combat this, we should look to those inferior to us, so we do not become envious and begin to realise the bounty Allah Ta’ala has gifted us with.

Keep in mind:

Abu Huraira reported: The Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “Wealth is not in having many possessions. Rather, true wealth is the richness of the soul.”

Source: Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 6446, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 1051

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

 

Changing Status

Note: Just a heads up… The writer of this blog will be taking a short break, so there will be one more post before a 2-3 week break, and season two will commence. Happy reading, peeps.

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

It was almost a month since Waseem had left home, and his absence was palpable.

Life was beginning to evolve around me, and it seemed like everyone around was progressing with their own story. As universities started opening and people started moving on, everyone became interested in making it for themselves. Long story short: the party was over.

With Waseem not around, I kind of got sucked back in to my previous mentality. I supposed that I was still trying to change, but I was less determined. I mean, there was no incentive for me, so why should I make all that effort?

I eventually found myself hanging around with friends I had stopped being with since Waseem had intervened, because they were the only ones that seemed to not be going anywhere in life. I found it strangely comforting that they didn’t care if I was studying or working, or what I did with my life.

Rich kids like me, I supposed, who didn’t have to care.

And then, of course, the temptation was stronger than ever. At first it was easy to be good, but when your body is used to a kind of lifestyle, it begins to crave it again. It goes into a kind of after-shock, not really fully able to deal with the lack of toxins entering it.

So where there was opportunity, I started using, in small quantities, just to keep the cravings at bay.

I blocked out rationality. I blocked out the message my heart was sending to my brain, telling me that it was wrong.

Man, I was staying away from so much, I convinced myself. I just needed this one thing to keep me sane.

And so, before I could blink, another two weeks went by, with me caught up in myself. My father had bought me a brand new BMW, and you could say that I was flying high once again. Literally.

By staying away from girls, I honestly thought that I was doing too much, so I needed a little bit of a break.

And yeah, Shaytaan was so sharp. He got me even fooling myself. When you’re in that position, and you think you’re thinking for yourself, it’s never the case. The drug, the craving, the addiction… It all speaks for you. You’re controlled by that solely, and nothing you do seems sinful.

So one day, on a whim, and in a different kind of high, I decided to go to the mosque. I wasn’t sure why, but maybe it was my mind telling me that I’ve had enough. Maybe I just needed to be inspired again. I wasn’t sure what it was.

Some stupid perception in my mind made me think that some person I would meet there was going to be my guidance. That I was going to change my life, because someone else was going to make me. Someone else but me.

But as I entered, as was in store for me, my brother was the first person I saw. I kept thinking to myself, if only I had come before that, I might have not got myself into the mess I had. And of course, Waseem, looking like a like a boss in full Islamic attire, knew me too well. He immediately came up to me, taking me aside.

“Zee, what the hell?!” He asked, looking perturbed as he scrutinised my blood-shot eyes. He looked behind him, as if he was afraid someone would see him, and then guided me to a remote area of the whudhu khana.

“You’re staying here?” I asked him, feeling weird in the mosque. I was shivering slightly, but not because it was cold.

“No,” he said, looking at me as if I was stupid. “It’s nearly Salaah time.”

I nodded dumbly, and he continued to look at me, almost as if he didn’t know what to tell me.

He didn’t have a chance to say anything, because at that point, Iqamah had just started. He rushed to the front, dragging me with him.

I wasn’t sure what I was reading in that Salaah, but something came into my mind as I stood. All I could think of was that there was a reason I was there, at that moment. A reason I was still alive, with everything I had gone through and put my body through. If I could count the times I had almost over-dosed… I had no idea how I had come through.

At that time, all I knew was that I wanted to feel peaceful again. I kept glancing at Waseem, looking at his contented expression, and thinking to myself how serene it was. How he had made it happen for himself, despite everything. How he had found the gold where I never thought it could be. And I wanted that.

And then, finally, as we we went down for the most humbling part of the prayer, all I could think of was how badly I wanted to change. In that environment, once again, with those emotions coming on from that first day I had heard the Maulana dude talking, my mind was once again enlightened.

Yes, I had tried, but maybe it wasn’t what I should have strived for. I had tried, but I didn’t ask Allah to be with me. I didn’t try hard enough. I had tried, but I had been knocked down hard. Harder than before.

And you know what they say. When life knocks you down, remember, you’re right there where you need to be. You’re in the perfect position to pray.

And so I did. Salaah ended, and I prayed. For like, the first time in my life, I really prayed to my Lord, wanting to let it all out. I took the humblest position, my forehead on the ground, choking on the words that I didn’t know how to say. Hands flat, the hardness of the ground pressed against my head, it seemed as if the world was lifting off.

I asked Him for His help, because at that moment, I really and truly believed that He was the only One who could assist me. He was the only One who could help me get through this.

I knew what I wanted, and I meant it. I just needed to say it… And I finally could.

“Become mine, and I’ll be Yours, forever,” my heart was begging.

They were words that came from the very depths of my soul. It was ironic, that as I placed my head on the ground, tears falling freely, that was the moment where I felt higher than ever. Where I felt lifted up enough to grab the opportunity screaming out at me. It was a chance for me. To change my status. A chance to make me better. A chance to make it all right.

And as I got up and I felt like I had come back down to earth, Waseem sat next to me, eyeing me out.

“Go home and have a rest, ” he advised, .

And so I did. It was a sleep like no other, because when I got up, all I could feel was peace. No other symptoms that usually accompanied the crap I did. It was amazing.

“Become mine, and I’ll be Yours forever.”

I remembered those words I had uttered, clear as day, and I could feel something change within me. It was like Allah says:

 “Take one step towards Me, I will take ten steps towards you. Walk towards Me, I will run towards you.” Hadith Qudsi.

The night had just closed in, and I read my Esha, promising myself that from then on, the mosque would be the only place I would pray my Salaah from then on.

And since I had made a sincere intention to stop everything I had found myself caught up in, I knew I had to change a lot else. I had to change my state of mind for good.

I needed to speak to my father, to try and get him to set things right with Waseem. I knew I needed to make some effort on him. I never thought I’d say it, but I needed Waseem back home.

It was late, but I knew Dad would be in his office. He was obsessed with his work. I made my way there, trying to rehearse what I was about to say. I was slightly on edge, but I forced myself to relax.

As I reached, although the lights were on, Dad wasn’t inside.

He must’ve gone into the bathroom, so I sat around, waiting. And of course, being the Ziyaad I am, I couldn’t just wait without getting bored, so I started sneaking around. And that’s when I saw the fancy box, looking like some kind of gift. On it were initials, but I honestly didn’t even pay attention to them, until I opened the box. I took out the card, scanning the contents. It was ridiculously fancy.

I had just scanned through, but my chest seemed to momentarily contract as I really read it. I mean, till then, I honestly didn’t think I had real emotions when it came to people, but this was proof that maybe I was just a little bit human.

The card was clear. I knew exactly who it was . I froze, as I read, and then re-read it. The one line stood out, like it was in bold.

… to grace the marriage of our daughter…

Dad’s business friend’s name was there, and I did a double take as I digested  the information.

Life had stood motionless, just for that moment, as I seemed to finally believe what I had just read. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but I supposed I still had a hope.

I just couldn’t let it happen.

She was getting married. And not to me.