Training

It's like God guided me to find him. And when I found him, he left me broken hearted.

I was outside my office building debating whether to take a cab or the train. The train was a risk but the cab would surely get me there in time. I needed to catch the 5:40 train going to Joliet. And I was in a slight panic because I had set the goal that I was going to host FNL, although if I couldn't someone else would take my place.

I decided on the cab. And had I not, I would have never met him. Had I taken the train, he would have been another passerby.

I arrived at the station 10 minutes early, and I needed the restroom. Another debate. I decided I still couldn't risk missing the train. So I walked toward the train, and as I approached the second car, I slowed down for absolutely no reason. I usually walk as if a murderer is chasing me at all times, even when I'm way ahead of schedule.

That's when I heard it, the thump, and I saw him fall to the ground from my peripheral vision. A tall, muscular, clean, good-looking old man on the ground, one foot away from the train that just departed, with one of his crutches spewed across the floor and the other on the tracks below, taunting its owner. Me and three others rushed towards him, missing the train became an afterthought, and FNL became an echo. He wasn't  moving. His face was lifeless, but he was alive. He had thankfully only fallen on the ground, with no injuries from the train's passing. He spit a dark brown liquid from his mouth.  He let his head fall back, as if giving up for a moment. An old lady and an old man tried to help him up. I asked the lady to move aside so I can take her place, then the fourth person said he would help. The man was barely responsive. I asked if he needed help. I asked him if he was bleeding. He said no. The second man who helped him up said he saw him fall before, and that we needed to call an ambulance. He even sounded irritated that this guy wasn't responsive enough to affirm he needed an ambulance. The second man hovered a little while then walked away as the man had both crutches and was wobbling away with the old lady on his side. The first man left to call for help.

I couldn't possibly assume she would stick with him till he found help, so I stood there, unaware what to do, but to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't topple over again. My train was waiting, and I still had time to board. I didn't check my watch, time was irrelevant.

All that mattered was this man. This man who had no one with him. How did he end up like this? Someone so seemingly privileged, so seemingly healthy, ending up falling twice, with mystery brown liquid coming out of his mouth, with crutches,a backpack and no one to look after him? Would we have helped him had he been a homeless man? Why do we react upon seeing the fall, but not when we only see the handicap that follows?

The old lady walked with him until a Metra train conductor came and said "Sir, do you need some help?" And without hearing a response he said "Follow me. He rushed ahead of him. The old lady left, and the man was left to fend for himself in this walk of treachery that could bring his demise. I jolted to walk with him. I wanted so badly to hug him. To cradle his soul. To ease whatever numbness he felt, whatever pain he felt. I wanted to rid him of his confusion, to replace it with light. I walked with him silently. The first time I asked him if he needed help he said no, and that was in front of lots of people. This time he asked, "Will you help me?" My heart sunk. "Do you need help?" and when he responded is when I wanted to breakdown and cry. He said, with the innocence and helplessness of a lost child, "I think so."

Maybe I should have just said, yes of course I'll help you. But I wanted him to speak, to say something. I asked him again if he was bleeding, he said " I don't know" and my heart officially shattered. This whole time he was wobbling and trying to maintain balance as he tried to increase his speed in walking to catch up to the conductor, racing to salvation. "Did that man tell you to follow him?" He said yeah. So we continued to walk to the waiting room. I opened the door for him. The train conductor had brought a medic of some sort who was being awfully kind."You alright buddy?" The man stayed silent. Come to think of it, I should have asked him if he wanted me to stay with him. I knew they were taking care of him though.

I explained to the medic that someone had seen him fall twice, and that something brown was coming out of his mouth. He said "Thanks sweetie," and I was on my way. With a heavy heart. And a broken one.

I wish there was more I could have done. Beloved to me, a complete stranger, because of his helplessness and his inability to recognize what he needed. SubhanAllah how we take our consciousness for granted. We sin consciously. This man couldn't even take care of himself, couldn't lift himself up, and here we are lifting ourselves up, using our legs with perfect balance, to go places your mother wouldn't approve of, to do things the Prophet pbuh would weep over.

I can't understand the human, nor do I think I ever want to. Thank God for the blessing of ignorance. I pray that I be among those who take advantage of five before five. That I apply the brain which is entirely an undeserved blessing to only do that which is good. May He protect me from loss of function, loss of consciousness, and most I importantly, loss of faith.

9.21.2012

His Majesty

I couldn't help but channel this overpowering energy into words.

He gives. And He takes.

He places hardship, to make the ease that much more beautiful. Embrace the storm. It means an intense wave of love is heading your way.

If you were to live in endless bliss, there would be no way to gauge what happiness is. When He gives you a source of constant difficulty, any moment of relief is appreciated exponentially. Now imagine that hardship becoming a source of comfort, because it means there will be light to match its level and surpass it.

He gives. And He takes.

I feel stupid to make duaa for specific things, as if I know what is best for me. When you go to a consultant, a doctor, you don't tell him, please prescribe diabetes medicine for my headache. You let him decide. He knows better.

And Who knows Best?

Yes. It is He.

Ask from Him, through His infinite knowledge and infinite wisdom, a magnificent combination which means he knows the absolute best solution for every possible case that any human has ever suffered at any time.

Ask for His blessings. He will give them. In whatever form is best. Whatever the prescription is, no matter how bitter or delicious it tastes, it is from Him, and so it will cure, it will raise you. It is up to you to recognize the strength in it. It is your choice whether it will be a means of growing, or shrinking down to the earth and the dirt from which you originally came.

Are you from the dirt? Or are you God's creation, and to Him will you return?

Fluid Journey

I am usually thirsty when I am in my room at home. I had been planning to get some sort of water dispenser to fill up and keep in my room, along with an empty cup to fill 'er up whenever the thirst pinches my throat. Just like good 'ol Amman. Two years later, I finally found a wonderful clear and sleek dispenser for six dollars, and purchased it with excitement that my fajr dry throat will now be quenched.

I placed it at the end of my dresser, at the corner. I made sure it was sealed tight. A week after I purchased it, I woke to find the faucet was turned at an acute angle, which indicated that the seal was most likely broken. I didn't check the water level. I focused on the faucet. I realized it leaked a little. I fixed it's position, and brought some tissues to clean up the water. A(n?) half hour later, I came back to my room to get some clothes from my workout drawer, which was in the same plane as the water dispenser. I noticed a darker spot on the wood. I felt it. It was wet. I looked up at the dispenser, and 80% of the water that was in it the day before was gone. It was leaking throughout the night, and I had only just noticed.

I quickly began to remove the contents of the drawer. And lo and behold, subhanAllah, I had placed all the letters I had ever received from my loved ones in that drawer. All drenched. All soaked. All dripping. Ink staining the inside of the drawer. I felt a small twinge at the potential loss, and immediately felt neglectful. It took for a whole gallon of water to spill for me to pay attention to a source of love that I had long overlooked.

Once I regained focus, I collected the letters, whimpering slightly. Yes, like a puppy. I had a very limited time to workout, as my schedule was packed for the day. But I decided without hesitation that salvaging whatever letters I can was a higher priority.

On a slight but relevant tangent, I was feeling temporarily betrayed at that time in my life, in reaction to a specific event. Reducing the amount of perceived attention and love I felt to an intolerable amount. Feeling as if all those that proclaimed they would be my companions had utterly and easily failed me. Repeatedly. I felt no human presence. God was always there, of course.

I prayed to Him. Asking Him to remove this doubt from my heart. To reinstill my sureness in His creation's goodness and ability to not be deceptive. I  prayed He return the untameable light that had always emanated from my spirit. To remind me that I had not been left for the wolves. That it was quite the contrary, that I was engulfed in a love unattainable by those who sought it, that it could only be a blessing. And I prayed that He protect me from the evil that wishes to convince me otherwise.

I carried the letters carefully to my mother's bathroom, I didn't want their fragility to win. They could have easily ripped. I placed them down, still in their envelopes, separating them from each other, one by one, side by side. They stared at me. Each one transporting me back to a time when things were different, when things were better, or harder. Times when I was on an adventure, and my family wanted to reach out to me. Or on an escapade and a distant friend wanted to remind me of our friendship. Or celebrating an achievement and someone wanted to warmly congratulate me.

I learned once that you can steam open an envelope, and reseal it after. My mom's little hairdryer started to blow away at the folds of the envelopes. And they started unraveling, allowing me a peak at the letters they had failed to protect. I was reminded of Frank Abignale, Jr., when he was drying all those false checks. As I recall he was in search of a love that would not betray him. And as I reflected, I realized I had rediscovered for myself what he was in search of. Although I would have loved to fake being a pilot.

I began to aim the dryer at the folds intentionally, to peal away the envelope. I picked up the letter slowly. After carefully searching for the space between the two thirds, I unfolded it and anxiously began to read. It spoke to a different me, an ancient one, a Leena in development. Not that I was or am done growing, but I had a longer way to go simply because it was an historical me. But the person who wrote it, my sister, loved me the same. Spoke to me the same. Cared for me the same. It was as if the love God blessed me with was in a naturally frozen state and lived in Antarctica, where it would never change. It was my goggles which fogged up every once in a while. He would always provide a way for me to clear them up.

I read the next, and it was a friend, writing to me at camp, and another one from a different friend, writing to me from across the world, long and beautiful letters, filled with specificity, indicating their care.

The letters felt like a small avalanche. Like rain after a hot day. Like shelter after a storm. Like dry land after swimming for too long. Like the comfort of your mother's arms. Embracing you like nothing else matters. Like an instantaneous answer to my prayers. What I first thought to be a loss (damaged letters), and what I first thought to be a source of inconvenience (a dripping faucet), turned out to be a microcosmic hero, and a mask that would guide me to it, respectively.

How could I forget these letters? How can I lose sight of the overwhelming love God Has blessed me with? All blurred in a moment. No matter how sharp your vision is, once your eyes well with tears, they become blurry, and no longer convey the truth of the visible world to your brain. And thus is our heart. Once tainted with a slight and momentary sadness, it is as if the memory size of our brain that stores happy moments is reduced to 1KB.

The lesson here, my friend, is that when you lose sight of human mercy, God will return it to you, but if you lose sight of your Lord's Mercy, you simply lose your sight. God restores everything He wishes to restore. It may be down a path that appears difficult, it may be that God sends you blessings guised by pain. He may decide to destroy something precious in your life, to replace it with something better. He may destroy something that you believe to be important, only to draw your attention to something that transcends it, into the heavens.

This story is not dramatic, no lives were lost, and it didn't change me from the core, but it is a moment that serves as a powerful reminder.

You can never over-estimate God. That in itself is an unfathomable concept. Everything has a limit. But here is a way to try to understand His greatness. Our understanding of what is limited is in comparison to something that is limitless. To understand that something cannot keep going is to know that there is something that does keep going, that we are contrasting the brevity of life or short-lived anything to His Omnipotence.

Yes, it does all come back to God. Always. We are to Him, and to Him we return.

The Fog

You've driven down this street hundreds of times before, and at the end of it is your house, your home. It's usually the same time of day, and the same lights are usually on when you pull up to the front. Usually it's the same family members who are home. And they're in an expected mood. It is your routine. It is one of the things you are most sure about in your life.

This is your personal experience. Others around you have a routine, may be different from yours, but is repetitive in itself.

Last night I was driving home. The residue of the rain created a nearly opaque wall of fog, misting itself around light posts and thinning when approached. I know 157th street like the back of my hand, but last night, the darkness and lack of visibility made me question the end. After years of knowing my house is waiting for me on the other side, I still questioned it. What if there is no home there? I can't see anything. There could be a pitfall for all I know. Or some hounds like Mr. Burns' waiting to attack, grizzly and real. Even the thought of an endless nothingness crossed my mind. What if my car simply began to drift, away from gravity, into the fog, deeper and deeper into the density.

That was my heart. Speaking to my mind. My own dose of Fear of the Unknown. Which in this case is odd, because I have knowledge of what is at the end. I know for a fact my home is waiting for me. I just spoke with my mother on the phone so she too is home. I know this, but my heart tried to play tricks on my mind.

Why am I ranting about a single experience that probably happened to any reader who doesn't live in a place suffering from a famine? Because that night, last night, revealed an overlooked truth.

Every time hardship strikes, we initially forget about the surety of God's existence. We forget that with hardship comes ease. We focus on the fog. Short-sighted, only reflecting on the next few inches coming at us instead of the final destination of the 100-mile long stretch. And most of us have gone through more than one hardship, and no matter how tragic our individual experiences were, we have seen the fruits of them. Yet, when a new hardship strikes, when God tests us anew, it's as if we believe the fog has always been there, and we forget to instill the logical knowledge from our past experiences into our current state of mind, and into our hearts. And if we have not reached resolutions in past experiences, we are or should have a still spirit, knowing your reward is coming later. Because that means you are still on your road.
God always guides you on your street, always shows you the way, even though you may not see it, having faith grounded in knowing the logical reality is a weapon against the darkest of times.

I promise you, the fog will lift. It may seem like forever and a day, but it will. Even if only a miracle can accomplish it. After all, everyday gifts from God, the ones that don't seem miraculous, are only miracles that are comprehensible to our minds.

My friend, when you find yourself travelling and your path becomes foggy, turn on your fog lights and pull through. For Allah is always present.

Broken Mirrors, Still Reflections

My tears lined themselves up behind my eyes, anticipating the opening of the gates, waiting to shed themselves on my fragile cheeks. My lips stiffened trying to constrain the leaks. Silly tactic, acid only leaves from your vision. Every time I know I will hear the pain of someone, especially this specific kind, I work hard to control my joints and muscles to keep my limbs together, and to keep breathing to replenish them with physical nourishment, to make up for the ensuing sadness.

We sat in a semi-circle. Surrounding one of the bravest women I have ever met. She was to speak, her words rippling through our formation, scarring our hearts, and moving us to something higher.

And then she told us how he touched her, how she woke up and he was on top of her, and how she grabbed a knife and told him she would kill him if he ever abused her again. This was real. This was not based on a true story, it was a live autobiography. I wanted to build a time machine in that instant, I wanted to go back in time and save her, save her from that wickedness. It couldn't get any worse for her. And just when my eye lids began to heat up, slowly opening the gates...

She told us how she went to his mother, one of the most lovable people, who she grew up with, who she looked up to, and told on her son, told her what he did to her the night before.

"It was your fault," she said to the child.

"You were always so playful with him."

She choked in front of us, held back her tears. And my flood gates opened. Her trust in all of humanity: gone. Her love of her body: gone. She said she couldn't look in the mirror at herself in the morning before her shower. She was disgusted with her body. Disgusted, a victim, disgusted, because of the words of that woman.

And I thought she was done, that the rejection of one person would stop her, that her rehashing the story now would end in explaining how she learned to cope in recent years.

And that's when she said a while later, she told her sister. And she said she would tell her parents. She wanted to talk to her parents. She wanted to talk. The next morning her mother said, "We need to talk."

And that was the end of that conversation.

Devastation revisited. It was clear in her eyes as she lowered her head to regain strength to continue, to collect her bravery and share her history with us. We didn't want it to get worse. We wanted that part of her history to be short-lived. But alas

In college, she fell into chronic depression, and tried all she could to stay afloat. She wore hijab to get closer to God. She exhaled, with glossy eyes, and said she vowed never to submit.

She would not be broken. She would not be broken.

She eventually tried to reconnect with her parents, despite their negligence. We listened as she spoke, and her tone didn't portray any recognition of her own perseverance: to her, persistence and courage were natural, granted.

She contacted an Imam from the local mosque, and asked him to help her reconnect with mama and baba. And I was happy to hear this, a final turn in events. But he, too, was an aggressor. He, too, sexually harassed her, knowing full well what she had gone through. She explained that she allowed him to help with her parents because he was at least doing a good job with that, they called her by her nickname again, they existed again. She sacrificed her own peace for a chance to regain a relationship with her parents. He kept harassing her. He even asked her to meet him. An Imam.

I was in shock. I didn't know if it was that someone would take advantage of someone so vulnerable, that a leader who was good at his job had horrid character, or that this wonderful lady, this beautiful woman, had to endure even more.

But nothing would bring her down. She didn't stop. She kept helping, and she helped expose leaders, molesters, rapists, humans with deeply convoluted hearts. She helped save many. And she still hasn't stopped.

She eventually found her peace. After counseling, and love, and God's blessing. She found an actual Prince Charming. A compassionate, respectful man. A more-than decent human being. She deserves all the love in the world. This final part of her sharing, her dishing of something so hurtful, with us, just to help us, moved me into a permanent residence. And my mind exploded.

Whether they were thoughts racing or words coming out of my mouth, I couldn't tell. It was all a jumble; my mind was trying to reconcile my conflicting emotions, to untie the knot now fidgeting in my stomach. I knew a time machine was not the answer, that her pain made her who she was. The only reason I would use the time machine was to go back and tell her that she would be ok. That she would be better. That she would be great. That there is a purpose for all this suffering, that I promise she will one day learn why this happened to her. I wanted to give her the good news that she would one day be an inspiration for women all across the country. That she would free them from the shackles of their oppression. From their communities denying their claims to molestation and rape. But I need not need that.

She opened up a door for me. She made me see what I had not before. Something I always knew I didn't understand.

No matter the pain.
No matter the suffering.
No matter how blind oppression can make you.
You can absolutely never lose your hope in the Almighty.

He is your Protector. He knows you more than the pain you know.
You are never broken if you have Him
And He, through all the ache and hopelessness, is your One and only hope.

Earthly Heaven

Underneath sleek moonlight
Engulfed by deep blue sky
Brushed with light clouds
The howling beast sings

Paws sunk into blanket of snow
Breathing in brisk fresh air
Invisible magic and floating spirits
The howling beast loves

Amidst the creation of God Himself
Living in a portrait an artist conjured
A fantastic wonderland of utter elation
The howling beast come to lay

A paradise on earthly clay
A hint, a peak, of what lies ahead
He stands in a trance
Hardly believing there's more beauty

He does not care what he left behind
Out of site is out of mind
He lives in the moment frozen in time
But heaven, they say, is far more sublime

My [occupied] Valentine

Promises are hearts and you break them all the time
Learn the difference between what's yours and what's mine
You kill me for my land and say it's self defense
I don't fall for cruel lies and evil pretense
But the rest of the world is at your bloody feet
And Your
Coward, weapon-laden soldiers are still so weak

You use the victim card without restriction
With it
Remove my people, no notice of eviction

I'm a Palestinian not born and not raised
Parents kicked out in '47 and '68
They say we breed nothing but vengeance and hate
When all we want is a peaceful two-state

Keep the land you stole from underneath our feet
For now
And let our blood not flow like rivers in streets

God will serve justice, no chocolates, no roses
You sacrificed beauty, peace. What you chose is
Gonna be bolder and stronger than your caterpillar
Your heartless state won't know what hit her


The worst of crimes
You've committed against
Palestine

Palestine, Valentine, So divine, You'll be mine

Bounty Hunted

I drew the curtains and saw the looming gloom. I prayed He divert it. The response, as always, was immediate.  If I could thank Him for all He has given, ten eternities wouldn't be enough. So I pause from the exhaustion of trying to repay with gratitude. Except I can never repay something that did not reduce the bestower's bounty. Endless, incorruptible, unchangeable.

All praise is to God. Lord of the worlds.

Oblivion

Veins throbbing, yet he didn't have an inkling. He would soon discover that his heart was beating faster than the speed of light, and nothing but death could slow it down. His chest was closing in, and he didn't know why. He was slowly loosing focus, and his vision began to blur. His thoughts began to mix with his speech. The mumbling turned to revelation and his mind lost control. His heart, after all, was the most powerful organ in his body. His balance, of course, was next, and he lost that too. He slid slowly, onto the dark marble floor, and reached for stability, which he did not find. His head against the wall, and his legs limp in front of him, he can only blame the cause.

Cold Crystal

Each glimmers
Blinding beauty builds
Shoulders shiver
Understated chills

Soft, delicate crystals
Moved by monsters
Plead to shimmer
On a world that's become dimmer

I sing to tiny diamonds
My view is of privilege
Behind frosted window
Hot cocoa and slippers

Plowed into mountains
We mourn the loss of uniformity
No longer can they hold hands
And grace us with effervescence

Warned but hasty
We lost the beauty
We let down patience
And birthed a slimy habitat

My apologies
On behalf of these
Humans with no humanity
Dicing thee
Mercilessly
Just to get to work

Beautify my Memories

Memories never fail. It is the remitter's actions which can be a failure. And since we know our present motions will ingrain themselves in our memories, why allow them to be shameful? Because we value the moment over the future. We bias the fulfillment of our desires to our present self, and ignore and neglect our future self. We slowly build momentum, being careless of the decisions our future will face due to these actions, until we get so close to the cliff. And since our past self was so careless and cut the break cables, we are heaved into space and sucked by gravity: we fall. We fail. Be mindful of potential pitfalls. Plan to procure potions to push away the petrifying perturbances. Place faith in the true guidance and follow it. Be considerate of your future self, and set a path that leads only to Paradise.