a daylight dream

have I lost immunity? generally speaking, yes. ever since I made it out, I have lost so much immunity with all the weeks of illness recurring every now and then. but I’m not talking about that.   I am talking about emotional immunity. they used to call it resilience, but there’s a new term coming around. I like it better. perhaps it is my medical, biological, nerdy background that loves to use related metaphor. but I am intrigued by the notion that the more you go through emotional turbulence, the more you grow stronger as a person. it is also what I like about religion. the fact that it is not easy, that you need to strip yourself off your needs and daily comforts in order to see a glimpse of unearthly comfort. the more we get sick, the more we are exposed, the more we become stronger as human bodies.   is the concept one and the same, when it comes to growing as beings? perhaps it is. because I remember when I first came here, I was so vulnerable. having lived most of my adu...

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...

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...

  every year, Ramadan comes and teaches me humility. it brings me down to earth, reminding me of my weakness as a human being. I think it’s the case for all of us— that’s the purpose of Ramadan. no matter how we show up to the world with all our prayers and duaa, we still do it with futile efforts. the hunger for God’s power. this year, I feel really humbled by Ramadan. all year I feel like I’m doing enough for God, or almost enough, the best I can at least. perhaps I give myself excuses. first, it was my depression. after that, it was building my worldly life through being busy having friends, exploring and indulging in pleasures I have always stayed away from. next, it’s work. however, time is wasted in the end. I end up on my phone or on my laptop doing mindless things. I somehow feel that my mind does not escape towards God— it escapes from Him. I’m afraid to face Him with my lack of will and strength. I hide when I’m not enough, when I don’t do enough to show my gratitude and ...

seven days have flown by. how mysteriously cunning time is when it is tied to a significant value? it does not overlook its need and paces forwards, oblivious to our miserable failings to make it right. Ramadan usually brings me a lot of anxiety, especially before it comes. even though I train myself to stay hungry most of the times and eat one meal a day, I still feel the fear of that gnawing pain and lack of energy. perhaps it is what scares me most— feeling out of control. there is no longer energy to embody certain intentions and mindsets. the mind is wandering and dozy. I envision myself praying the right way and find myself unable to remember what it is I prayed for. it is that particular lack of perfection that I am mostly afraid of. especially with my new demanding job, Ramadan is not that easy this year. I would say it is sweetly easy without the gruelling pains of a distorted gut syndrome, which has healed beautifully over the years. I need to be awake by 4, making suhoor for...

  it is all I ever did. surrender . I let myself go along the gears of a stubborn, fierce death. death of all needs and desires. death of a love I thought was eternally written in the stars. alas, it was not meant to be. I surrendered to the path foreordained. God gave us signs to hold on to one another in gardens and through mellow, gentle sunlight. but once the grass died and the weeds overcame the young seedlings we sprouted— I knew it was time. my heart whispered what I never thought could ever occur to me. it knew I needed a transformation. I could not keep going, I could not allow those cycles to keep reiterating. I was meant to break free. disenchant the curse that was spelled on my life. and God gave me what I always needed. I know I hurt you. but I only did what was right.  I followed the signs. a heart that knows God sincerely trusts His imprint in its world. a heart that has known love knows when it’s time to let go, to surrender to its creator. we have known a love...

it's okay. thinking about what you've said, I can see now what you mean. I didn't know you'd be reading my blog, I knew someone was reading it and it drove me insane. at first I though it would be my father stalking me or trying to find my whereabouts, and so I tried to hide.  but you, reading all this, well.. it would be strikingly difficult to read. and for this, I am sorry. you can notice that I haven't been writing so often. even journalling is arduous when you're present and real and floating in the arms of time. when I'm planning bike rides around the city and its farmlands with the women here, climbing mountains, going on 10-hour hikes and beautifying my home, it's hard to find time to write. and even though I deeply miss writing, but I somehow don't find a reason to.. it's okay.. it's a new era now. I do not have to be all things at once. but there are times when I sincerely do want to write. I go on bike rides and churn my heart for ...