#7

when I was younger, my father used to sit me down, next to him. I'd watch his mind unraveling. I'd listen to his thoughts, filling the background of my own desiring mind. he told me about loneliness. he told me about good company. about the burden of self knowledge. about courage, with gritting teeth he then spoke of defeat. he told me about corruption manifesting. about a love for country that cried for him everyday. about hope. about needing hope. about a drive for future. he was the man on the moon. he was the firm shoulder. he was my understanding staring back at me. he was the book of no ending. he was. he was.

he was.

father never once mentioned death. perhaps he too knew nothing about it, until he was embraced by it. by then it was too late, it was too late and our loving tune was interrupted.

my love was not strong enough to keep you, Baba. I wish you were here, Baba. living is getting harder each day, Baba. who do I talk to about it now, Baba?

I wish you were near, Baba.

#6

I am never sure of myself when I start to write anything, only because I have absolutely no idea, what I want to write about. It's much easier to let my emotions flow freely in here, than to attempt to compose a brittle rhyme that is quite the opposite of what my intentions are, or is it not? Hmm... Let's leave that for another day.

I would like to take a moment, and write about my father. I went back to work this week, with the sole purpose of "moving forward" though knowing that "moving forward" implies taking a step toward a different direction perhaps, one that I haven't experienced before... Let's leave that for another day... Piles of crises, piles of crises.

The sadness that had been lingering in the walls of my room, is brushing me gently tonight, as I am writing this, I realized that I have been stressing myself over little things to be angry with, little insignificant things, that were the perfect distractions to not dive into the stillness of pain, to not attempt to melt down that ice; that huge weight pushed against my heart, to penetrate to finally cry over a loss, so significant, that I convinced myself was too painful to endure, better not think it through.

I was frozen, unable to make sense, because this little part of me didn't want to believe, didn't want to submit to reality, didn't want to make peace with it, didn't even want to acknowledge it, I chose to stay frozen, unconscious and hopeless, I didn't want to admit to myself that fear was in control of me, it had taken total control over me, and I surrendered to the nothingness it yielded, refused to unfold the messiness it did my relationships with people, in a time when I was most needed within my family, I chose to hide away, wrapped in a sad existence with a million echoes and cries, ringing in my ears.

I'm grateful for the ones that matter, the ones that stood beside me and held my hand throughout. I am so thankful for the love I found in each and every one of them.

I am learning to take a step ahead, to contemplate a future, that sounds frighting, because I am the master of it now. Decisions were always being made for me, and I never had to worry about a next step, because it was almost always scribbled down with a pencil that wasn't mine. I have this blank white page, and I see potential and drive, determination for this is only the beginning.

For the man that taught me that modesty is rich, compassion is eternal, wisdom lies in a few words, and education is the grace in which we transform into much more. I can never paint a fair portrait, I am for -as long as I live- grateful for him. My father was always my hero in disguise, he was the man on the moon, always away, always working, found in his own mind, always thinking, he was a great intellectual, and an even greater man, an honorable person who devoted his life, to his family and profession, the latter of which he built from the ground up.

Only a few days ago, I was organizing his many documents and financial records, I took it upon myself to make sure that every paper, is in it's rightful file, though I know that it's probable that no one would examine these documents once again, it was almost a duty, to keep it tidy for him, for this is his life's work, his pride, and I wanted to honor that side of my dad. I found so many articles, cut off from several newspapers, this was a habit of his that he kept alive for as long as he lived, he used to call me, to tell me to read this "particularly interesting article" (given that a couple of days earlier there was another one of those exceptionally interesting ones) he loved to read, he especially loved politics and economics, he loved to talk about those -two sides of the same coin-, he could -and would gladly- talk for hours, a point would turn into a discussion, into a rant, into a conversation, that would be picked up the following day, he kept a lot of those articles he enjoyed in one place, where he would sometimes reply to a few, he wrote a few articles himself, where my heart ached a little when I found those articles in his handwriting, that one that only he could actually read.

He had a warm spot for each one of his children, he had such a tender heart that I was only beginning to see in the final months of his life, where illness shown my father exposing all of his emotions, dropping his defenses, and taking pleasure in having all of his family around him, words would never be enough to express how much I miss him: his laughter, the gentle tone and concern in his voice, his compassionate touch, his consistent urge for us, for me specifically, to never let go of my ambitious for marriage, his dreams for us to find our path, to claim academic achievements, his constant reminder to be grateful and to always remember the less fortunate, to help in every little way we can, and to be modest in everything we do, he never once liked the showmanship, a trait we all took from him.

I desire to make him proud, for I know that, for every breath, I am keeping him alive, in memory, I know what he would want for me, what he wouldn't, and I am determined, insh'Allah, to carry on with his words of encouragement, nested and rested inside the circle of memories I have of him, of all of us together, for I hope to meet once again, insh'Allah we will meet once again, to carry with our lessons, and it'd be like the conversation never stopped.

اللهم اغفر لأبى وارحمه 

وعافه واعف عنه 

وانزل على قبره 

الضياء والفسحة والسرور

حتى تبعثه الى جنتك 

يا ارحم الراحمين

#5

Empty thoughts, and I can't find the right words. I wish to be one of the dead stones bathing in a stream of unconsciousness. 

#4

It's so hard. Here comes a new year, a new becoming, and I'm sitting on the roof with one thought spinning: the world seems larger than my knowing. I feel lost and dizzy.. Yet I seem to be doing just fine. I always seem to be just fine. 

#3

I know how to calm myself, I know how to distract myself, and best yet I know how to calm myself when I run empty of ways to distract myself. I read somewhere of a man who could not bring himself to weep for an ache he'd beat his heart unconscious so as to not feel anything. The pain in remembering what it was like is perhaps too overwhelming, too powerful to endure. I can hear his voice, his quiet patient voice when he spoke of matters close to his heart, I can hear his voice, the tone of his when he got impatient, frustrated then apologetic for getting that way. I miss him. No child's finite comprehension can establish a loss of a parent, I'd choose to remain in limbo than to open the door for pain to rush in, and I know this is not a way of life, or a way of overcoming anything.

I want to feel okay, even though I am quite fine, I can speak in full sentences now, I float in and out of conversations, I lose the passion to argue in discussions, from time to time, I'd rather be left alone, fighting to find an interest in the pages of a book, any book, these moments where despair is hovering over me, waiting patiently for me to look up then all around me, to admit to it, that its my one and only companion.

People always say 'its going to get better' and it will inshAllah, I know this is a trial to test my patience and endurance, one of the lessons my religion taught me is the endurance of suffering with faith that offers hope, the acceptance of Allah's will with the absolute conviction that Allah does not ask of me more than I can endure. To remain faithful throughout the trials of life is the purpose behind the suffering, this agony, and all the agonies that Allah allows to befall, is to cleanse the mind, silence the ego, open the heart to reveal the soul to Allah, for His light to pierce through, for His light to comfort and bring serenity.

May Allah strengthen my faith, grant me the patience to sustain me, bless and protect my father in his eternal rest, and forgive both of our sins. Amen

Last night, I entered his bedroom, stayed longer than the usual, memories discreetly pushed open the shut-door, brushed me on their way in, leaving me to shiver, a memory in exact, of him lying in his bed, contemplating, with his fingers interlocked, his eyes searching the space before him, this memory was so vivid, I could recall the feel of his skin, his palms, the roughness of his hair, the way his lips formed a sharp line whenever he was immersed in his internal dialogue, the air around me was so heavy, it stung me every time I tried to inhale, I stood up and left immediately, running to find another distraction to save me.

I want to smile and laugh again, full-heartedly.. But, I think I'm rushing myself. I know I'm rushing myself.

#2

Its the nature of all things to change; things to perish and for others to take its place, things to evolve in succession to another stage, uncertainty/constant change are the only permanents in this life. Today I feel more in-tune within, I definitely have an inner peace today, one that I've missed to gather and stay in, the nights before. I want to think of it, like I have fallen into a hole, a dark seemingly limitless hole, and today I have found something worth holding on to, something shining, something good: and that is faith.

I refuse to freeze, in a stillness, I also am not going to shield myself of the pain that blows in unexpected to cut a story short; I'm accepting each moment as it is, no matter what shape it takes, this is the only way, I had found -in my life- to guarantee peace.

Baba will always be around, when the house empties itself of people, the room he was staying in, his belongings, his journals that I am longing to read and get my fingers on, the videos I have of him with the many laughters, and the serious discussions. I miss him beyond the telling, beyond the ability of words to carry the immensity of the void he left behind.. I know all corners of this house, will trigger a grief response, in the upcoming long days, inshAllah, I'll be able to embrace then move passed whatever arises in each moment, and may Allah bless my father and accept him in the hereafter. There's nothing more for me to do, but pray for his soul and hope to be reunited -in a better place- soon.

Life won't be the same, but its in the nature of all things to chase after change, or be chased just the same. 

#1

(29/12)

I woke up at 4am today and I couldn't sleep since, my mind is racing with thoughts, going in circles, refusing to penetrate into the stillness of pain that has taken shape. I keep thinking of lost opportunities that we could have shared, I know how selfish that sounds, but perhaps grief is just that.. selfish. I believe that Allah finally rained mercy upon my father, not only with the ending of the prolonged suffering, I believe that he sentenced him to suffer in his final years for redemption, and I truly feel that he had been washed pure of past sins and errors. I miss him. I know that the space he once held will not be filled with anyone else. I know that his loss is perhaps the greatest loss I have felt in my life and will feel during my lifetime. I wonder about the empty days, the long hours, in this now hollow home, where walls breathe his departing spirit, where every corner is panting with memories of him. I am trying to stay strong, knowing that this is the ultimate testament of faith and absolute surrender to the natural waves of a destined fate, my patience is being called upon and put to the hard test.. All of that I know, all of that I understand and I can rationalize but still... It doesn't take away from the immense ache I feel in my heart, knowing that now I will not get to feel his being in this life, I will not get to hold his hand while we talk, I will not get to sit in silence together and think, I will not hear his laugh, his infinite scorn over the state of politics and economy of this country, his infinite hope and optimism, call it even patriotism for this country, his English sarcasm and his ever-amusing dry humor, I will not get to kiss his forehead, a kiss goodnight, I will not get to see him here where I am, and my heart silently cries when I think of the days, months, years to come, that I am forced to live without him, the major steps in life I'm forced to take without him, and all the happiness and colorful emotions I will be experiencing without him. My shock is wearing off, slowly, knowing that sadness is not an emotion but a mood. I do not know how long this sadness will last.

I believe in the kindness of Allah, I also believe in the fragility of this reality that carries life.. No wonder they say, you lose a part of you when you lose a beloved, because you once shared a place together: of thoughts, feelings, conversations, experiences.. etc. that when the beloved is gone that place that was once, so familiar is left abandoned and you are left feeling just the same. I catch myself thinking 'I can't believe it' even though I do, I just can't conceive life, now that it is somewhat disfigured. Baba's presence is everywhere, even in the background of my life, I find him there. This is what grief feels like, tip toeing around the circles of memories with his scent, knowing that once entered, life wouldn't be the same again. It would be different, so different that the notion of adjustment is not only impossible, it doesn't even make sense to me right now.

To state the painfully obvious, mortality is indeed necessary for life to have meaning. Sadly only when confronted with death, does one seek out said meaning. Sadly the survivor is one to pursue such goal.. And as my heart is torn by separation, for now I am numb, so numb. I do not dare to move at all. 

Lies

Do you remember the first lie you've told? I could pull a guess out of the guesses hat and say no, knowing that its a rather impossible one to recall, since that distant time, we were born into this world, we learned how to manipulate our mothers to do (pretty much) everything we want. Sounds strange because it happened, and crying was the mean of how it all manifested, but then again, I don't think its manipulation as much as it is selfishness, our mothers are our attachment figures after all, so its only natural we'd want them close, and we'd use the only mean (trick) to make sure that happens. No really, its rather cute.

The reason why I've started this with a question, and somehow managed to speak for the reader (which I apologise for doing) is because I've always been fascinated with lies, no matter what "true content" they were covering, and "fake content" they were presenting. Lies are deceitful, but theres more, like flashes of light, so many of the lies I've told are clouding my mind as I'm writing this now, and though I won't argue that I (unfairly) refused the truth; like I'm sitting in an exam, faced with a multiple choice question and none of the options rang "fact or true" so I picked up the pencil, and wrote down an option, then highlighted it as true. A lie is just another option, another story that fits your preferences perfectly.

Lies displays insecurities, when you're trying to impress, you're most likely to exaggerate yourself and your story; like inflating skin with allergy, you'll be itching for ways to make your story as exciting as it could get, distorting its true corners a little more than necessary but eventually you make it to the "true destination" of the story. Or you could be one of those, that don't really see that grey area, and so you dismiss your story completely, and go for a totally invented, shaped as its being mentioned story; a lie.

Whats worse than being lonely, is people knowing that you are. Many of the lies born out of insecurities are told by the lonely ones, what are insecurities, if nothing other than constraining fears, these lies only conceal truths, you'll know more about the person through their lies, what it is they're trying to hide, is offered within and between the lies.

I'm not quite sure if I'll be going somewhere with this post, and by somewhere I mean a destination that'll lead to a closure or a final statement, usually those things require from you, that you'll stick to your starting statement, and since that statement was a question with a yes or no tail, this post could've been over before it began, and I wouldn't be facing this intersection right now, so for the sake of not moving further, only to be fidgeting with thoughts more, I'll stop here. 

Wrong Perceptions

Letting go of wrong perceptions is next. I am trying to understand my feelings better, the different energies, each emotion is transmitting. My life is like a glass of water; at this very instance, and I do not wish to add any substance to it, like how water is pure and transparent, still and stable, that is how I wish to be as I sit before myself.

Its quite hard to distinguish your feelings from a beloved, when they are suffering, and are coming to you with a problem, your very first instinct is to help eliminate it, and because you feel such deep connection to them; every feeling, every word, every thought, they are projecting, you associate with yours, its very natural to feel very intensely about their suffering, preparing to do all it takes to end it, but the thing is, if you are not in a peaceful state of mind yourself, if you are struggling with your own wrong perceptions and ideas, you will not be able to offer them the help or support you wish to. I find that peace of mind is rather easy to obtain but its quite difficult to maintain, it takes practice, distinguishing your own self (with all its associations and different variations) from others, even though we are all connected, we are also separate in these thoughts that arise everyday, if you feel like you are not in a serene place, no matter how much you care about the other, don't take on their pain, its very heavy to carry the luggages of two, have it together for yourself, then embrace the suffering of another.

Recently I was becoming too fixated upon problems that weren't mine, because I care so deeply about this person, I took on their pain and suffering as my own, and I associated myself with their thoughts, in  return, I wasn't able to help because I wasn't ready nor prepared for that. I became angry for (at) them, taking on an energy they have blocked, forcing clarity by asking questions, chasing them with half-baked solutions, all of this happened because I wasn't listening with an open mind and heart, I was only listening to their feelings in relation to mine.

That's where wrong perception manifests itself, I do believe providing your presence for a beloved is how you come to learn about them, and how could you love if you are not there? but in order for your love to be true and wholesome, you ought to look within you, are you able to listen with compassion, deeply listen without interrupting the process with opinions and suggestions? are you prepared to continue to listen even when its causing you suffering? are you able to distinguish their hurt feelings from yours? are you able to accept the pain that lies in store?

No two can go through each other without fire, so if you're in a negative place and your beloved is in one, you will both be stuck, dragging each other down, because neither of you is ready for the ability nor possesses the wisdom to lift the other up. 

True Love

True love is understanding, its the knowing and willingness to learn about another, its shredding the discomfort of new-born closeness, its taking risks yet being patient all together, its freeing and undemanding, its kindness and also compassion, its the entire universe applauding for two souls have managed to find each other merely for believing in the existence of one another.

When I hear people sigh then say 'love hurts' I want to take their hand in mine and tell them; well, of course it does, imagine running through a tunnel, barefoot, catching your breath, you're tired and dizzy and you don't know whats coming next, if you'll ever make it to where the light is. True love is like that, you are running your fingers through the cracks, you are tampering with someone else's past, you are experiencing their pain through their eyes, you are bringing yourself closer, tighter and you feel unease doing that. And not only are you uncovering their parts, you are also discovering yours, you are letting go of the boundaries that kept you distant and withdrawn, you are unraveling your truth, with your spirit, cheering, begging you to let go.

You see, love must hurt for it is patience, love must hurt for it is hope, love must hurt for it is dangerous, and you shouldn't take this as a way to say No, on the contrary, only out of great suffering is great happiness born, don't be afraid, for love does not know fear, Be open, for you are the universe, your love for yourself is your love for the universe, your love for the universe is your love for others, your love for others is where your love for the special one will stand to dream of forever.