My weird love for book sniffing

Have you ever heard of book sniffing? I always do it! New books have a fresh smell which makes my windpipe itchy and tells my brain to treat myself with the book and a good cup of coffee.

On the other hand, old books with torn pages speaks volume of the world sandwiched between each word and makes me tear down even before I begin reading it.

Every time you open a book and read it, a tree smiles knowing there is life after death.

Ma & Pa

Parents.

One word, two beautiful souls, countless Duas, immeasurable amount lf sweat and tears, forgiving easily, loving my *true* nature in its most imperfect nature, giving everything just to see me smile and above all not expecting anything in return from me.

Alhamdulillah thumma alhamdulillah. Words cannot suffice how they can endure all this and yet love me, a child who is not worthy of all those love for I haven't served them enough for this 19 years of life.

Go and talk to your parents. Get off the phone and stop saying "I'm coming" when they call you. Stop pretending busy. Walk out the friends party/gathering if your mom calls you to talk to you. Buy your dad his favourite watch. Watch his favourite football team win and when it wins, cheer together with him even when your team lost. Call them everyday and when they ask "is there anything" just say you felt like saying I love you. Whatsapp your parents more than liking Facebook status of a virtual friend whom probably you will never meet in life.

Parents. One word. Connects right away with my raw soul.

Ya Abati ;(

At the tender age of 15 where a kid usually develops the basic traits if his everlasting personality, my dada was away from home, washing cars, running errands and doing whatever told, whenever told just to make his living possible.

He saved up enough to get a Visa and a passport and flew to a foreign land-Brunei. My dada's first job was a dishwasher at a non halal chinese restaurant. He lived on plain rice for breakfast, lunch and dinner. For about a year, he worked in this unimaginable situation. His first rented house was a small hut in Brunei. When I say small, I mean *small*.

He worked relentlessly to feed his family back at home. Back in the village in India, my grandparents and aunts couldn't afford to have a plate for each to eat their meals on. Three young ladies sitting idle at home because they do not have the dowry to get married. It fired up my dada and he worked day and night to feed 5 mouths back home.

He married at 30 years old to a 17 year old girl.  My mother followed him back to Brunei and I was born in that small hut. My dada used to go to work 6am in the morning and return at 12 at midnight.

He invested all his love in me. When there was a blackout at 2am in the morning, it was my dada who carried me to the car and turn on the air conditioning so that I can sleep peacefully.

It was my dada who sent me to the best Chinese school so that his girl learns a new language.

It was my dada who sneaked out the house while I was asleep so that I won't cry when he leaves for work.

It was my dada who paid a staggering B$500 per month for my swimming class just so that we can go on swimming dates together.

It was my dada who would wait to put the first morsel of food into my mouth before he begins eating. Even now.

It was my dada who kissed my hands after coming back home from Jumuah salah and would get up from the couch to give space for me to sit down.

I haven't done justice to the love he showed me. He showed something more than love. Something that humanity could never verbalize. My dada is not a doctor or an engineer. He doesn't speak fluent English nor does he attend posh seminars/conferences. He is that humble man who loves his family like nothing else.

Dada, this eid will be different. We are separated by 848 miles. I've never felt this far from you.

Who will call me a princess on the day of Eid? Who will recite the Takbeer in that deep voice which adds to the beauty of Takbeer? Who will I see wearing crisp ironed shirt and white veshti to Salatul Eid? Who will holdb my hands as we walk together into the Masjid? Who will give me my Eid gift with which I make mom and tambi jealous? 

Dada, I miss you. 

When the nib of the pen comes alive

Nothing more liberating than freeing the mind of its worries by writing. It is during these hours of the night that the simplest experience in a day seem to hold a valuable lesson. The biggest worries seem to fade away. The greatest lessons are learnt. The most intimate reflections strike.

Writing a journal is crucial for anyone to improve their life. Let it be spiritual, social or professional. When the nib of the pen meets the page, it demands the brain to recall. The mind works to make a connection to the heart. Amazing thoughts are born and idle stuffs are burned down.

And finally, the joy of writing is one of a kind. Above all those benefits that writing offers, simply pouring out your feelings on paper makes it the cherry topping of all. It can't be described. Feel it.

You've got a problem?

Our problems are overwhelming. Let it be the new project you're working on, that one friend who doesn't understand you, the exams that are coming up, the debt that we owe others and tons of other problems.

Remember, it's not the goal that matters the most. Getting a new car, finally finding the right spouse, getting a massive audience for the program that you organise is not the solution. We may think that is the actual success. However, in reality, it is not the ultimate objective.

It is the perseverance that we show through the process. The anger that we choose to hide. The gossip session that we try to avoid. The gaze we intentionally avert. The lustful desire that we consciously keep in check. The time we spend on useful things rather than movies and dramas. The ideas we think instead of the complains we never stop with. It is the process that matters. The real objective of the test is not the final solution that we think of. It is the ATTITUDE we develop through them.

Saying about it is different. Living by it is a whole new thing that needs courage. The whole process is painful, terrible, heart-wrenching, nerve-wracking and horrible. There will be a lot of failures and tons of mistake. But, get up and swim ahead. The journey is long.

Persevere till you meet your Lord! If it is for that one moment of standing in front of Him, then it is sure worth all the trouble and hurdles.

My first visit to the Blessed Land

Alhamdulillah, touched down KL at about 8.30pm after a long flight from Jeddah via Doha. The pain of returning from Umrah is overwhelming.

Needless to say, I miss Home, my Home, the Home of Rasulullah SAW, Ibrahim AS and Ismail AS. The pain of separation when I lifted my head from the last Sujud in the Blessed Mosque was so much so that I wished my soul was ripped from my body that very moment itself. Like a mature baby being cut off from the umbilical cord of it's mother as it enters this world, I cried wondering how could this be possible.

Subhanallah, the lessons that Allah taught me are way too much for my soul to even comprehend. Lessons after lesssons, realization of the subtle things in life poured down as I stood receiving it in awe, my mouth wide open in amazement.

My words can by no means do justice to what my heart wants to scream out loud. Feelings and
emotions I've never even known that existed was introduced into my life. Love, fear, hope, contentment, gratitude, guilt, shame, humility, mercy, kindness was thought in a way that it manifested itself in the depths of my heart, illuminating this little miskeen soul.

Old, weak, disabled, poor people staying and sleeping in Masjidil Haraam and worshipping Allah in pain and hunger made me feel so small. A sharp question stabbed me over and over again asking
me what is my worth compared to them in the Sight of Allah SWT?

An incident comes to mind.There was this old woman from Pakistan if I'm not mistaken. She was struggling with her leg ache and I saw no one nearby to help massage her leg. I asked if I could help her and she handed me the oil and cream bottle. Whilst I massaged her leg, we both communicated in sign language since my urdu was limited. Yes, two people with no relationship and don't even have a mutual language were engaged in a soul-lifting, ego-breaking quality time. She told me her life story and Wallahi I was moved to tears right then and there. Her eyes could express the pain she went through. After the salah, I went to see my mum and my legs couldn't bear the weight of my heart. I stumbled and fell in front of my mom. I cried and cried and cried. I didn't know why the old woman's story mattered to me so much. Maybe, just maybe, because she gave me a new sense of hope that was too big and extremely sweet for me to bear. *bittersweet*

This journey gave me a lot of gifts - happiness, a sense of belonging in a "foreign" country, humility and friendship. I made dua so that He TEACHES me and indeed He is the Best of those who Teach and Guide.

O the one who is reading this! Go. Go for the Sake of Allah to visit His House as His Guest. Trust me, He will never disappoint His Slaves..

Here I am. Trying hard to console myself that life has to move on. But in a different way. In a way that will bring me much closer to Him.

After all, the newborn baby's life has not ended as the umbilical cord was cut off. Rather, Life has just Begun.

I may not be there yet. But I am closer to it than I was yesterday.

Why I write?

This is something about myself. Some of you know me, some don't. Well, you'll know in a sec.

I am a 19-year old girl with aspirations and dreams too huge that it couldn't fit my heart, brought up in a culture too mean to allow those dreams to breathe. My life all along has been an amazing journey, Alhamdulillah. I have lived both in poverty and luxury, cried most of the time and laughed as well, feared the human beings and learnt the meaning of love, felt insecure and evolved to take the leap of faith. I have seen the life lessons of others that made me cringe as I thought of my fate. I befriended people who had to think twice before buying lunch. I had friends who spent extravagantly for petty stuffs. My parents didn't have the faintest idea of education yet they allowed me to go abroad to study medicine. I was told by my peers I couldn't even speak up for myself yet I had faith that helped me to defend others today. From child abuse to gender injustice, I've learnt to see the world with a mind and heart too old for my age.

I am a yet-to-be dental surgeon (inshaAllah), trying to be a faithful student of the Quran atleast through Bayyinah TV, studying part time Diploma in Arabic Language under Sheikh Akram Nadwi, loves to read a lot although my schedule rarely has mercy upon me to have that luxury, travel frequently just to get the adrenaline pumping, loves to take a stroll at night and have a huge passion for integrated Islamic education and character building.

This is what makes my life peculiar and amazing at the same time. It showed me an array of experiences like no other. It moulded me into who I am today. It provoked *dangerous* passions in me which I never knew was possible. This blog serves to be a collection of my thoughts, reflections, experiences and life lessons I went through. It aims to help others that might be in the same boat, those who need a pint of inspiration, those who are looking for a meaning in this life. I hope it becomes a platform where I am able to share what I learnt in hope of others benefiting from it.

I don't say I am a godmother with a magic wand to make the answers appear out of the blue or to lighten up your day instantly. But, I do say let's undertake this journey together. Through words, let's unravel this world and peel all it's illusions away, seek what lies at it's core, be amazed at it, cry and smile at the same time, love without limits, fall hard just for the joy of getting up again and ultimately have hope that the Life ahead is inexplicably beautiful.