Changes and feelings.

So much has changed in the last year. I don't know where to start.

The beginning is probably a good place. I applied for medicine last year, got a interview, and then a spot. The summer holiday was a long one in many ways - it was at least 8 weeks long, I was eager to start my new degree and terrified at the same time, most of my stuff was already packed because I was so nervous and it sort of made day-to-day living a bit difficult but whatever. I started uni in February this year, living on campus with eight classmates. I really struggled with homesickness. In a major way. My grandpapa fell ill(er), was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, deteriorated rapidly, fell into a coma about a six weeks before semester one exams, and passed away about two weeks later. It was a Monday night. I had applied to defer a test I had on the Monday morning, but was denied, so I came back to uni on the Sunday night. My sister called to tell me at about a quarter past 9 on Tuesday morning. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stop crying. I didn't know what to do. In hindsight, I'm a little angry with the faculty for not letting me take the test at a later date, though I know anger is futile and exhausting. I could have been with my family through a terrible, terrible time. I went home that afternoon, and stayed until Friday morning. I missed out on a lot of uni, I couldn't cry at home, surrounded by an entire family falling apart, and kept forgetting what I was doing. It felt unreal. It was awesome seeing almost the whole family, but also terrible. I felt like I had to keep my wits about me, driving instead of mum (she was in no fit state), holding so many members of family as they cried. We saw my grandpapa's body at the mosque before the janazah prayer. He was tiny. I saw my dad cry. One of my little cousin's had a panic attack, his whole body shivering, couldn't breathe, couldn't stop crying. Death affects everyone in different ways. I just wanted to close my eyes and wake up. I wanted to fix the hurt in everyone's hearts. I wanted to run away. I felt guilty for wanting to get back to my room on campus, to sit alone and cry. I wanted someone to hold me as I cried, but I couldn't do that to my family.

My family didn't call me the night he passed away. They didn't want me spend the night worrying and alone. In some ways it was a blessing. I was super stressed about uni, people at uni, my own health; when I did find out and manage to stop crying, my first thought was to let my lecturer know that I couldn't make it to prac that afternoon and that I still wanted to see the agar plates. Why? I was bewildered and hurt, and trying to find some order and think sensibly. I'd be missing out on uni so I needed to be responsible. What's wrong with me? Why didn't I run home straight away? Grief does weird things to us. Throughout the next few days at home, my cousins, siblings and I swung between laughing hysterically and then remembering what had happened. In some moments, it was as if nothing had changed. We were together, stress-free, happy. And then someone was crying again.

I normally stay in my room a lot, once I get home from classes. This was a bit different. I just cried constantly. I had nightmares of a sick and dying grandpapa, to wake up to a reality a thousand times worse. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to sleep because I kept seeing him in my dreams, and then waking up knowing that I'd never see him again. But I was so tired.

And the guilt. The last time I saw my grandpapa conscious, he was home from hospital but quite poorly. He was sitting on his bed in my auntie's house. My mother spent the day with him. I was keen to leave with dad; I think I wanted to go somewhere. I wasted my last opportunity to see him alive. I was caught up with some stupid worldly distraction. The next time I saw him was maybe a week or two later. He was in a coma. I didn't believe the doctor's saying he wouldn't wake up. You never see death as something real. I thought that if I prayed hard enough, he'd wake up whole again, and live forever.

Back at uni and going through the motions. I fell apart each day when I woke up, and again when I came home after class. Certain people - a certain person - said some insensitive and ridiculously awfully things to me, as if their pain and wisdom was all that is important and right. I don't hate them, but it'll be hard to forget their words. It made me realise that words can never help, and though my friends were sympathetic, their kindness was again of little comfort (though at least not detrimental). A friend I went to school with passed away last year. I hadn't seen her in a couple of years, but I always meant to get in touch with her again. This was the first time I'd known someone who'd died, apart from my dad's dad, who I hadn't seen since I was about three years old. My instinct was denial. I cried a bit, but mostly I just couldn't believe it. She'd pop into my head during lectures weeks later, and I'd hold back the tears. But it got easier very quickly, and soon it was just a distant fact.

With my grandpapa, I knew all of the rationalities and realities of life and death. I had the safety net of religion. I had the support of an amazing family. But it didn't stop the pain. Even when you know that all it takes is time, it hurts like crazy. It was awful then, and it's still awful now, though it doesn't occupy my thoughts all of the time now.

The week at home after exams was glorious. Back at uni for a fresh start, and the beginning of Ramadan. This was our first Eid without my grandpapa. We didn't go to my grandparent's house. We didn't kiss his hand. We didn't steal fruit of his cherry trees. We didn't tiptoe in the hallway during his nap time. We didn't see him dressed in his best white clothes for the five daily prayers at the mosque. Mostly I worried about my grandmama. She's a restless soul at the best of times, constantly busying herself with gardening, cleaning, visiting her kids. It's been three and half months since he went, and the reality of death is far away. I know that one day we will all die, that it is the way of the world, that life only has value because it one day ends. But the terrifying reality isn't so fresh in my mind. I thought it would change me. And yes, it has changed my world in a painful way, but I have not changed. I am in better spirits than I was at the time, but when I see his grave now, for a moment I forget what I'm looking at and when it clicks I feel sick. It doesn't feel real anymore. If I think about it, yes, it will all come back to me. But the whole thing seems to have just left an ache in my heart. And I have this sick heavy feeling even when I'm not thinking about his death. The pain makes me feel less guilty. It's a reminder that I am capable of normal feelings.

I often forget about how terrible it must be for everyone else. People are resilient, our capacity to forget and be distracted is a blessing, but the absence of the core of your family is hard to ignore. They all lived so closely together, visiting constantly, their routine's based around him. My immediate family lived further away for a few years so our routine wasn't so set, but sometimes I remember that my mum has lost her dad, and that she used to phone him all of the time. I am angry with her for working so hard, but then I remember that keeping yourself busy means your thoughts wander less, and it's probably a good thing.

I think I'll stop here, for now. It's really hard to be coherent when you're crying.

Peace and love,

S.

For when it hurts.

Sometimes, things hurt.

No matter how small, insignificant and meaningless in the whole scheme of things, they hit you and at first you think you're angry, but actually you're hurt. It can be as small as a group of friends walking to class ahead of you, or someone taking longer than usual to respond to your message, or just the slight change in expression - the briefest of looks - when they see you or talk to you.

Sometimes, you tell yourself you're imagining it. But what's the point in this? Regardless of whether the event is real or imagined, it still jabs you in a sore spot. You tell yourself to toughen up, get over it. But how? What do you use to plug the hole?

And then you're alone in your room at midnight, crying over thoughts you can't stop from racing across your mind.

In the morning, you've forgotten about whatever it was. But you're not quite back to normal. You can't shake of this strange feeling. And when someone doesn't return a greeting, you're back in the slump. The day drifts by, but now you are acutely aware of all of the painful things in the world.

And it sucks.

Yeah, you're never alone, and yeah, it'll pass. But right now, in this moment, it hurts.

And you need to know that it's okay.

It's okay to feel hurt. It's okay to take your time bouncing back. It's okay to worry about what people think of you. It's okay to cry because you're upset. It's okay to need a kind word or gesture. It's okay to deal with your hurt in your own way.

Peace and love,

S.

Who Hurt You?

Dearest,

Who hurt you so badly
That you can't forgive?
What terrible deed
Did they inflict upon you
That you can't move on?

Did it mean so much
To you?
Did you care so much
For them?
Did your tears change
A thing?

No.
Water wears away at stone,
And so your tears
Will wear you 
Down.

And yet,
As you stand
And face them again,
The fierceness of your fire
And the strength of your
Dreams
Will 
Heal
You.


S.

A little eulogy to my 22nd year.

So I am in the final hours of being 22 years old. My last palindromic age for 11 years. That's literally half of my life at this point.

I'm kind of numb and overwhelmed with feelings at the same.Also I'm really tired from yesterday's hard labour - moving stuff (LIKE WARDROBES) from one house to the other. I have muscle-ache in places I didn't know muscles existed. 

The last year has been a brilliant one, and in so many ways. I loved uni, the change of atmosphere, learning so many things (most of which revolve on how little I know, and the insipidity of 18 year old kids), meeting so many awesome people, and figuring out my life bit by bit. I'm learning to be more proactive, to dream big and take pride and joy in what I'm learning and doing every single day. All in all, 22 has been a great year.

Of course, everything is rosy in hindsight - there were several weeks in which I didn't sleep and could hardly breathe, with assignments and essays and such. But as cliched as it sounds, it's all a part of the journey. Good things are only good because there are bad things with which you can compare them. And who can say no to a bit of adrenaline?

Okay, the pizza's here. I'm going to gorge myself and then regret it, and plan my day for tomorrow. I'm looking forward to hanging out with myself, meandering around and looking at pretty things. At the end of the day, all you are is you, and while other people come and go, you are still you. And that doesn't have to be a bad thing.

Peace and love,

S.

To Remind You

The thunder 
In every heartbeat
Rumbles
And gushes
Like a tidal wave
Of Life
And when it
Stops
Death
Is come
And gone
And the rain
And the sun
No longer
Are
But the thunder
The echo
The distant shudder
Of mountains
And stones
Grainy and hard
In blended softness
Stays behind

S.

A Conversation.

He said,
'I want to live in your world with you
The little boy in me
Wants to know the little girl in you
My heart wants to beat
With the rhythm in you
And my hands want to hold together
The best and the worst in you.'

I said,
'My world is in my head
And nowhere else
I have no comrade and no leader
I'm alive and yet
My pulse doesn't dance
And my fire and my rain never quite meet.'

He said,
'I want to be on your mind always
Like you are on mine
I want to be your playmate and your companion
And you can be mine
I want to listen to your breath
And for you to hear mine
And I want to warm by your heart
And you can calm by mine.'

I said,
'You're expecting too much of my thoughts
With their chaos and their order
How can you be friends with the friendless - 
What will become of this loner?
What happens when I want peace
And can't silence the drum?
What if the tidal waves never quell
And we're all tossed out to sea?'

And he said,
'I've seen your world
And I want to be your friend
I want to take the loner into my soul
And make it okay
I want to stand at your shoulder
And between and within each hurricane and firestorm
I want to say to you as we get older
That you live in my heart
And I by your side
That I hear you thoughts
And speak your language
That we are kindred spirits
Like two pearls from two oceans
That I can hold your vastness and give you mine
If you let me into your world.'

And I said,
'Okay, then.'


S.

The secret's out.

Words unspoken
Truths unsaid
Best kept so,
Perhaps,
Or maybe...
Just...
Too late -
They're out!

Take back every thought
Undo every verb
And unmake every noun
Unsee and unhear
But it's
Too late - 

Unspeak! Quick!
Unsay these things!
Too late - 
The atoms and waves
Have collided
And formed a new world
In the open.

The secret's out.


S.

Trust and other issues.

Over the past couple of years I have learned a lot about friendship, politics, loyalty, and most of all, about trust. I am passive, weak, naive and gullible, so of course my instincts are to trust anyone and everyone. Thankfully life has taught me some key lessons in this area. Except I'm afraid these lessons have turned me into a cynical disaggregate instead. I find myself second-guessing my relationships with people, the goodness I see in others, and ultimately, the goodness I myself should be showing.

The way you treat others is a massive reflection on how you think and the sort of person you are. When I told everyone that I would be doing Arts this year, a lot of people were really sceptical that this was the truth, and thought I was lying to cover up doing medicine or something. Yes, this is a reflection of how they think, that expecting others to lie just shows how they themselves would lie. But I think I'm turning into one of these people. In some ways, it is a step forward - I am starting to no longer take words at face value - but at the same time, I am losing something of myself, like, sort of innocence and good will. And if I'm secretly accusing people of being false, what does it say about me? Is it better to be naive and taken advantage of, or to be on par with the bigots and know their game?

Ultimately, if they're going to give me the evil eye or make my life harder or whatever, it is Allah's will. No burden is given without you having the strength to carry it. Every test and downfall and success and brightness in your life is an opportunity to learn, or to see for yourself how strong you are and where you need to improve. So that's not a problem.

But in insisting on being naive, am I making life harder for myself? And in anticipating people's greed and lies am I making my Hereafter harder for myself?

I have so many moments when I want to share something, some good in my life, or some thought, with someone else, only to remember that that person doesn't trust me, and lies to me - because really, if someone's lying to you about something, it really means that they don't trust you. And it's sad, knowing that the people who are closest to you think this, especially when you know you have never given them a reason to do so. 

People talk. It's what they do best, apart from judging. Everyone does it and if you say you don't you are lying to yourself. I'm going to give an example of how people use this knowledge and turn bad themselves, now. So in my family, all the aunts and uncles compete and show off and talk down about the achievements of others. When our ENTER scores came out, everyone wanted to know everything -and not in the genuinely curious way, but in this really sickeningly busy-body way. I, obviously, straight-out told everyone my marks - it was a miracle that I had passed, and I wasn't about to hide God's miracles. Other people weren't so keen on relating their marks/good news/success in something else/whatever, even though they were only making it harder for themselves by creating something for others to talk about and playing on their bus-body-ness. They kept going on about how other people talk even though they themselves talk just as much. I didn't realise the double-standards, as such, until very recently. You know when someone asks you for help and you do your utmost to help them and they go all coy and hide stuff and it's like um what. Why would you feel the need to lie to the one person who has kept every secret of yours and never lied to you about their own?

Anyway, after learning about this quality - in so many people it nearly makes me want to cry - I realised that those who are supposed to be closest to you will turn on you for no good reason. And I don't understand why. What it is that drives people to be so sh*tty? Like, I get it if you have to lie for a reason, but what is it with all of this? And why would you go on about how others have big mouths if yours is the biggest of all? Is it really that hard to see the truth? Why? I just don't get it. 

I mean, I understand accidentally doing stuff, or having reasons that might be hard for others to understand, but intentionally doing sh*t things, I just don't get it. And then going to these same people to whom you lie and whatever, and asking for their sympathy or friendship or help in something - it just beggars belief. I just don't get it. 

And this realisation of how awful people can be  - I don't like it, I wish I didn't know about it, and I really, really just don't get it. I don't know who trust and with what, and I don't understand what friendship and loyalty and family and brotherhood is anymore.

But one good thing has come of this: I read this  hadith or ayah from the Quran or something that says that Allah (swt) takes away everyone from the one who He wants to turn back to Him alone. And I think this is my sign. I feel alienated from the people around me because I've lost touch with my God. Good things happen when He is in my heart and on my mind, and it brings out the best in me and in others. I need to go back to my faith and thank God properly for all that is in my life.

Peace and love, 

S. 

Feelings and chains.

I blog because I need an outlet, a distraction, something to break up the monotony of life and to serve as a reminder of who I was and what I was doing at a certain point in time. 

I don't often have anything worthy of saying. I have realised that I tend to blog more when I am in a heightened state of emotions, mainly angry or stressed or sad. I guess I don't have much to say when I'm happy because how many times can you write 'I'm happy' before someone shoots you for being so peppy? I don't really know why I feel this peace and oneness and joy sometimes. I don't know what brings it on or how to make it stay, except that it is usually when I realise and remember how awesome God is, and that patience is peace and there are reasons and He has plans that are beyond my immediate comprehension. And it has always worked out. Every time I have found myself in a bad situation, and turned to God for peace, the situation has passed and been replaced by a lesson learned and new opportunity for growth and happiness.

Sometimes I feel old and weary to my bones. I feel my insides ossifying, and my skeleton crystalising and and stiffening every joint. My heart feels heavy with the weight of unrealised dreams. But then I catch myself. What am I doing, perpetuating my own misery? What am I sad about? What is wrong in my life, what would I exchange for something different? And in trying to see reality, a strange happiness takes me. And then I feel like my insides are made of glitter and my heart is a pounding boombox beating out the rhythm of happiness. And then I catch myself again. Why am I so happy? And so on and on.

Anyway. I have two essays to write by Wednesday.

Peace and love,

S. 

Changes, changes, all of these changes...

I don't know why I panic about things. Everything that happens to you, and that you face, is an experience. Every experience is an opportunity to learn. Only an idiot passes up the opportunity to learn, and I'm no idiot - my ego is far to big to be satisfied with this. 

After a year in Arts, I truly hope I have changed. It's a sad thing to let a day go by where something in you isn't affected or altered, let alone a year. Sometimes I am afraid to admit that I have changed - it's scary, knowing that you are not this solid block of things that are familiar and easy to recognise as 'self'. Moreover, the prospect of being patronised by people who think they know better - my God, these people make me twitch like a madman. Why do people have to put you down for learning something after they have already learned it? Does it make you a better person, for life to put you in a certain situation before someone else has the same chance?

On the whole, I hope I have changed for the better, a step closer to the perfection I see in my dreams and the light that brings me out of the dark places in my mind and in the world. I am becoming a little more mellow - but I'm worried I'll lose myself completely. But then again, I have always been mellow, and certain parts of your personality come out in certain situations. Thus far, the mellowness has been for me and me alone, so everyone who knows me thinks I'm suddenly a different person now that it's leaking out into reality.

The truth of it is, the older you get, the less you care about other people's opinions and expectations, unless they align with what you truly want. I don't care if people don't like how I dress, or how loud or opinionated or shallow or boring I am. I am glad it has only taken me 22 years to acknowledge this and that I know now that I am not afraid of who I am, and am proud to say that I am changing and will continue to do so. Other people - mainly your peers, who think they have the right to judge to you and that this judgement is the only reality allowed - mostly project their fears onto you. People who constantly feel the need to tell me not to conform are the ones who have conformed most of all and want to take me down with them as a comfort, a sign that they have some control over something. It's sad and it's true and sometimes, that's life. 

Pace and love,

S.

Gaps

We are the ethers,

You find us

in the spaces

between your words,

And in the pause

between each breath.

We are naught,

And yet,

we hold you together,

Bind you,

And in our absence,

You fall apart - 

A jumble,

And naught but mess

- S.

Something about life and time.

I can feel myself aging in fast motion. I had my mid-life crisis at age 14, so I expect I will be dead before I'm 30. I am not sure if I ever resolved said crisis. Not that anything actually happened to cause it or anything. But there was this weird sense of being lost and bewildered. It's like I woke up one day and completely forgot how spell to simple words like 'naughty' and 'receive'. Nowadays I have to consciously think of how to spell the 'i' before 'e' except after 'c' words and the exceptions to the rule. It was like I'd forgotten how to add and multiply. And how to function 'normally'. What am I supposed to do in my spare time? I used to read and write and draw and make things, and then suddenly I forgot I'd ever done these things.

Of course, it could have be just a weird teenage-phase-thing that everyone goes through. But no one else has spoken of it to me. So maybe I just freaked out for a while because after 14 years on this planet I still hadn't done anything substantial, nothing to get me closer to my dreams or where I wanted to be.

Looking back at it now, I was so young. Like, SO YOUNG. My second-youngest sibling is 15 now, and I still see them as tiny. Of course, this could be because I remember helping to change their nappies like it was just yesterday. They used to be the cotton-fluffy-towel-like ones, the disposable ones weren't so big back then.

Anyway, over the last few years, I have realised that time doesn't exist to be used to freak out about how little time there is. That is, worrying about the shortness of life is just another way of wasting time and leaving you with even more stress and even less achievement.

But still. Doesn't it sometimes just hit you, that you only breathe for so long? People younger than me have achieved more, because they are go-getters and proactive. People older than me have achieved less, because they are passive and put things off and make excuses.

All in all, despite knowing that my little over two decades of life on Earth has flown by, and the next two decades will fly by even quicker (should I survive that long), life is still pretty good. It helps to have a brief plan of what you'd like to achieve each day. Each set back has a role to play in your development and your path. An ayat of the Qur'an that I keep seeing everywhere, which loosely translates as 'Allah (swt) does not give you a burden you aren't able to bear', has hit home and reminds me of why I wake up happy each day. And if the day is terrible, at least night will come and it will be over.

Peace and love,

S.

Things I have learned from the people I have met.

In my third year of uni, I met a master manipulator - so much so that when I realised this and then saw said person again over a year later, I totally forgot anything I had deduced about their character other than the warm and bubbly person they presented themselves to be. Not that this person committed heinous crimes  - but they are really good at lying and that is the scariest quality of all. It's the smile of the psychopathic sweet-looking old lady. 

Carrying on with the manipulation scene, there were the many people who made my Honours' year the hell that it was. Of course I know that not all people are there to be my friends, but that doesn't mean that I'm only there to be used and then thrown away like an old doll.

I have also learned a fair bit about loyalty from the people I have had the pleasure (or otherwise) to know. One standout example is a girl I met in high school. Ergh. Lack of loyalty masked as 'being laid back'. And the lies! I am of the firm opinion that friendship is based on mutual respect and honesty, and accepting each other's flaws. Not lying, telling people they need to change, and setting yourself up as the golden standard. If someone is attacking you, you don't expect your friends to join them.

Then there are the people you are always trying to catch up with and keep up friendships, and they just don't care. Obviously sometimes life gets in the way and all, but after a point - especially when they're making the time to see other people going on about how they have nothing to do - you just want to give up. Then they message you and are cheery and friendly tell you how much they miss you, and all you can think of is a perfectly-worded insult that ends the friendship and causes maximal damage to the other person. But as an adult you can't function like that, especially if you want to be a decent person. You can't just cut the rubbish bits out of your life, unfortunately. People get catty and don't realise it's because they are so awful and not because you are a judgmental b*tch. And people are so good at believing the worst in people and being nasty about it, so if you're not adequately equipped in the snarky remarks and general doggishness department, you don't stand a chance.

At this point, I would like to thank the many loyal and lovely people in my life, the ones who make me a better person and who give me faith in humanity. But this post is mostly about the ones who don't.

My many good and bad experiences with people have also taught me soemthing about myself - I am too willing to think and bleieve well of people, I ignore people's faults until one day I explod and people think I'm just being petty, and I'm incredibly gullible. I also get really close to people really quickly, and I feel like I've found a kindred spirit, and then they disappoint me.

These experiences have also highlighted a flaw of mine character - I am passive and live too much in the moment without analysing the bigger picture until it is too late. But seeing as this is my flaw, I won't dwell on it too much.

This is by no means an exhaustive list of everyone I have met and everything I have learned. But I think it's enough of a start.

Peace and love,

S.

The middle-aged white man.

Don't read this if you are super sensitive or acutely opposed to statements of generalisation or susceptible to depression about the plight of the world.

---------------------

Any time in my life that I have expressed my (grandiose) dreams and plans for the future, the only person who has knocked me down is the middle-aged white man - not the proverbial person, but the actual.

In high school I had an English teacher who, in year 11, called me over to his desk during class and told me that I'm a very bright girl and I just need to keep up the good work and I'll get far. This went on for about 10 minutes. I in turn shared my dreams of studying at an Oxbridge university, whereby he laughed and said, "You can't do that!"

My orthodontist was also one of these. He asked me what I wanted to do and again, I shared the Oxbridge dream. He responded with several reasons why this might be unreasonable, including that the universities are tied to the Church, and given that I'm Muslim, how would I deal with that? Except, um, some of Oxford's most famous scholars include Benazir Bhutto (Muslim), Indira Gandhi (Hindu) and Stephen Hawking (atheist).

More recently, and what really triggered this post, was my Honour's supervisor. In our first meeting he asked me what I wanted to do with my life, and I told him I wanted to learn everything about everything, and he, predictably, responded with a derisive laugh and, "You can't do that!" Literally. And throughout the year he insisted on repeating his mantra of "You can't get full marks, you can never get full marks, it's never going to be perfect, you can never make it perfect". Um, DUH, if I've lost 2% in the first assignment I'm obviously not going to get 100% at the end of the year. And why can't I make it perfect? Just because it's hard doesn't mean it's impossible, or that I shouldn't try.

Clearly, the middle-aged white man, as characterised above, is the bane of our success, the killer of our dreams and just plain mean. (Apart from all the really awesome middle-aged white men, obviously cf. Ian Hislop, Paul Merton, Jon Stuart, Norm Eizenberg, etc. etc.). 

Peace and love,

S.

Just wanted to share a bit of my soul with you.

Now that I'm an Arts student I know my observations and commentaries on life and existence don't hold the same weight, but don't you hate it when the frozen vegetable mix doesn't have enough corn? It really brings me down.