The Cushitic Life

The Surrender Experiment

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Surrender

Credit: Zolan Milic, Getty Images (2017)

Lol. You know I was rolling my eyes when I started reading about this.  Surrender? What is surrender? Surrender for what? Surrender for what reason? What is surrender? Right, so besides Eartha Kitt’s voice booming in my head, I did honestly try to get into the spirit of things. You see, self help books and I are like African dictators and corruption. We’re inseparable. So there we were, gritting our teeth reading about it all, but I just couldn’t get into it. There is no retreating nor surrendering of that nature that goes on in my life. We fight tooth and nail against every single thingamabob that seeks to disrupt our lives. However powerless we may seem to be. There is a distinctive difference, I thought, between surrender and patience. To be patient means to grit my teeth when you’re telling me nonsense. Cut it short and walk away afterwards.  And to surrender means to react to your nonsense. To take the time to go down to your level of rubbish and debate semantics of…the magnitude of your crapola. Really. We must think about that one again!

There could not be a more perfect candidate for this surrendering business, I thought. No one has ever not complained that my duas are too detailed. No honey. We don’t leave anything to chance. Chance? What is chance? Okay okay, I’ll try to stop. We most certainly are not a fly by the seat of your pants type of girl. And do not even try to equate that level of balderdash to recreation. I promise you, nothing of that sort will endear you to us. But the contrast to that is self sufficiency. And here’s the thing. I’m not. No one is. It goes against the principle of this world. And the laws that bind us together. We need each other, just as much as we despise each other. And this is coming from an innate people hater. I meet people, and think oh God, you too I have to deal with? People who prefer to communicate and work through skype and email are my favourite kind of people in the world. And texters are my conscripted soldiers. My soul’s companions. Not soul mates, mark you. I don’t believe in the idea. Not when everything is meant to test your patience in this world, and when everlasting joy lies in another lifetime. But conscripted soldiers? As a parameter, it checks me every time I find myself inclined towards someone known to entertain evil. No way am I allowing you into my life, however magnetic you are, not when I’ve got cracks in mine and still have to sort out my own energy.

You know how you feel when people tell you something you’re vehemently opposed to, however accurate? Something like, you’ve reached the end of your tether, honey, please take a breath and relax. And you’re not superwoman, you know? But I am, I growl. But you’re not says that voice firmly resident in your head. And you growl again for the heck of it but concede? Chuck that voice. I’m here to tell you that that voice is a completely different person from you. Well not me really, but Michael Singer’s Untethered Soul which truly is a journey in self awareness and lays the foundation for the surrender experiment. The title says it all really. How to surrender and thrive in the vicissitudes of life, that is the overriding message. So here’s the thing. It’s easy to lay back, accept and thrive in the flow of life, I mean theoretically. Reasonably, the idea that you’d just let things happen without diving in to help it along or resist it all is alien to me. And quite frankly to the way we’re built.

And it’s remarkable that I’m so opposed to the book when its premise is similar to the submission required of me as a believer. Surrender, solitude and meditation are the hallmarks of classic monotheism. To be aware of the greater being. And the purpose to life. But that awareness isn’t passive. It’s raining cats and dogs, and I’m looking out, trying to relax and thrive in the harshness of thunder. There was a particular crackle to the last boom, and we’re shaken. Surely there must be a tempering to the flow demanded by Singer. One must strive, and one must also be patient and observe. Suffice it to say that the surrender experiment and I are having some trouble getting along.

I’m a human being, and I’ve long accepted that I’m unable to take the world by myself. I need people, my Lord help me never to. Rah! You know I’d be fighting this to my last breath. When you’re a lone ranger in these streets, you’re obsessed with beating the competition. Don’t ask me who or what the competition is, I’m still trying to figure it out. But that is my biggest fear – to fail in life. I remember telling someone this once, and they asked me what would happen if I did, and I….didn’t have an answer. I’d feel bad. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, I thought. But what catastrophe would be occasioned by this failure? Will I die? Will I be damned to eternal hell? Will I collapse? I’d probably puke my guts out in blood but…I will get over it.

I was recently overwhelmed professionally. As usual, I had bitten off more than I could chew, and was trying to pull all nighters to get to par with the commitments I had made. And I remember waking up one night and thinking…I don’t have the heart for this anymore. I’m no longer 21. And the following night, I was attempting to read for an exam, and again… I couldn’t understand a thing about what it was I was reading. And, I’m still like of course I’ll do this paper and hack it. And a peer is telling me to back out and avoid starting 2020 this way. And I was trying to think – what would Michael Singer do? And for the life of me, I couldn’t apply his advice to my practical life. Surrender to what? Surrender for what reason? I tried.

I attended a meeting recently and one participant felt compelled to personally attack me. The appalling quality to my English and some such nonsense. Self esteem issues, you know the drill. And I remember looking back with dagger eyes, and was one statement away from blasting it (hahaha) and taking it through a crash course in professionalism. And you know, humane behaviour. It belittles you as a leader to behave disrespectfully in front of your peers. And sis had a draft of an email ready to send and blast (it) in front of its peers. And thank God I did not. The art of knowing is knowing what to ignore. I read this, and there just isn’t anymore to be said is there? Reacting to people and their idiotic behaviour is not in my list of challenges. Nor my league of achievements. This aspect to surrender I can take. It’s the rest that I can’t seem to swallow.

Surpassing my goals. And failing. That’s what pushes me. And haunts me. A sort of score card or scarlet letter on the extent of my abilities. I once did french language exams, and had one paper left to get my diplome but had to go back to uni, and for the life of me, I’ve never forgotten that missed niveau quatre exam. It goes back to my definition of honour and hypocrisy. To fail to honour my commitments, especially those that I make to myself, is a sign of hypocrisy in myself, isn’t it? Is this surrender? Sigh. Does it ever get uncomplicated?

There are certain aspects to my submission that are unquestionable. The foundation of my being is to surrender to The Supreme. For whom else would I submit to? And whose other decrees are worth submitting to anyway? The definition of surrender in my life is so far removed from any western or indeed eastern ideal of spirituality. It’s almost too simple, I find. I submit to my Lord and my Lord only. Readily and most willingly. Every dawn, and every dusk. And every noon, and afternoon. And before the witching hour. In solitude and in company. And I would never hesitate to do so. Even when I’m prostrate with exhaustion. Whatever the complaints of my flesh, my will and spirit is ever ready. What do I get in return, you ask? Peace.

This is my surrender experiment. And everything else is play. Boom.

1441 A.H.

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Crescent Moon of 1 Muharram 1441 AH Credit: blog.al-habib.info (2019)

It’s heeeeerrrreeeee! New year, new resolutions, and all that jazz. Okay, settle done dudettes, this blog does not stand for any celebrations, innovations, revolutions, yup. We’re those middle ground conservatives that everyone loves to hate. Traditional to the coint. Bone. But coint is my current favourite word. Bear with us. So yeah people. I’m not about any of the Sudais bashing, Saudi opposing, Hamas supporting bandwagon that just about everyone I know seems to be on. Or a blind supporter of the so called arab spring. And this is coming from a self confessed rebel who’s long supported just about any sort of revolutionary movement around me. In class. At home. At work. Public transport. Russia. My rebelliousness crumbles like wet sugar before The Most High, and everything He stands for. Ignorance is a killer, y’all. That is not to say that I condone any injustice whatever my aversion to the critique of my leaders. And however abhorrent the individuals supposedly are. Le sigh. There’s something to be said about this beautiful patience that we’re enjoined to exercise. Nothing about it is easy.

So it’s also my birthday month, and I was tempted to post something insightful to mark my day but I realized I was making too big of a deal of one day, however significant. I was also exhausted after a long day’s work of serving guests. Cushitic women exist on a whole other plane y’all. Men? Bah! they can’t ever complain that the coffee is too rich, or the food is too salty.  The women though – I could write a whole novel about them and their ways. 50 years’ worth of cooking and home making seems to give one the dictatorial rights to order you around and demand, because there are no polite requests really, whatever they wish of you. So there I was running around like a headless chicken fulfilling every edict, and cutting this, and peeling that, cleaning this and picking massive wads of popcorn off the floor that someone deliberately threw…because! Significant day, significant year but I could barely keep my eyes open at the end of the day.

But thank God that happened, because 1441 AH was just right around the corner,and boy, haven’t we got a lot to say about that. Big big plans, as usual, ahem. But come now, surely none with the level of excitement we have for this one. None with that, I assure you. Taasua and ashura.  A trip around my favourite places. A reunion with my Lord, because I don’t give two figs if I go broke, for sure, when it beckons. Not that I would ever want to turn away from its call anyway. Pssshh. New skills acquisition, and a re-connection with my passion. Knowledge gathering, the real knowledge y’all. My Lord, please make it all happen for me.

An acquaintance recently called me to ask me to help them, and in the same vein could not resist abusing me. And I was hanging up in disbelief. You want me to help you, but you see nothing wrong with insulting me, and attempting to put me down. Or probing for private information that you can clearly tell I’m not willing to share. And you know, I would normally just leave one speaking midway, hang up every subsequent call or respond in the same tone. But this is the year of letting everything slide off of me. Michelle Obama’s we go high philosophy. It’s not easy, this patience thing. But you gotta try it, because the Exalted has promised us the world, the hereafter and everything we desire if we tried it. It costs everything. Nothing less than everything.

The idea of speaking to people I can’t stand and ordinarily would never entertain is new to me. I had another acquaintance recently call me to relay that a friend was speaking about me. An acquaintance. Reporting a friend. Let that sink in. Of course I find all this to be trés outlandish because I’m the very last person who’s interested in any of society’s social parameters of popularity and success. I genuinely don’t care about you, and your life and business. I don’t know what possible advantage you’d ever obtain from updating yourself of my affairs. If I knew it, I could perhaps attempt to understand it. But there isn’t, you see. You’re not anyone special. And I’m nothing special. You won’t die if you focused on yourself. Really. Our lives are inordinately full, what possible pleasure would one ever derive in butting their heads, tongues and malice in other people’s affairs. This life. And this promised patience – so beautiful, and powerful, and dense, and unbreakable. Unimaginably difficult and immensely rewarding. Like most good things in life.

So 1441 A.H. is my year of patience. Forbearance and self-restraint and fortitude and composure and all that jazz. Here we go again y’all, around the mulberry bush, serene, ready to slay some more dragons this year, ahem human beings. No murder of course. You know what I mean? And some more fears. And challenges. We’re ready to slay them all.

So without further ado, ladies, and ladies, welcome to 1441 A.H.

Anatomy of a cold cushitic woman

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Hijabi photo

Credit: Pinterest (Grace Elizabeth),  2019

Forbidding, unfeeling, austere. I’ve heard these and their less sophisticated synonyms, at various points in my life.  More regularly than I’d care to admit. Heartless, one once called me. Really people really? Now that I must dispute. A slow pulse I may have, but it works perfectly fine for the activities that I’m inclined towards. And no, I’m not unemotional either. I just prefer not to idolize my feelings. People misunderstand me in this way. Empathizing, many times painfully, and vicariously through random strangers,  comes way too easily than I’m comfortable with. And I hate it when I get there, because it’s a faucet I can’t turn off. So aloof we go.

When I think of myself, the very last thing that comes to mind is glaciers. I think of fire, good fire, the one that lights up our homes, and gives us warmth and makes me good tea. That fire. Sun fire, sahara hot, beating down the remotest of coldness in my life. And I think of glittering lights for my eyes. Not anger glitters people, have you ever heard of the word “passion”? Look it up. And my manly walk and robotic movements, I prefer to call focused efforts to propel my motion forward, always forward people, always forward. And my provocations, defiance, and bluster really? Bluster? Come on, even my haters know this is unmitigated bravado which I’m quick to back up with precedent, data, evidence, figures. Ahem, bear with us. I’m into hyping myself up these days.

You see people, there is no ice here, it’s tempered passion. Unabridged amazonianhood. I once read a novel about a lost tribe of women who lived in the Amazon. Tall statuesque warrior women. The image has always stuck with me. Dare I say that that is how I view myself? So it wasn’t exactly the most ideal of foundations, at least not one receptive to the maze of  jungian and myers-brigg theories that has had the internet ablaze for a while. It was indeed with much surprise that I found myself almost gleefully diving down a rabbit hole of discovery into this part fact, part myth cult that constitutes personality archetypes in modern times. I cannot tell you the amount of blogs, because of course blogs, I’ve scrolled through waiting to catch someone in a barefaced lie. You mean you actually understand a little bit about me. Nooooo. No one is allowed to know me better than I know myself. And I’m torn between resentment that someone has got a number on us and excitement that someone has got a number on us.

To clear all doubts and prevent triggered dudettes coming after me for this seemingly misleading title, there will be no biology lessons to be had today. But we’ll have dissections, of our lives yes, because those are the only dissections we do now. Ever. I mean always, of course. Friends, frenemies ,welcome to our corner of the World. We know you, we recognize you, even those master procrastinators who crunch 3 months’ work into 2 sleepless nights, we are together in eternal guilt and never ending lists and tasks. Having said that, I don’t believe anyone could ever tell me what my house is, not even I can. But we can agree on my neighbourhood. It’s all cold outside. And smouldering inside. 

Hall mark traits? Some of my most creative of thoughts are my morbid musings, it would have been beautiful I assure you, the ingenuity-we’d give everyone ideas, we’d make headlines. Ahem, but we’re alive, and there’s beauty in life people. It is enough to know that I am here for a season. And it is enough to know that I’m competing with each one of you in striving to do good for The Exalted. And I’ll be damned if I let my enemies get the better of me in this regard. Ahem, that is not to say that our primary motivation is competition, we love serving people, even those ones we can’t stand, there’s satisfaction  in this I have come to learn. Indeed, to know that we are better than you after all, what more reward does one need. I kid, I kid!

I have a thing for authority, I like goading it. Pulling its tail. Testing its mettle, I don’t know what it is that makes me rebel against any sort of perceived authority. And I hate that, because there’s wisdom to be learnt from people who came before you. But we’re working on it. My supposed stare or resting bitch face cannot be helped. Sometimes I’ve got a deer in headlights expression you see, and my mind is in Jupiter. It means nothing really. Half of the time, we’re not looking at you…or listening either.

I love my company. I’m sitting here writing this with my whole family asleep and those are the best of times. Me, my laptop, my Lord. I don’t know why people are terrified of being alone, when they constitute some of our most exciting and inspiring of times. Just fill it up with things that you love and you’re good. Oooor , leave it empty and stare at the wall, and just go through galaxies and black holes, and beyond. That beyond is my sweet spot, my watering hole when I need a break.

The thing about being cold and cushitic is that it’s the complete antithesis of what’s expected of a cushitic woman. Being garrulous and chirpy and accommodating and bubbly, and meek, and well mannered, and demure and, everything I’m not. The idea that there’s this normal nature and personality expected of cushitic girls I have always thought completely bizarre.  You grow up thinking you’re abnormal, and yet there’s everything to be gained in being reserved, and quietly fervent, and atypical. A filter for people who aren’t anything close to your crew.  I consider myself to be a starry eyed cynic. Because I still believe in the beauty of  goodness in the face of evil, but have the right amount of skepticism to know that it’s rare to get it in this very selfish, cruel, unjust world.  An intense, somewhat masculine personality playing a feminine role, that’s us people.

It goes without saying that I don’t abide by rules just because I’m supposed to. And I may be methodical in the way that I approach life but I’m not super organized. I gotta have something off in my wardrobe or desk, or I’ll go crazy. I still know where everything is, but I can’t stand the straight and narrow, at least not for things I don’t find particularly important. And no, I don’t know it all. I’m always up to pick your brain. I’m always up to change my mind. Convince me. And please do throw a few compliments here and there. Of my work. Coz that’s the only kind we accept. I know darling, not all women want what you think we want. But there’s a fine balance, mind. Come on, every week is overkill. One or two per year should do it. Yeeeeees, we have got a bit of shallow in us. Or more than a bit. Kind of like most human beings (shhh don’t tell anyone that.)

We’re here, we’re better than you, nastier, cooler than you. We are the modern version of the cold cushitic woman. And we make no apologies for it.

The highest good

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everest

Everest (2010). Credit: Vivian Henderson, gwcaia.com 

Cicero. Seneca. Epictetus. Bezos. Musk. Gates. Me. Ahem. What’s the difference between us all really but a few thousand years and a few billion dollars? You’ve got to gas yourself up sometimes.

300 B.C. 2019 A.D. It’s not all bad, you see. History. Philosophy. The Art of Acquiescence. The love of fate. Ancient religion, to all the agnostics and atheists in the house. Okay, I can’t resist poking at you. I have never met a more prepared lot in my life. I don’t know what it is about me that always drives them to spontaneously rave, with chapter and verse, and so admirably presented, at the absurdness of our lives. We’d be talking about the most random of things – the chicken in my sandwich is stale, and off they go- you know what else is stale? Religion! I mean, relax you guys. So you went through some tough times in your life and no miraculous help was forthcoming? Guess what, we all did? It’s supposed to build your character. And what’s this about drawing a line between not believing in something and not knowing whether there’s something worth believing in. And then there’s people who combine the two for good measure. Agnostic atheism. Whaaaaat? I can’t stand people who sit on the fence. And it’s the thing to do these days- Aah, I’m not saying that climate change doesn’t exist but it goes both ways. So do you believe it or not, man? Urggh! Anyways, philosophers, billionaires and stoicism. I like!

It looks a little bit like this. I was speaking to a good friend who’d recently called to ask about some guy who was interested in marrying her. This guy and I? Oil and water. We’re biased. I’d be the very last person to advise her. So off I went to ask my miss goody two shoes of a friend- you know those people in your life who never have anything bad to say about anyone? Envy them to bits! But then this girl was also like mais non mademoiselle! Tu es folle! He’s like chlamydia-you stay far away from it! Err, she didn’t exactly say that, but when I think of the grossest of the gross in the world, I think of chlamydia.

My uni had us go through a mandatory HIV/AIDS course in first year to possibly traumatize us from having sexual relations? I genuinely don’t know what the purpose was, it was always Sodom and Gomorrah back in the residence halls. But one thing that stuck with me since then? Chlamydia. And gonorrhea. When I think back to the worst of the worst, chlamydia comes to mind. Rolls of my tongue easier. So this guy, bad like chlamydia! The first time I met him, I mean the very first time I met the guy, he interrupted, admittedly a monologue of my dad’s achievements and his scholarly pursuits, to ponder on how he managed to take care of his many children on a teacher’s salary. This is what I always say. Don’t ask people questions whose answers you’re not prepared to listen to. My dad? Monologue. My cat? Monologue. My work? One word. Please don’t interrupt people? Especially if you’ve got nothing good to say? And how dare you confuse scholars with teachers?! Ahem.

Fast forward to 2019, and my friend tells me she’s actually considering this specimen for life. It’s all I needed – permission to lay my good opinion at her door. Err, none? Have you ever met people about whom you have very little good to share? I tried, Lord knows I did! It was all chlamydia but I valiantly fought to translate my violent opposition into something more acceptable. I would have previously raved to my heart’s content, and swam in guilt afterwards. These days, I track back on the vitriol and distill my thoughts to focus on virtue over vice. Not exactly what people are expecting to hear but they don’t sleep in my bed at night. You know, something that balances my responsibility to tell the truth regarding someone’s marriageable prospects and a gossip sesh that I can sleep with.

So I thought, phew I’m done with that nasty business. Only for my girl to call me the next day and relay that chlamydia had interesting ideas regarding marriage. To be specific, he thought highly of a “secret nikah” a.k.a prostitution patched up with a marriage certificate, and would she mind considering it? I can’t even speak about it here, it needs its own post. I had had it! Chlamydia graduated to gonorrhea, and I couldn’t stand to hear a minute’s more of that conversation. Which was sad, because she needed to vent. But I was slipping to the point of no return. My fingers still itch to call him up and tell him exactly what I think of him. And men of his ilk. Familiar territory. It’s what I have always done. And still crave to do. Not to say that he will not get the cut sublime the very next time I meet him. That is the barest he deserves from me. And that I introduced my friend to an ogre. Urrghh! But stoicism, you guys. Cool beans.

Forbearance. Fortitude. Phlegm. You know you’ve got it bad when such words excite the hell out of you! Those are the worst. The rest are all feel good. Long-sufferingness. Restraint. Temperance. Okay okay, I was kidding. That aside though, Ryan Holiday’s Daily Stoic is a must read! Trust me, you start with the likes of Marcus Aurelius (kill me) and then you get to the meatier parts and you’re like, hang on? Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me? You mean, I can hack the ultimate computer? My own mind?

Since my introduction in uni, the stoic philosophy has always stood out as one of the most fascinating ideologies in history. Still fascinating, because it needs oodles of strength of mind, which I lack. You know what drives me? The unattainable. But it’s more than that. It’s accepting that you have no control over most aspects of your life, and that a change in attitude to look for the virtue that you should be learning in the adversity currently before you, goes a long way.  It’s a more sophisticated approach to live and let live. Because it teaches you to not only accept what has happened, but to enjoy it all, whatever it is! Really. At its simplest, it’s the acknowledgment of the unpredictability of the world and the encouragement to be steadfast, to be in control of our emotions and reflexive senses. Reflexive senses FBI and Mossad style? That was my hook!

I’m obsessed with the idea of cultivating an excellent mental state. And stoicism is all about it, you guys. The acceptance that you can control very few things in your life to eliminate the unhappiness resulting from thinking that you can control things that, in fact, you can’t. We can’t control what’s happening around us, what people around us say or do. We can’t even control our own bodies that get sick and damaged and fail us. But we can control how we think about them. Which leads me to the second thread. That it’s not necessarily those people or actions or things that upset us, but how we think about them. That everything we think-whether happy, sad, fearful, mad- is a product of the judgments that we make. That things in themselves are value neutral, for what might be devastating to us might be welcomed by others. That it’s those value judgments that generate our emotional reactions. It’s the ultimate paradox, as Epictetus points out- that while we may have almost no control over anything, we also have the ability, through our change in attitude, to see the virtue in everything around us and have potentially complete control over our happiness.

Whatever gas I’d be smoking in those pages, I need some more of it. Because hunteys, I be chilling these days! A client would call me with 3 different instructions to their work, and I’d most probably have gone off handle on them. Not anymore, I actually do it with a smile. No really, a proper genuine smile. Someone else trying to slow down my roll? Again, cool beans. I’m like, you do you honey. Carry on wasting your time by being spiteful towards others. I mean, you’ll still get back exactly what you give. Now I know, I know, you’re all wondering about Trump. And Netanyahu.

There are no sad endings for those who trust in Allah. I read this somewhere and it stuck with me. There are no sad endings, you guys, if you believe in the philosophy of justice as ordained by the laws of nature, the laws of our Creator. The “you pay for everything you do here, and beyond,” even when you see horrible people living the life. Forget about them. They’re going to hell. Err, I kid of course. Not really? Honestly, just try your best to do good and be good. You will never attain the perfection of actions and ethos required of you for a full twenty-four hours. But you can try. And that’s all that is asked of you. That you get up after every fall and keep trying. Have you ever seen the ending of good people? To die for!

Enough about this venting to people business, I’m done people. Besides the unimaginable guilt, you somehow always end up looking like the bad guy. Haven’t asked for my opinion? Cool beans, man. You can do whatever and say whatever about me. That’s on you. Just don’t be unjust in front of me, and for God’s sake, don’t kill people either! Anything and everything else, I’m mute. Do you boo boo.

It’s not easy. But nobody said it would be. Whatever nonsense that goes on around me these days, I swallow my words and turn to my Lord. Which better listener is there anyway?

#MuslimWomensDay

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woman-in-niqab-walking-560x382

Credit: Depositphotos.com (2019)

I attended a training recently on personal development, and a memorable assignment given was to chart our journeys to self-actualization. But before you do that, the trainer advised us, you must be self-aware. So we each had to draw life maps constituting past events leading to our present occasion. I was appalled, I’d only known these people for 3 days, and I was expected to turn over and reveal the marking scheme to my person? Until the first went up, and dared the rest of us to be equally candid in our stories.

It wasn’t until I started drawing a chart of my journey that I noticed a pattern to my frame of mind. Going back to the 7 year old me, the 15 year old me, the 21 year old me was a revelation in how we choose to condition our minds to take in this world. What drove my outlook on life, my worries, my dreams, and my vision. It’s so easy to get caught up in running after the next big thing, and forget where it was you started. And it’s jarring to see how far you’ve come, with hardly a thought on how easy it was for that journey to take a completely different path. So here I was battling all these bizarre emotions dredged up when I thought back to how close I was to making this decision or choosing that offer, and feeling all urrghh I don’t want to do this in public! But it had to be done. With nary a sprinkling nor omission, none that I dared do when each of them had promised me honesty.  I can’t stand self-amazement, when a majority of our lives are dictated by forces outside our control, but neither can I stand to be ungrateful. And what I have been is extremely fortunate but ungrateful.

There were many many highs and a few lows whose sadistic pleasure I derive in ruminating about. I was almost ashamed to stand there and tell this amazing group of people who’d told me stories about resilience and grit, at how easy my life has been. That I have a benevolent God who with a single tear rushes to give me the smallest of my desires, more than I ever ask for. A loving family that never demands or asks anything of me, and is the first to support the wildest of my dreams. And friends who have stuck by me throughout this journey, and never shun me however long, selfishly so, I take for myself.  It astounds me that I find myself exactly where I have always dreamt of being. And yet I’m impatient, I’m greedy, I want everything to work out for me, and I dare to have a timeline for it. Isn’t this the height of arrogance?

Having recently experienced the loss of my father, I promised myself that I’d take to heart those things that were most important to us. That they’d be dearer to me than this shallow shallow vision that I have of myself and my place in this world. And yet I always think I’ll have time-I take it for granted that my Lord has been accommodating towards me, and that He’ll allow me to do those things that He loves at my own time. And I inexplicably seem to expect this kindness when I show none- how can He not judge me?

Thinking back to those that so recently left us in New Zealand, I wonder what their thoughts were at the sound of death. Did they ever think that that would be their last jum’a? That sister, Allah yarhamha, who met her death at the courtyard as she thought to turn back towards the House of Allah, or flee from the sound of hate. Did she have time to call to her Lord, did she have time to regret any mistakes, and what kind of mistakes? Did she have time to beg Him for His gardens? Did she have time to be happy and thankful to Him when shown her place in it? That old man, Allah yarhamhu, who saw evil, and still wished peace upon it. Was it his custom to invite peace into the House of Allah, or simply routine of habit that propelled him to utter those words before he went to face his Lord? Is it really, habit, that is?

That my lifestyle would be so immersed into my Creator, and what He loves, that my ending merely affirms this routine of habit? But it isn’t, you see. My life is reverent of this world and all it entails, and spares mere minutes for my other life, my eternal life. And I’m chock full of myself, and I think myself to be important. And I overestimate my relationship with my Lord,  that He’ll forgive me, with nary a whisper for it, and be there for me no matter what. And that He’ll never forget me when He’s got billions of my kind, and I only have Him, and forget Him often.

Listening to my colleagues’ life maps reminded me how much of a priviledged life I have lived, how little I have been tested and how much I take for granted. I take for granted a slow ending to my life, allowing me much needed time to repent and flee back to my Lord. I take for granted how much love and sweetness I have tasted of this life, and how much bitterness others have. I take for granted this knowledge of my Creator and these insights into how best to live my life in the manner that He recommends to me, for my own peace and fulfillment in this world. And how much capacity for self-awareness He allows me, to shift paradigms of thoughts and habits, once so ingrained in my life, for His pleasure. That I can suddenly switch around and so desire this new way. And that I believe myself to be strong of will, when it’s my Lord who breathes it into me.

There are planes and planes of people inside us. And we don’t know how much we’re capable of until we make that commitment to probe, and tap further into these vast paradigms. There is so much goodness, and so much evil that we each have capacity for. And so much faith, so much belief in the goodness of our Creator and His intentions for our differences in this world. And His benevolence that goes eons. But we must do our parts. We must put in the work that He requires of us. One that is grateful of the favours we have which we are not entitled to, one that respects each other, that honours each other, and appreciates our diversity.

I don’t know how else to put this, so that the most ignorant man in the remotest desert of Australia understands it. We may look different, but you don’t really believe that we truly are, do you? Certainly not where it matters most. Deep within us, you see, we all have the same worries, the same dreams and desires out of this life. The same regrets. The same blood even, dare I say! Imagine it, because it’s true. There’s a lot more in common that we have if you but looked for it. And our differences are, and will not ever be enough to tap into these evil paradigms within us.

None of this. We’ve got stuff to do, let’s get to it. So on this day, my lovelies, have an accepting and affirming one will you?

A time to kill perfection

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Credit: The Gift of Imperfection, Umairhaque.com, 2018

I’m done. With thinking, expecting, planning, projecting, outlining. To hell with it all. I’m done with the crippling disappointment that accompanies most of my projects and initiatives. Work, applications, reports, papers. Relationships. Life moments. Plans. Dreams. I have perfected the art of internally scourging myself. I have mastered the frontiers of its accompanying agony. Nothing escapes her clutches, my inner voice. It’s almost a sadistic pleasure she enjoys, in tormenting us. This? You really want to put this out? You want to apply to this? You think you can do this? You think you can explain this? Who do you think you are? Before producing anything, I would have often fought countless battles within me. Exhausted, I would then venture to convince my frenemies and haters, categories that I’ve relegated most of my world to. I jest. Not really.

I remember taking ages to upload a post, and even then, I’d be mortified at it all. Seeing grammatical errors. A poorly explained idea. Or a less erudite answer to my questions. I’d upload, and then put a password to my posts. A password that only I had. I’m intimately familiar with the perimeters of my misery – I’d be gloomy, dejected, grieve, and finally, fall into depression. It’s a sequential pattern that I can almost always pin point to the last nanosecond, when I would flip to the next. Whatever it was, it would never pass my tests, standards, ideals. Judgment and shame would be my bosom companions. Of course I’d be better, how I could I not, I thought? I have never believed in unsolvable problems. And so I pored over countless articles on the arbitrary construct of perfection in our minds, of the fulfillment in imperfection. To no avail.

It eluded me. The why of it all. And how? How does one proceed to just live it? How do I practice it? How do I forget who I am, and overhaul my entire life to take on this imperfect mantle that almost everyone seems to be comfortable wearing? How do I find contentment in it? How do I untangle a lifetime’s habit that moves not without plans and outlines? That scripts every future event to the last T, and despairs at every last disruption to those well laid plans. That balks at any spontaneous adventure sprung upon us. That morosely stares at every bearer of surprises, good and beyond good, in my life.

It’s a loop. I recognize it. One that admits that my most perfect plans can be taken over by forces that are extraordinarily more powerful than my own. That my powers falter at circumstances so unpredictable as to always command a space in my life’s equation. Tragic events, present emotions, ill health, destiny. The most perfect constant variable, I’d call it. And on the other, it admits that there must be a halt to my critique. That it’s infinitely more malignant than benevolent. My shoulders now sag at the burdens laid by that voice. That I must turn off my most favoured past-time, thinking, which comes at the cost of attempting it all. It’s never ending. And it’s not worth it anymore. No one, not even I, deserve the weight of that voice, the piercing of that gaze. The crispness of those recollections. It’s never a simple demur this, it’s almost always a flogging. I’m spent. We can’t do perfection anymore. And not because we don’t want to. You have no idea. If I could, I’d still be there. But we have no capacity for it now, you see.

This is my sole resolution for this year. No more perfect lists and plans for me. We’re making an exercise of this imperfection scheme. We will be the most imperfect writer, the most imperfect researcher. The most imperfect counsellor, the most imperfect human being that lived this year. You think you’ve seen terrible reports, posts ey? You think you’ve seen terrible papers, unstomachable work? Tighten your lenses people, pull up your visors haters, I’m taking you down a road that even I don’t lead my enemies to. Came here to learn about taming that beast? Move along honey, not today. Here, we’re sharpening our imperfection knives. We’re driving down unplanned – panic, anxiety, self-doubt and failure be damned. We’re dedicated to drawing the most imperfect demarcation lines between success and failure. Drafts? What drafts? There are no drafts this year, no do-overs. I’m taking us into portals and within channels that are hopelessly, inconceivably unswimmable. There are no awards this year, here we just flail our arms and drown.

So hello imperfection, my old friend. How do you do?

My circle: Rules of engagement

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ending friendships

Courtesy: Tumblr (2018)

I’ve always thought that my primary purpose in this world was to serve- to serve God, and to serve humanity. That I always had to be there for whoever needs me, that I had to pour my essence and entire being into them, to make things right for them, to help them realize their dreams. Whilst I still believe this, I’ve learnt to temper my approach these days. If someone takes and takes, and never gives, do you still have to keep giving? But what if you give and give, and have nothing left to anchor your dreams? I never thought that I’d ever get there. I’ve always thought of myself as resilient, and howsoever wounded, generally unswayed by the vagaries of life. Until I got to that definitive point, and realized that however loose, my boundaries of unconditional service had calibrations, and I had arrived at point non plus.

It was discomposing. To have to put a halt to my usual sprint in life, and look around me. Take stock of who I am, what my values are, what my dreams are, what path I’m on and what I should never negotiate on. My dreams, I discovered, are non-negotiable. To get to the gardens, with all it entails, and whom it entails. And to be the best version I could be in whatever I lay my hands on here. But I had sacrificed my dreams. Over and over again. To people whom I thought would do the same for me. But they hadn’t, you see. They wouldn’t have my back, and they would never put their necks out for me. They wouldn’t put half as much effort in whatever I did for us –  in our dreams, in mutual support, in encouragement. And they would abuse me, I have learnt, to reflect their own insecurities.

And I had to review this conduct, make painful inquiries, and reflect on their place in my life. Would I ever be comfortable to see my friends suffer? If they needed my help, would I be comfortable to sit down, and berate them for approaching it the wrong way? Would I tell them to do it themselves if they thought they were superwoman, and direct them to learn those lessons well? Of course not. It would pain me greatly, to see my friends suffer, to withhold assistance – within my sphere of knowledge or influence – to deliberately hurt my friends. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.

So why was I comfortable with these kinds of relationships? One-sided, draining, bloodsucking, toxic. Why was I comfortable with being the designated forgiving bigger person? Why was I accepting of less than what I gave out? Why was it okay for me to accept someone who’s not willing to put in as much effort as I do? To go out of their way to fix things for me? To help me out with my dreams, unprompted? Why, when I’m more than happy to do the same? Why wouldn’t I want to have another of me? What made me think that I was undeserving of that? And that I always had to be the strong one, the adult, to take care of everything myself? This, we must unravel.

I would say that I’ve lived a very sheltered lifestyle. A conservative experience most common to Cushitic girls everywhere. That is not to say that I haven’t managed to escape life, and all its eccentricities. But these have by and large been confined to areas that constitute a sheltered lifestyle – inescapable eventualities, I call them. Fate, it’s referred to in other circles. But no matter how sheltered, there are lessons which one learns quite early on in this journey. Integrity, courage, commitment, clemency, loyalty, these are some of them.

I don’t have to really think about it, it’s inherent I’ve discovered. Loyalty that is. An ex-husband of one of my good friends contacted me recently. Of course I didn’t pick up, and you know my next call was my girl asking her what her ratchet ex was up to. Mark you, I knew her husband way before I knew her, but once we connected, that was it!  She alone would dictate to me the nature of contact I would have, which I would faithfully adhere to. And whatever her apathy, you know I had chapter and verse ready for her, if she ever needed it.  It’s an unspoken rule, I thought.  Boundaries that every female friend knows and learns to keep. And these may differ in your circle of friends. Learn them all I say. But some frontiers are too clear, I thought. Those that are intrinsic within us. Loyalty is one. If someone does not respect you enough to be loyal towards you on matters of no great import, what makes you think they’d respect your margins on matters salient?

These are my rules of sisterhood. Women who always choose capable women over unavailing, inadequate men. How could you drop your friends for a man, someone who was never there in your making? Don’t you know that there is a role for everyone in your life, that no one could replace your family and no man could take the place of your friends? How could you do this, and then expect me to put this behind me? Of course I’ll forgive you, because that’s the only way I can put you behind me and move on. But I’m flawed, I don’t have whatever it is other people have that allows them to forget. I’m not your mum, sis, I don’t do unconditional love.

And what of women who’re asked to help other women? How dare you say no, when it’s within your capacity to reach out and lighten the load of another? What are you here for? What gives you the right to say no? Your mother who’s gone through pain after pain to bear and raise you? Your sisters who guided you and were always there for you? Your friends who were there to comfort you and support you when faced with life’s trials? But who am I to dictate to you how to live? It is life’s ultimate lesson to give you back tenfold the same energy that you give out. I would wish that you wouldn’t learn this lesson the hard way because I assure you, it is painful.

So go forth, arrogant soul. Go forth and conquer your mountains, and if you come across these valleys, don’t worry, we won’t be there to tell you we told you so. Lonely plains await you, with no one around to celebrate or genuinely condole with you. We’ll let you find out that there is a cardinal rule that we simply do not break as women. When a woman comes to you for help, you give everything that’s within your capacity to give. You jump over every hoop, barring death, and even death, to help her. Because another woman did that for you. You must give back.

Have you come across women who never stand up for other women, and have the audacity to tell you stories of their failings? Cowards, I call them. What is the point of telling me stories after the fact, how can you live with yourself? But I have come to learn that these are not my people. Those who do not share the same philosophies in life. You can never force someone to have the same values as you do. Not everyone was raised by your mother. People who feel not a pinch when lying to your face. People who have nothing better to do but lecture you on your weirdness, and how you should never talk or act, or be.  People who mock and trivialize your pain. People who have no qualms about trampling on borders that you’ve set for them. People who feel nothing about divulging a private conversation about a third party to that third party. Who are so quick to dish out criticism and insult you, but can’t take it. People who humiliate you before mutual friends and third parties. Who have no problems going out with someone else’s partner. How do you flirt with another woman’s man without their permission? How, sis? How do you plan to take another woman’s man without their blessing? How do you expect to build your happiness over another woman’s unhappiness? There’s a cost to every friendship, many sacrifices that we must voluntarily give, but you’ve got to know when that sacrifice is you. Your values, your essence, your path. When the sacrifice is you, darling, you bail out.

Not everyone deserves a seat at your table. It’s sacred. Just like you, don’t you know? They need to be similar minded, similar valued and similar visioned. What is the value of inviting conflict into your life? You can’t always be the one that sacrifices in your relationships, it’s unhealthy. You weren’t born to be everyone’s caretaker, to care more about others’ dreams than they do. You are not here to live lives for other people, at the expense of your own. You are not here to set dreams for other people at the expense of your own. Live your life and go forth in your journey. A seat at your table is earned, not through lies, deceit, betrayal or a shaky character. But loyalty, honour, reliability, constance, consistency, devotion and mutual hard work and effort. To spiritually uplift each other, and remind each other why it is we’re still here. Because if you do not increase me, you will eventually decrease me. We can’t have that. I don’t need everybody to like me. As long as I like me, I’m cool.  And that table may have only me, but as long as I have peace of mind, I’m okay.

It’s been a year of uncomfortable growth. Where every meaningful change and advancement has come through chaos. But there’s an accompanying sweet weariness I find, when you look back at a full year. And marvel at how far you’ve come. And how much farther you need to go. So here I am, my loves, looking forward with so much hope at the rest of my journey. Wiser, stronger, more open-minded, more conflict-averse and yes, more pragmatic. With irreducible minimums that I’ll never let anyone abuse again. And lessons learnt well, for optimal living.

You must, first and foremost, commit to yourself. To loving yourself unconditionally, to taking care of yourself, to accounting to yourself, to persevering in following your dreams, no matter the deviations that come your way. You must then commit to your soul’s creed, to your choices, your mistakes, your lessons. Alongside it all, you must pledge your allegiance to your one true love, your Provider, the bane of your existence, the tranquility of your life. Your one and only constant. Unceasing, perennial, everlasting succour. You must make the decision to keep friends who want to keep you. And are equally committed to set forth on this journey of life together. How can you be accepting of apologies that never came? How can you be accepting of unaccountable people in your life? People who take your love and commitment, and capacity to forgive, for granted. People who do not challenge you to raise your standards, to be the best version of yourself. People who take and take and are never willing to give. Sis, respect yourself, those you must bid adieu to.

There are many many wonderful memories and lessons that you’ve learnt from them, do not soil those, be grateful for them. But you’ve got to admit to yourself and take responsibility when you’re on different journeys – your lives must reflect that. There comes a time in life when you’ve got to put your business face on and tell them to pull up their socks or pull out. No hard feelings. Peace.

Pistols at dawn with social media

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I hate you

Courtesy: Artbitz, teepublic.co.uk (2018)

I’ve always known that I’m old school – I preferred forum boards and instant messaging forums to popular social media. But I had to get with the times. My first foray into this pool was months after I had cleared high school and was taking a foreign language course as I waited to join university. It seemed as if everyone in my class had joined the Facebook bandwagon, everyone of course, except me. I was coming off of 4 years in a girls boarding school, where the closest thing I had to internet was the computer lab – I hated it, I couldn’t understand it all – why it is I had to learn how to type, and to use Microsoft word – and come my 3rd year, was all too happy to drop it for chemistry and physics, my loves. I vividly recall my first post – I was fine, because I had variations of the same line in my subsequent posts, I was just fine, and I was still fine, in case anyone was wondering. Turns out they did – my regulars, the most random of friends, and friends of friends, who’d added me as soon as I came on. I was bewildered. I had never been popular, and I couldn’t understand why strangers wanted to befriend me. I had tons of likes I recall and many encouraging comments – yes we know you’re fine, haha, give us something else, but awesome that you’re trying babe. It wasn’t lost upon me that there was a different kind of update expected of me as a consumer – my timeline was full of scrolls of glossy photos, of people, and places they’d visited.

And once I joined university, twitter was the it thing. And I was it, I thought. I had manic confidence in those days. You couldn’t tell me anything then – my role model was Orie Rogo Manduli, an outspoken feminist and outrageous fashionista I’d met in a popular conference centre. She didn’t give a fig if the world stared at her, she would live her life as she wanted to and that was that. From then on, I would walk about town and use her as a reference if anyone had a problem with me.

And then Instagram came along, and snap chat. I opened accounts to see what the hullabaloo was about but quickly realized it was more of the same thing, and promptly moved on with my life. Until I went through some tough times and social media became my escape. It was a constant barrage I felt. With people living incredible lives that I would never be a part of, I thought. And advancing to positions that I could only ever dream of. I was never going to live like them, and if I did, no one would ever find out. And off went Facebook, and Instagram and snap chat, and twitter for a while. But I missed the wit and the news, and would go back to it, time and again.  And LinkedIn for my career. I had an official photo and had the most random people follow me whom I had to block. I was disappointed in myself, that I had conformed to fit in to what was expected of me. And I couldn’t stand the thought that someone had chosen to add or follow me because of the way that I looked. That that is all I had to offer. My photos had to go.

There is a thin line, in my books, between authentication, marketing and objectification when you’re a woman running a business with a predominantly male clientele. It needs fine tuning, with steel. I know for sure that I never want to compete with anyone, the thrust of constant photos on social media a testament to the fact that there was some kind of unspoken competition going on. Who would have the most money, the flashiest of cars, the coolest of clothes, the sultriest of eyes. I am me, and it’s taken me a long time to accept myself. But I have come to terms with it – this is how I was created. And this is my destiny. I may not be your cup of tea but I’m uniquely, distinctly beautiful because this is what my Lord intended me to be – to only have one of me.

Twitter was a never ending field of updates –  it seemed to be my drug. I had a core group of people and accounts that I admired, and quickly dropped anyone whose posts I felt had nothing to do with my life. But as life invariably is, it still wasn’t perfect. I would follow up and update. Constantly refresh, I always felt that there was something that I’d missed. Something crucial may have passed me. That even in this insipid business, I needed to do my very best. I had to be the most updated person in the world. But you can’t be, you know? You can’t compete on never-ending depressing news, on shallowness, on vanity. What would be the award? The most depressed person, the most apprised, the most vapid? What is earth changing about that? How would I have advanced society?

Twitter had to go. But I would go back and forth between deleting and re-activating it. Arghh, I detest wishy washy behavior. I’ve taken a break and it’s been some of the most peaceful and inspiring times I’ve had. The discontent that engulfed me then is simply not worth the witty gems that I’d see here and there. Still, I miss the news.

Quora and Reddit became my go to sites. Oracular questions would be asked, cultured answers given, intellectual debates had. I have learnt so much, and encountered kindness upon kindness, interacting with my anonymous babies. There wouldn’t be all these hashtags, filters, stories and accompanying parochial and narcissistic garbage that I couldn’t stand anymore, especially not from myself. Until I came across some fruitcakes, who had nothing better to do but spew hatred. And would down vote every conflicting opinion they encountered. The fact that I had to be anonymous left a bad taste in my mouth. There is an element of dishonesty, I thought, in hiding who I am to post my views and interact with strangers, however familiar, on the internet. The irony!

And so LinkedIn was the last to hold fort. I had made friends who were in my career circle, people I had admired. I couldn’t go wrong here, I thought. I’d come across some amazing opportunities, and I’d managed to keep up with what my old classmates and lecturers were up to. And I’m better for it. But there is a fine line between informing, educating, and boasting, the latter which invariably started with “I’m proud of what I…” These days, it’s called affirming yourself. But why can’t one do it privately? I wondered. Isn’t that the best kind? And who doesn’t know that they’re not ever entirely responsible for their favour in fortune? A lot, I found.

And isn’t its premise the same as all the others? Bragging about who I am, what I am, and what I do? I truly would be proud of my friends’ achievements, and publicly expressed my excitement to see these milestones. So why weren’t I proud of my own? Why wouldn’t I want to advertise my business? Don’t I have to show what I’m up to, to do so? Where is the line? These are extremely difficult questions to ask of myself. But I must. Because I’m answerable to The Most High and would never want to face His wrath by seeking the favour of others, when the ultimate favour, honour and prestige lies with Him, and Him only.

There is no line. For me, social media is a facade that I can no longer keep up with, an expensive distraction. It is enough for me to know that I have ticked a goal, my satisfaction lies inwards. And I would venture to say that posting any update is a dangerous game for me, and anyone really who derives satisfaction in improving whatever is before them. There is always a feeling that it could be better. It’s debilitating.

No doubt, there is a certain thrill that we all get from posting a photo, or an insightful message. Having like after like, people commenting on how much they’ve missed you, affirming that you’re admired. I have discovered though that this is all too fleeting, a cesspool of shallowness and fickle support. A waning one, until you follow it up with another, and another, and another. It could easily become an addiction. Easily. Only you can affirm yourself. Only you know deep down how you feel about yourself, and if you got a thousand likes, or a thousand people who said they admired you, you’d still not fill the hole of inadequacy that you have, if you can’t stand yourself.

If I could scrub myself off of the internet, I would. To have to conform to what is required of me, to sell myself to the unsatisfied audience this world constitutes is depressing beyond belief. Why do I have to tell people what my ideas are, with a poster that reminds them of just what I look like? Why should that be the norm?

Of course there’s a lot that I have, and will miss, from social media –  the witty messages that would come my way, the spiritually uplifting ones, the socially just and aware that reminded me I’m not the only one on this journey who thinks as I do. But it’s a constant battle for me. It’s a sacrifice, I feel, in whatever path I choose to take – one that takes a chunk from my soul, and another from my career and business. But come, let’s make peace. It can’t be that complicated?!

I get it. The why of it all. I do. That doesn’t mean that I have to love it. How do I put this? You know the way some people like raspberries more than they do strawberries? And some like oranges, and bananas are simply not their thing? That is social media for me. It simply isn’t my thing, I’ve come to realize, and you know what? I’m okay with that.

Deliverance

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Gettyimages 2018

Courtesy: iStock by Gettyimages (2018)

It’s an indescribable feeling. It’s to see the edges of the ocean, unhindered. To not have to peep behind a tall world, something I’ve had to get used to in life. But it’s more than that. It’s to remove the shackles of restraint off my mind. To see myself for whom I really am. What I have allowed in, what I have done, and what I’m capable of. The good, the great, the absolutely beautiful, and the unpleasant that I can no longer disassociate from. There were more than a few black spots, a few curves. For the most part though, we’ve been on that wire. Balancing as best as we knew how, never knowing that we were handicapped with a visor. And it’s as if someone has removed it now and I can look ahead with crisp clarity at everything around me, and see blinding light, hope, and happiness.

As a Cushitic woman, as a Black woman, as a Muslim woman, I cannot tally the number of times someone has told me to be less than. To lower my voice, to slow down my walk. To be more feminine. To be more accommodating. To smile more. To chill. The number of times I have been told that whatever I do, my place is behind a more capable man. But I can count the number of times they have been. Capable, that is, and reliable. And they get away with it, every time. That will never be you, you have no margin for error, don’t you know? And so I would smile at this advice delivered oh so politely, with evident concern. And laugh in the privacy of my own company. But then it becomes pervasive, and it starts getting to you. It gets to your psyche, and your spirit. And you find yourself doing things that subconsciously affirms this lunacy of thinking.

Your mind, just like your body, needs regular watering. With positive vibes, with attainable goals, with affirmation, and positive people. It needs your care. And regular attention. My darlings, please take care of your minds. The value of a healthy mind is priceless. Release those fetters my loves, you wouldn’t imagine the life that awaits you once you do. But you must make that one step forward towards deliverance, no one can do it for you. Towards freedom. You wouldn’t imagine the endless sphere of that horizon. It’s a beautiful struggle, a struggle coated with hope and oiled by love. A love of self, inferred through honest self reflection. And for me, a craving of opportunity. A firm belief that all my dreams are achievable, and that they do come true after all. With grit.

My darlings, the next time someone tells you to dim your light so that a man can shine in your presence, tell them to shut up and work on themselves. You are all that, and more. I dare you to let your mind believe it. Your soul is but a slave to it. So do not be enslaved to believe that you are less than anyone. And that you need to temper your demands to allow others to fit in with you. You are the universe wrapped in splendour. It’s not you, you are everything.

And I hope you can promise me this – that you will never take your mind, and all it entails, for granted. It is your compass in this turbulent world. And your tool to forge forward, either positively or repressively. And there’s a world of difference in those two journeys, no matter the outcome. So commit to place those manacles under a microscope, and remove them one painful click at a time. It is slow, it is distressing beyond belief. But I promise you it’s worth it. This calm, the peace of mind, it’s all worth it. To visualize my unhindered progress hereon? How could I put a price to this?

It’s okay to look back at that version of you, to laugh and cry at her foibles. At her slips, and her imperfections. But she belongs in the past. Laugh with her, cry with her, but tell her to put her chin up. It gets better. The jagged edges of those rocks still abound, but we’re not as naive, we’ve built stamina by this point.  It was okay my love, she made us who we are now. She owes us no apologies, we’re steel tempered now.

It’s okay to be a man, whatever that means. And the next time anyone tells you this, I give you permission to tell them to put a sock in it. No one, no one, has the right to tell you to change who you are. To dilute your essence to make them comfortable. You do not owe anyone comfort, at the expense of you. Why should you? You are beautiful beyond belief. But most importantly, you are you, there’s no one else like you, there can only be one of you. So be you, it is enough.

Birthday reflections

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birthday photo 2

Courtesy: gettyimages.com (2015)

August fourth has always been an uncertain day for me. On the one hand, I’m excited to welcome a new year and get to some of my favourite things – planning, replanning and adding more items to my goals list, as if whatever I had was not enough. On the other, it’s shaky because I have to self-reflect and take myself to account for whatever mistakes I have made the past year. It has never been about the highs with me, it’s the stumbles that keep me awake at night.

This year, I decided to do something different. I’m determined to hype myself up, against my better nature. I’m always muttering meh, this has been done before. How unoriginal? Great, but it could be better? There’s always been an unsatisfied aspect to me, I’m a relenting mistress to work for. And no one knows it better than my soul. We love her and hate her in equal measures. But we’ve learnt to live with each other, the censurer and the appeaser, we’ve learnt to tolerate each other.

There are so many positives that I could take since we last saw this date. Last year, at a time like this, I was so stressed. I loved my job but hated my boss. And now? I love my boss, yours truly, but if I’m honest, I’m not crazy about my job. I don’t get why people would love to run around clients, dishonourable ones at that, for money, or always have to be on guard against anyone who wishes to screw you over. I don’t get excited about trying to bury someone else in a deal. Or disparaging someone’s rights or claims because they don’t happen to be my client. I genuinely don’t get the hoopla around entrepreneurship, besides the independence – that I rejoice in. It’s the rest that I can’t wrap my head around. And I must admit, I feel extremely ungrateful saying this because I could never compare to where I was last year. I was robotic, and I’m now a human robot, I jest, I’m human. And I can relax, and get a chance to write this rambling post that seems to be going nowhere. I’m bored people!

I did have one of those days, boring beyond belief, chilled out to the nines, no work, spent some time reading – the fictional kind mind, sipping fennel tea, did I mention no work, and no guilt? I jest of course, the guilt is ever present – my very own Damocles sword, hanging out with friends, watching animation movies. Angry birds. Christoper Robin. And nostalgic memories of one of my most favourite of storybooks and characters – Winnie the Pooh, and Piglet, Eeyore, Roo, Tigger, Kanga, Owl, Rabbit. Aaah, for the longest time, Winnie the Pooh was my password for everything.

Just the right kind of corny picture I needed today. And ordinarily I wouldn’t be moved by these foggy scenes, I would in fact be making sarcastic comments after every slide, but not when it comes to Pooh. And not today. Ordinarily, I would count today as a wasted day. That I did nothing, and without any productive work, I had failed as a human being. But I’m determined to change things up this year, relax more, do more of nothing, well my version of nothing at least, life is too short.

So that’s how I choose to start this year, with this peace and calm. And gratefulness. And to escape my mind, just for a day. Did I mention that I switched off my phone at some point? The buzz, the retreat, the cheek when you’ve got a business – I highly recommend it.

So today is all about the nonjudgmental friend, that indulgent monster in me. And tomorrow inshaallah? I’ll do a bit of both. Relax, hang some more with friends, do a bit of work, and take myself to account. Tomorrow, I will lament and reflect on the mental stimulation that I crave, and feel I lack in my current job. I will ponder on whether I need to go back to employment to get a stab at this. I don’t know if I can work for someone else though, I’m intractable when it comes to orders, and I lack the constitution that everyone seems to have when it comes to according respect to authority, I suffer at this, especially when I find it undeserving. You see, it may seem to be a mutual hate this, myself and all my employers, whom I have always left.

Today though, I will remind myself, just like Pooh, that it’s my favourite day, today. And yesterday and tomorrow are too much day for me. And how about another year of this, eh? Can you believe it? Neither can I. But I have so much faith and hope in this season. I have a good feeling about this one. To another year inshaallah!