a daylight dream

I was just talking with my friends about the difference being here versus living in Egypt. despite the beauty of this city and all the innumerable gifts that abound, still, I miss being back home. I miss the part of me that thrived back home. the one thing I definitely lost being here is my bubble. the sanctity and holiness of it. the bustling, starkly divergent and stimulating life in Egypt is quite inspiring. it opens inherent doors that allow me to cocoon in some place beautiful, even if it is just an armchair with a friendly ray of light, sit down and create layers upon layers of visions and make-beliefs. the collapse of humanness that I would see every day sparks a metaphor in me, and I see the world in terms of poetry and all that is chimerical and impossible to believe in. here, it is all there. all the harmony, humanness and grace. nothing extends out of me. the lack of entropy just dulls me and I keep chasing myself in circles trying to find the motivation to be different. but...

hajj was the first time I truly dedicated time to pray for myself. it was always a toilsome struggle to pray for what I truly need from God. no matter what day it was in ramadan or on arafat, I’d find myself staring blankly at my prayer mat, unable to utter a single word of need.   I had that belief that God knew what was inherently etched inside my heart, and I tried my best to be grateful for what I did not have. sincerely, I thought it was named courtesy to refrain from asking God who is all-knowing and all-merciful. but during arafat, when all I had to do was ask, when even all the prayers were shortened to make time for merely asking, I broke apart. I’m not sure what it was— vulnerability? brokenness? helplessness? perhaps all together and so much more. I am still so unsure. the only thing I am sure of is that I made so many intentions for a new life. and I am here to reflect upon them. life is starkly different after the hajj experience. the heart is full, the subtle constanc...

it’s all surrreal, being here in the spacious arms of God. the vicinity of holiness, being so carefully taken care of, being taken in an infinite embrace of mercy. hajj . I thought I was never worthy of being brought there. it seems it’s been all destined. a line written on my vision board for years and years. I never thought I’d be enough to find myself there, circumambulating in a motion akin to the angels eons above. being surrounded by all this grace, all this mercy, all this forgiveness. I keep remembering every moment of it. I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget how those tears streamed wondering if I prayed enough and asked enough of your clemency. I found myself being embraced by years and years of your magnificent love, and all the years I stood small never understanding it, not being acceptant enough of time’s miracle, how it allows love to unfold ever so tentatively and courteously. I pray I’m courteous enough to be a totally different person now. my past has been e...

I still see you somehow, hidden in the glory of resurrecting days. moments upon moments of uninterrupted grace. doorways to heavenly spheres open wide, and dear God, I feel alive. the tears have arrived and they soak the dryness in my cheeks. every part of me that had been starved is free again. it’s in these moments, I see you. like a piece of my heart has come alive. it has seen its mirror and finally rests— though it knows this life is not one that brings understanding and comfort. this feeling is but a knowing. the kind of resurrection that happens when guided by God’s witnessing gaze. but in real life, this love and this vastness ceases to exist. burning away with a glimpse of our ego and the weight of worldly doing. I know that a love this ethereal is rarely felt in the bustling reality of it all. it all disappears in the roughness of togetherness and pressure of proximity. but one day..  one day soon and in earnest truth, I’ll see you.

there is something I have noticed in myself, living independently and joyfully these past two years. there has been a slow, gradual shift that I haven’t recognised until today, while I was listening to a podcast about core inner work. I found myself asking, have I changed? perhaps I have. the old me valued being effective and efficient in every single way. there was a pressured hurriedness in the way I carried out even the simplest of things. a constant strife to be a hard worker, despite all else. however, this has changed. I am no longer a tireless hard worker. that would have been pitiful for the eighteen-year-old me, who was crowned “the hardest worker” at graduation. truly, I would spend hours and hours mastering things at the expense of basking in the joy of life’s subtleties. now, I have come to prioritise other aspects of being. adventure. experiences. relationships. aliveness. this is to the woman I have become who gives precedence to a casual walk with friends over organising...

a few days ago, I found myself heaving in the tram on my way to work. I had done everything righteously for the past week, spending hours crafting a meticulously efficient plan for my day. still, there is so much fear. still, I am burdened by the unwavering shame of wondering if I had truly done things right. there is this pressure, a lack of receivership. there is this river that has dried up in my heart as the dam has been shut for so long— all the time I convince myself to be in control. and so, I am truly sickened by it, revolted by the idea of having such a tight grip on my life. my heart longs to lose control, to cease that endless strife of thinking too much. I never thought I was a perfectionist, more of an idealist perhaps, but they are closely intertwined. both require a demanding presence, a super-ego so domineering that one cannot relax to observe life’s beautiful, graceful gifts. my soul softly whispers, “this isn’t you.” I listen. here’s to saying goodbye to thoroughly pl...

twenty-nine days have passed. twenty-nine lessons, or probably an exponential multiplication of that number. this Ramadan was quite distinguishable. quite unsettling and like always, hurting the ego to extents one can never predict. I learned that there is inherent weakness in me. this Ramadan, I got sick three times, each time lasting a week or so. it was a substantial blow to my health which left me feeling profusely weak and deranged by the last half of the month. I was indeed thrown off by the fact that I had to break my fast for a few days to maintain my strength and be able to take medicines to feel better again, and that I didn’t like. through that experience, I learned that humans are inherently weak after all, once they rely on their own strength and power. a surrendered state is the most glorious of all, I believe. however, finding the remembrance in one’s heart is God’s will, and we just have to be patient enough to find it. I learned that I need some feminine adjustments. m...

it’s a little better now, especially after my therapy session. I talked about what Ramadan means to me, and how much anxiety harboured my heart before its arrival. I talked about how my home in the past was filled with dread and fear of that beautiful month and instead of it being one of harmony, peace, prayer and love; it was one of anxiety, sadness and loneliness. this anxiety still hits me every year and I feel like something terrible would happen, given that my gut would explode in inflammation and pain every time. however, it is getting better. perhaps, it is the first year that I am not consumed with that overarching fear and am instead living it with presence. my therapist told me about what how everyone has an individual journey in Ramadan. at first, I always felt different seeing that everyone was so happy about the food, gatherings and changed routine. it was not like that for me. the hunger, the need to exercise patience and the demands of the month take a toll of my nafs, w...