The tear

What does one do when their soul is overwhelmed with elation, with happiness? I am going to be crude and apply the physical answer to this problem. It overflows of course; it seems the vessel is not spacious enough to hold the elation with which it starting filling up with. Add to that the fact that there was no warning as to when exactly the vessel, the ruuh , would start brimming, would start overflowing. I don’t know about you but the only way I know how to deal with such a situation is by releasing that excess through tears.

You’ve guessed it, when rummage is overwhelmed with happiness, she starts tearing like any other human being. The tears are there to act as an aid, a plan B, to use the expression. As mighty fortresses, they await the onslaught of emotion that shall arrive from the soul, the heart.

Do they complain?
Do they lessen?
Do they give up on you?
Do they discriminate between ‘big’ and ‘small’ worries?
Do they go unnoticed?

Well, in my humble opinion, they do not. Forget happiness, they’re blind to emotion also. No distinction between happiness, anger, depression or worry. One can’t quantify or pinpoint their response points. Tears, they’re over-arching, they are.

They’re that wonderful companion, the soft mattress, the bed of feathers that catch your emotions when they do a free-fall from your heart. They’re a door, ajar, a door to release the excess traffic that arrives from the ruuh, the excess that cannot be processed by logic.
So next time you feel overwhelmed, excited, angry, depressed (although not encouraged by Islaam) remember that channel Allah has granted all of us, the indiscriminate one, remember the tear.

wassalamu alaykum

Who's controlling the reins?

I lay in bed and succumbed. I succumbed to the human being I am and let my heart control the reins for a while. My head has had it for far too long. Although brisk and stern, when it is control, I feel rather left out of the equation. I feel desensitised. That’s why I had to succumb that night, succumb to the human being I am and let it all out.

I can’t remember the last time I cried so hard over what I still cannot point a finger at. I cannot remember the time I consciously felt to call in reserves of tears for I felt they would lessen after every drop. I cannot remember the last time I felt as less of a human as I did that night. It was dark and the darkness matched what my heart felt that day.

It was to my only Friend I called upon. It was to my Protector I sought help from. It was to the All-Hearing I complained to. It was to the Generous I asked of. It was the Loving I sought comfort in. It was to the Forbearing I repented to. It was to the Just I asked my rights of. It was to the Acceptor of prayers I supplicated to.

That night, it was me that I had become. In between taking turns in controlling the reins, I leaned to my heart controlling them for what had seemed an eternity. It was during that moment, I felt a strange sense of calm in all that despair. A paradox, possibly. A reality, it sure felt like. The heart, when listened to, takes you to places your head doesn’t imagine entering for the woes that surround it. But, the heart, it is that silent warrior, the warrior fearless to enter where needed, if it summoned by the caller, you.

Confusion. An awful state to be in, confusion is. Forget taking control, both the head and the heart have lost grip of the reins. Neither of them wants to return to the state of clarity that existed before. Both head and heart have deserted you and left you to fend for yourself. Now , do you see why I wept that night for what seemed eternity. It was confusion , I felt. Complete and utter confusion. I was waiting for control to return. I wanted the heart to take control but I couldn’t care less as long as I wasn’t exposed to that awful state I wouldn’t wish on my enemy.

Finally, it came. And , you can guess who came to save the day. I suppose it is testament to what human nature is more inclined to for it was the heart that saved the day ( or night). It was the heart that realised its duty after momentary neglect. It was the heart that realised that sometimes, the head needed a break. It was the heart that realised that , at times, the person needed a break from being controlled by that steely soldier. My heart realised its duties to me and restored what was needed, hope.

So, that night, in between weeps and calls to my Lord, I felt something strange happening. It was the ever-increasing force of a warrior that was on its path to protect what was human with all the softness of a companion relieving their dearest of harm. That night, it was my heart that came to the rescue.

Salamu alaykum.

My brain misses you.

The books.
The writing.
The notes.
The lectures.
The concentration.
The motivation.
The quest for learning, basically.

I miss it like a dear friend.Time has snatched it away from me, procrastination has flirted with it.
And now, rummage awaits inspiration.
waiting......waiting.

Don't do it. Well, try not to.

What feels worse than someone else questioning your intentions? I repeat, what feels worse, not what is worse. For, as a Muslim, one must constantly review their intentions, keeping it clean and purely for the sake of Allah.

What feels worse, is when you question your intention, all of a sudden. You carry out an action, thinking it is for the sake of Allah and then something happens and your brain goes into overdrive. You self-question. Why am I doing this, again? Has my intention changed from the start? Is this action void if my intention has not been the same throughout the performance of the act? Heck, did I even start as I mean to go on?

You see, it’s this question that is asked and that makes one doubt themselves. I’ve been told it’s from the accursed Shaytaan, to put doubts into hearts of men. But, I’ll inform you of something that doesn’t help matters. That is being ‘praised’ about your actions, in an excessive manner.
When I use the term excessive, I do realise that it is relative to everyone. But, one can only address the experiences they have faced. The reason I do not like to get praise isn’t the admirable reason someone thinks of immediately, that one where the person does not want to be exposed to something that may increase hypocrisy and the like. Allahu a3lam.

It’s the other reason. It’s the one where the mention of praise opens up the questioning from the one being praised. It’s where the question of intentions arises. Why have I done this? Why are they praising the doer of the action? I wish they’d stop because as soon as they do I’ll stop questioning myself and I can get back to completing the action.

But then calm and rationality overcomes the worrier and they understand that the one giving praise doesn’t mean any harm. It may cause the one who is carrying out the action to doubt themselves (momentarily) but , hey, it is not done in spite. I understand that giving praise may encourage someone to do even better (in deeds) but there’s that aspect where it may also cause someone to question their intention. And, can you see how it gets worse
if the praise comes from the same individual.

So that is when it becomes all fine again. It’s when the person reminds themselves that it is for the sake of Allah only. And this is the strange part, the beautiful lesson, the beautiful outcome. All this does have a beneficial gain, it (should) cause someone to renew and strengthen their intention.

Hey, it all works out in the end even with all the headaches and heartaches. Best avoided though, I believe.

Wassalam.

I miss you.

Cairo, I do.

I miss sleeping after Fajr, every day I was out there.

I miss sleeping after noticing the first light.

I miss waking up at ridiculous times in the afternoon with no care at all.

I miss my family out there.

I miss my nephew who might as well have been my younger brother.

I miss the balcony I looked over again and again.

I miss the plant who's abode was the balcony.

I miss the lovely neighbours, although not their dog.

I miss the only time of day that the weather was bearable, 8am.

I miss the warm people of Cairo.

I miss taxi rides in those infamous cars.

I miss the bank notes I had to exchange everyday.

I miss the rows of headscarves on sale in the market.

I miss the mangoes, God, I miss the mangoes.
I miss the grapes, the figs and the awfully brown drink I realised was tamarind.

I miss the shopping.

I miss the malls.

I miss the drivers.

I miss the waiters.

I miss the kofte.

I miss the grilled chicken from that particularly warm gentleman from around the corner.

I miss the da3mia.

Hey, I even miss the foul.

Cairo, I miss you.

I miss you very much.
2009, inshallah. I'm counting down the months.

Here are some pictures , some nostalgia! Trust me, they make me feel a little bit better everytime I look at them. Excuse the lack of photographic skill.

-the last picture illustrates the sleeping after Fajr thing, although not very articulately.

Salam alaykum.

So, I teach.....

.....a bunch of Year 6 kids in fact (aged 10 and 11). I teach them English and Maths. Nothing unusual about that....hey, it pays.

Do I look forward to every session with the kids in ample anticipation? No.
Do I miss the kids during holiday season? No.
Have I bonded with the kids in a manner most befitting of the teacher - pupil relationship? Can't say I have, to be honest.
Does that make me a bad person? I hope not.

Do I try my best in providing them with as much help as I can? Yep.
Do I sense a tad bit of happiness that I am making a small difference? Definitely.

I have realized one thing from my experiences. That I do not possess the qualities needed to be that teacher that one always thinks of in an admirable manner. I’m painting myself out to be a monster, God forbid. In fact, I remember leaving due to exams and being asked to return because the kids had asked their parents if I could come back. You could imagine the surprise I felt.
“How in the world would they want me back?” I repeatedly asked myself.

Let me continue with an experience that will most definitely stay etched in my mind for quite a while. There I was teaching the little ones some numeracy. How tedious, I kept repeating to myself, as I showed them how to carry out a long multiplication for the umpteenth time. Alhamdulillah, they understood it so I moved on, to literacy.

It was a comprehension this time. Great, rummage thought. That should keep them busy for a little while as I completed some administration work I had to get done. The noise level crept up, I felt it. It crept in a way I never realized during my years as a school kid. It happens, I said to myself.

What to do?
Let’s read to them. What an original idea! I sarcastically thought, Lets read them the comprehension, rummage suggested, to her delight.
So I started reading. In fact, I got into the story myself. It was about a Norwegian explorer who had been the first to make it to the South Pole, Antarctica.
As I read, I held myself back for a while. The classroom had gone silent all of a sudden. Very silent. The kids were actually silent. Mashallah, I thought.

I continued as the tale got interesting, telling the reader about how the Norwegian explorer had beaten the British explorer to getting to the Antarctic by taking a different route.

You could see how excited I was getting. Forget rummage, I want to draw your attention to the kids. The kids who were relatively restless not so long ago had now been as silent as silent can be. The enthusiasm was seeping through their gasps and their constant willing me on to finish the story. When I had finished, they looked quite sad. No exaggeration. They were actually upset I had finished reading. To be honest, I was a bit upset.

OK, children, I said. I asked them to complete their questions and they had done so with a readiness I had never seen in them. They were huddled around their answers in fear of others seeing them. They double checked (and even triple checked) their answers with me, as if only gold dust could be spilled on those test papers.

It was time to go after a while; I said my salaams to the little kids and asked them to complete any unfinished work.
I smiled. I kept smiling for a long time, from what I can remember. I wanted to cry actually but there were people in the other room. No, no, rummage is not good with showing emotion around others.

I did get home and spill a few tears of happiness in the solitary confines of my bedroom, though. There, I patted myself on my back. Good work. Maybe I’m not so bad. I’m my own worst critic and always will be. Those kids only needed a chance, something so simple brightened their afternoon and urged them to do well, to excel.

The kids had done their work and rummage had done hers. All was well, alhamdulillah.

I remember my favourite teacher throughout all time. She was my History teacher and she made it come alive. Looking back at her, I know that I’ll never ever reach that level, you either have it or you don’t. I just don’t possess the many admirable qualities a decent teacher should. Patience is like a see-saw with me.

Rummage prefers being a learner, which is her abode. Comfort is what she feels as she learns for all eternity. Save the teaching for those who are cut out for it, she says. And my, what rewards does teaching bring to the one who does it. I know, I felt it that day, it made me cry, remember.

Salam alaykum.

01.01.09

Nothing mathematical about the date above. Its the first of the new Gregorian calender. We Muslims had our New Year a few days back but I was under a duvet trying to fight off influenza.
Praise be to Allah that I am fine now.

I don't do resolutions , maybe I should.
In fact, if the last year has taught me one thing is that I don't take enough time to analyse what's been before. I don't take myself into account. I foolishly lived life expecting it to throw whatever it would at me. I don't remember sitting down and thinking things through.

Why? Because it hurts too much. Biologically, emotionally, whatever. Thinking just isn't for me at most times.I've given up on thinking. Maybe thats why I'm so behind on academic work.*there's still time, she says*.

So, by God's will, I shall aim to review my life now and again, fix the things that need be fixed. Talk to the people that I feel like talking to.

That's another thing, talking to the people I want to talk to. It's OK, rummage tells herself, that you don't feel comfortable around many people. It's OK that only a select few people know the real you, rummage also tells herself. It's fine that you often feel that you can be yourself around those that matter, family, the real friends. Alhamdullilah, I am beginning to enjoy my company a bit more than usual. It's fine, one should tell themselves , constantly.

Alas! But one's never alone when they have chosen to submit to the will of Allah. I've realised I'm not alone. I never am. When it all gets too much and I can't find that particular person to empty myself out to, it's fine. I have Allah and I am beginning to learn that that is enough for me. He hears my fears, my desires, my despairs, my wants, my complaints. I'm not expected to take care of everything, it has already been decreed by a Lord, most Loving and that feeling brings sakinah to my heart everytime it passes my thoughts.

This bit always amuses me, I've just remembered I haven't thought of travelling for quite a while. Forget science, travelling is my companion and I have not been entertaining thoughts of the lists of places I want to go when I'm older. It's quite amusing when thoughts run away with you in such a manner. I look at the notice board with images of my favourite destinations and know that I'll probably have dreams of such places tonight.

So, let's see what this new year holds. Muharram, that is.

Salam alaykum.