simplicity

[August 2010]

I am genuinely laughing.  Really, I am.

You know when you're at the recieveing end of an insult, but it's actually a compliment? Well, I just got one today.

So apparently, I am too simple.

This is according to the latest rishta match, Bilal.

He thought I was too simple.

As if that's a bad thing.  Hmpf.

My friends and I always suspected that we were different from the other girls.  There was something that separated us from them.  And in long, lazy conversations, we soon discovered that the difference was this: we are simple; they are not.

But I think I always believed that this wasn't something people could actually see.

Like the way you see that someone is wearing black.

Or the way you see that someone has brown eyes and black hair.

My friends, 'tis is.

We have labels affixed to our foreheads, that say, "Simple Girl".

And now I know that people can see it.

But does this bother me?

No, not even in the smallest sense. Because I am happy to be me.

Happy, because to me, Islam is simplicity.

And I don't think I would consider myself to be a proper Muslimah if I didn't have some element of simplicity.

I am a Simple Girl, and I am proud to be one.  

On a side note, I think I should add one more thing to my list of desirable qualities in a prospective husband: simplicity.

After all, I don't want to be the one sitting around, waiting for him to get ready. I think I'd much prefer it to be the other way around.

Slipping away

[July 2010]

Part Five

Since Monday, I've been thinking about what my thoughts are on this whirlwind. 

And it only comes to one logical conclusion:  For those days, my imaan slipped a little and my belief in qadr waned.   This was supposed to happen, and yet it didn't.

Maybe Mum was right about both those things.

I was asking myself why I had to go through this.

I started reading a lot of that wonderful book, Don't Be Sad and I hungrily searched through all of my kitaabs for excerpts on qadr, being content with destiny, and tassawuf.

And then the moment that I began to see this as a test, everything fell into place.



Allah only tests those that He loves.

And guess what?  He loves me.  :)

This thought alone keeps me going, and I know that because He loves me, He wants to bring me closer to Him.  I've got my faults, and Allah's way of testing me (with these siblings, with this rishta process) is His way of pushing me to seek His aid.

SubhanAllah, were it not for my imaan, and for that things that I have already been taught and my conviction in them, I really think I would have been depressed a long time ago. 

May Allah save us all from that diesease.

SubhanAllah, the amount of tawakul Allah that my parents have is amazing.  And I am so blessed to have them as shining figures in my life.

So, when a servant really wants something, they constantly ask for it.

All the time.  After every salaat.  In every duaa.
In the last third of the night.  Alone, and weeping.

Yes, I really want to be nikah'd and I really want someone to be partnered off with.  But I want that to be the right someone.

Someone who's entire heart is filled with love for Allah, and who only loves me for His sake.
Someone who is a source of inspiration and a role model for me in so many ways.
Someone who I can please, and who in turn, will be pleased with me.

Someone who will be a good husband, and a good father.

And most importantly, someone who will be good for my dunya, and more importantly, my akirah.
This time around, it wasn't meant to be.  And I did make an istikhara, against the advice of my family who wanted to wait it out.

But if Allah is my Wali, then HE is the first one that I will consult.  And that's a rule, desormais (=from this point forward).

May Allah never weaken my imaan to such a state where I question His decree over me.  May Allah protect me from the appearance of having Tawakul Allah and Taqwa, while being completely devoid of it, and may He instead instill in me sincere Tawakul Allah and Taqwa. May He keep me steadfast on the siraat-ul mastaqeem, and may He make the quraan easy on my lips, and the light of my heart. And may He keep me steadfast and sincere in every single one of my duaa's. Ameen.

Tissues

[July 2010]

Part Four

Monday.

Day of the Event.

I take my time getting ready.  In fact, I take too long.
My siblings leave without me.

So I decide to take my time praying dhur, and then making a really long duaa right after.  I'm asking Allah to fix this nothing that's bothering me so much. I can't really take this emotional rollercoaster and this constant crying.

Mum walks into to my room, and asks me why I'm crying.
"You think I haven't noticed you crying this past couple of days?  You think I don't notice how you've managed to use up a whole tissue box in a matter of days?"

She's trying to get to me.  She trying her hardest to understand me.  But how can I explain when I don't even understand myself?

"I was crying in duaa.  I only cry in Duaa." True.  Almost always true. Because I've finally realised that my tear have to be productive tears, and the best way to do that is to make Duaa.

She doesn't believe me.  "You think I'm stupid?  Just like your Auntie, eh?  She thinks I'm stupid too, always lecturing me! Tell me the truth."  Evidently, there's a lot of inter familial jagraa (fighting) going on recently. Too much.  It's gotten to the point where my parents are seriously considering moving away somewhere (Middle East, India, or even North, since they both love it there) and they're regretting having ever sponsored family to come live in Canada.

As our conversation stretches out without me having conceded any information, she grows frustrated with me.

And then suddenly, I've made my mother cry.  This woman, who is such a strong, brave and intelligent person - a true warrior, really.  And I've made her cry.  How could I?

As she storms off, she tells me that I'm eating myself away with all this grief and sadness and she can't stand to see me unhappy.

I don't know what to do.

I don't know what to do.

So I sit there.

And then I make duaa.

And wash my face and get ready.

I head downstairs, reciting dhikr and hoping that it will give me some strength.
I apologize, and she envelopes me in a hug.  "What is it?" she asks, one last time.  And I answer with silence, and then slowly, I tell her that I'm not really sure, but I know that  I'm not myself.

She has her theories.
A) It's my siblings and their lack of consideration.
B) It's this rishta stuff.

Maybe.  Maybe not.

Nothing

[July 2010]

Part Three

Saturday and Sunday, I moped around the house. I didn't feel like myself, but I didn't know why.

I just wanted to be on my own, in some remote cave eating some fish, sprinkled with fresh herbs (btw, I'm so having my own herb garden one day, insha-Allah!)

And they noticed and asked what was wrong.  What could I say?  I'm sick of life.  I just want to be away from all "this" without really knowing what "this" is.

Nothing.
Nothing is wrong.

And then nothing leads to the big momma of breakdowns.