Bismillahir Rahmānir Raheem.
You tried to speak,
and it felt like nobody could really hear you. Like you were living a life that had scarcely been yours, ‘living for others’, uttering words, but merely parroting them, somehow. Like things do not make sense, yet they seem to make sense for others. Like Autumn comes, and the leaves are crisp,
Crunch beneath the soles of your feet, and yet: the sadness weighs heavy. There is a lot, a lot, that people know to hide. But we, individually, and at times together, got through those days, Subhan Allah, every single one.
At times tired, at times strong, but: what’s coming will come. We’ll meet them when they do.
Various aspects of the media tout these ideas that you’ll ‘find yourself’, and all else that you seek in the lonelier notions of adventure, and of chasing things, and ‘thrills’ and all. Like that is ‘youth’, and like all else might stench of ‘stagnation’.
I think: we continue to be tested. Continue to be frail; ever-dependent on the Almighty, and, by consequence of how He has designed us to be, on people, in various ways. Parents, and aunties and uncles. Teachers, even. That friend, that neighbour. Maybe you haven’t quite met ‘your people’ yet, or maybe those bonds have not quite been properly realised [to really realise a bond, one must… be real]. But your Creator is here, and has been here all along.
Nobody said it would be easy, but your Lord Knows and, of course, Understands. And so will all the right people for you: as naturally as the seasons know to change (Masha Allah). We, awfully real beings, in a world of deceit, mirages, illusions, and lies. The wind blows, and the leaves fall.
Was it especially hard to get up this morning? Do you find yourself worrying about what Persons A, B, C, D, and E think about you? Are the actions of Person F, in your heart, a little difficult to forgive?
A candle, palms outstretched over campfire; do we really need much else? Whom and what you love, and are loved by: they will keep you warm.
A mug of hot chocolate; unexpected tears from your eyes. The first glimpse, the break, of sunrise. Dear reader, amid all of these things that necessitate Sabr (a sometimes-mountainous-feeling steadfastness, balance, patience, constancy) and wellies and waterproof coats to walk through, face and get through, those storms, I wish you much that can make your heart pour out in Shukr (appreciation, gratitude). And comfort, a sharing, or a confluence, of energies.
And ease, and mustard-yellow bursts of joy. A knowing that, dear alive and complete, complex, ups-and-downs, and not-only-image-or-‘concept’ human being: you are enough and more, even when parts of you may be convinced otherwise for any while.
This too shall pass: the better, that is, as well as the worse.
And the best, whatever that is, and looks like, for you, for this world, and for the one that will come after it. With each browned, yellowed, auburn-red leaf that falls,
(wait) by (wait) one:
Āmeen, Āmeen, Āmeen.
With Salaam, Sadia, 2021.