a daylight dream

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...

  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 ...

it’s september, not autumn yet, but it is slowly haunting everything. the light is golden, warm enough until it is captured by a gust of winds. it’s enchantingly beautiful but it also signals the end of it all— the joyous spring and summer, bike rides and meetings with friends till dusk. however, it is the beginning of many other memories. cozy, elegant coats, candles and all those books to read. there are things to be grateful for in autumn, too. my only intention this autumn is to truly enjoy it. I want to feel at home here, even when the sunset arrives too early. I dream to soak in the beauty of golden afternoons, mesmerisingly captivating with all the leaves showcasing their loving farewell. I dream to honour the time spent indoors sipping coffee, chamomile while reading a good book. it’s an invitation to something more than just spring and summer. it can be different this time around. I don’t know why it scares me, to have little sunlight abound. I wish I knew, but it somehow trig...

sometimes, it's not me. those are not my tears. it’s those of a broken one, hidden deep within me. how did I survive those days without a single cry of help? how did I get by without entirely forsaking myself well, I did, didn’t I? the woman I am is but made of shards. fragmented, soulless, painted by scars. this is not who I thought I was. where did that effervescent optimism go? I used to speak of dreams, hopes and brighter tomorrows. now, it is but a golden cage. spiralling in stories of how I was not saved. memories of me scarring my own skin. dreaming of death, a locus on which the path ends. I have so much to be grateful for, I know. yet there is a cumulation of dread named after everything I've witnessed before. never being safe. always trapped. the gush of air needed to survive. I want to move on. I want to put that past behind me. yet, there is so much to undo. so much to feel. earth-shattering grief. everyone tells me to stride forward. don’t you see my vision boards ...