being humbled.

-

 


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 love. 


I feel it’s this way, somehow, I deal with everyone as well. not just everyone, with life. I hide when I’m not enough.


when Ramadan comes and I’m weakened by lack of sleep and nourishment, my prayers and readings of the Quran are weakened too. I remember how it could have been much easier to do much more before that month. it disappoints me each time. everybody talks about Ramadan being a month of spirituality and strength, but for me, it is a month full of disappointments as I face myself. I face my failings in my spiritual journey, and deep down I get to know what I need to work on.


I feel the most important thing in my journey is to learn to be present and conscious instead of overriding my difficult emotions. I need to learn to be in my body instead of my mind, which is filled with judgements and obsessions over control. I need grace. I’m hungry for it.


I keep praying for it— and the strangest thing is that once Ramadan ends, I find that peace I’ve been yearning for. it’s as if Ramadan is all about planting duaa in my soul and fighting for it. once Ramadan is over, we get to surrender those prayers. and somehow, they’re here.


I am forever grateful for that humility. may I never stop believing there’s more on my path.

going with grace in an inscrutable world.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

the horizons of my doing.

-
Image
  احبب ما شئت فإنك مفارقه.. there is so much hesitation in this heart of mine. tiny little parabolas that alternate from fear to doubt. there is so much to comprehend and ponder upon before filling the heart with a worldly commitment. there is an ongoing comparison— is it for God, or is it for the temporary self? sometimes I get too tired when I can’t make a decision. I isolate in despair, waiting for the heart to speak. sometimes my judgement is clouded from all the coping mechanisms I’ve endured and I fear, I don’t always see the truth. recently, I reflected upon how I can’t seem to rely on temporariness to be alive. I do not trust people’s love, even if they claim that it’s infinite. there’s always loss lurking in the corner— I keep my space, always. I don’t get too close to loving eternally when I know that I can’t. perhaps I’ve made this mistake. I claimed infinite, unconditional love was my path. but as long as I’m here, it is not my choice. I cannot rely on myself toiling fo...
click to read

a cumulation

-
Image
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 ...
click to read

If We Ever Separate.

-
Image
I know I keep writing too many narratives about life. Fictitious narratives on love and grief give life so much meaning and they somehow capture the essence of each and every little experience. While walking in the streets last evening, a vision fell onto my lap. A vision that truly made me let out a few fat teardrops that were silent enough for no one to notice. It was a story so saddening and sorrowful, but I'll write it out anyway. Years forward, it could make sense. Despite making up all those dreams for a beautiful life, I know it is not without grief. Sometimes I wonder if all those dreams would just become reduced to mere pictures and words when the foreordained sequence of events comes to play. Dearest one, I must admit that I envision losing you sometimes. I imagined how it would be if one day, you just weren't here. I imagined how it would pierce my heart with excruciating pain. I imagined how I would not manage to hold myself up from being struck by the notion that y...
click to read

walls.

-
Image
invisible. invincible, too. I turn into a fort. this solitude, once saved me, you know. it became my home of dreams and make-beliefs. torrentially heart-warming fantasies. and now, reality . sweet. blessed. but exhausting . once I was a committed audience,   now but an actress. I dream to go home, even while I lie in arms of the one I love. I dream to be where I don’t anymore. when I don’t have to make this real, when my dreams could float into scapes of reveries. how can I be who I am? how can I be that unspoken, that chimerical? but I’m expected now to live up to love. with courage, through my flaws. but this is not what I want. my solitude tastes of abandonment, but the bitterness is what I crave. the over-indulgent spiral. and never wanting to be saved. he looks at me with his sober eyes, his words sweet, his arms safe, still I let go. still I hold on to what I know. tortured, left behind, invisible. almost a figment from a faraway land. I want to be like that .
click to read

attachments.

-
Image
  in my new life, one of the most starkly noticeable changes is the evidently increasing number of worldly attachments I am chained by. perhaps it is what makes life so different. a nostalgia drapes over me when I reminisce how it was like before, having let go of everything this life has to offer. I had and wanted nothing. my soul was close to death all the time, envisioning it, embracing it. I didn’t have anything to live for— everything and everyone I loved was a bridge to the hereafter. now, there is more to live for. a beautiful home, a warmth I was starved of. an angelic kitten. a bicycle. and all those beautiful roads by the countrysides and forests. I get why Sufists let go of all worldly belongings and attachments. they do it for the world acts as a violent veil, blinding the soul from seeing Him. it’s such a treacherous enslavement, to love the world deeply but forget its Creator for a while. it hurts my heart everytime I return and remember. I wonder what it would take t...
click to read