Tag: character

  • What Doesn’t Kill You…

    There’s a few quotes that come to mind this morning that I doubt the truth of. One of these is the claim that whatever doesn’t kill you will make you stronger. This is a lie. It is a lie of the worst kind because it sets an expectation that is unrealistic.

    Those experiences that ravage us most doesn’t strengthen us when we survive it, it strengthens our defences. Like Abraham Lincoln said, as adults we grow to expect that things won’t work out the way we want them to. This is not a sign of strength but rather a sign of tampered reality. Each time something hurts, a dream is eroded. What was previously enchanting will suddenly become taunting because holding on to an utopian ideal leaves us feeling naive and incompetent at times.

    Strength doesn’t come from surviving betrayal, or surviving heartache or loss. If that were the case, each betrayal would drive us further from wishing for death rather than closer to it. Strength, for me, has always been an active choice based on hard earned realisations about the nature of people. The only thought that has ever kept me sane throughout the insane morbidity of life has been this:

    Your actions are a reflection of who you are, not who I am

    This single thought has made it possible for me to drag myself out of the doldrums on more occasions than I care to remember. Strength does not come naturally. Weakness does. Being weak, run-down, and listless requires no effort at all. So the next time someone tells me that what doesn’t kill me will only make me stronger, I’ll ask them very politely to pick a finger.

    Some clichés are clichés because people were distracted by the clever use of words rather than the truth embodied within it. The point I really wanted to make in this post was that each time I pick myself up after being knocked down, not only do I have to consciously choose to move beyond it, but lately I’ve realised that every untoward incident in my life has caused me to be that much more sensitive to the innuendos that are often a prelude to my next life’s lesson. Again, the choice to restrain myself from acting pre-emptively under such conditions does not come naturally, but demands a level of mindfulness and conviction that is often not easy to realise.

    It then stands to reason that what doesn’t kill me does not make me stronger. Instead, it informs my tolerance levels relative to my capacity. That tolerance level is what makes me brittle because each time I approach it, I get that much closer to snapping. When I’m not aware of it being breached, I do snap. But when I’m mindful of it I find it easy to compose myself realising that the tolerance level is based on the accumulation of experiences up to that point, and is not specifically the current experience that threatens to tip me over. This is usually the sobering thought that keeps me composed when everyone else is ready to justify why snapping would be understandable.

    What doesn’t kill you doesn’t make you stronger. It simply makes you more brittle.

  • My struggles with those symbols

    It feels like I’ve come almost full circle in my contemplations regarding that dastardly symbol that grates me each time the thought flits through my mind. After reading a post on Tumblr this week, I was suddenly faced with the realisation that perhaps my response to this matter has been one of extremism rather than purposeful reason.

    My contempt for the moon and star as symbols of Islam has not abated. But my resolve to separate myself from the community based on this contempt that I feel is wavering. I maintain my position regarding the double standards and hypocrisy demonstrated by many Ulama of South Africa. I have not engaged with others outside of this country, but I have no reason to believe that the mainstream views will be equally distastefully biased towards the popular vote rather than the principled reality. A reality that dictates that the moon and star are symbols of paganism adopted directly into Islam from pagan roots and has never had any reference to any Islamic practise either during the time of Rasulullah (SAW) or after. 

    But this is clear to me, and is therefore not at the core of my uneasiness tonight. The post that I read this week on Tumblr spoke of unity in the Ummah and what acts were overlooked although known to be incorrect at the time of its occurrence, in favour of maintaining such unity. These acts were overlooked by learned companions (RA) in their endeavour to maintain unity above all else. Suddenly, with this in mind, my decision to remove myself from the gathering at the local masjid out of protest against that horrible symbol affixed to the minaret and dome seems to be an act of extremism rather than conscientious objection. 

    I used to feel assured that my position was correct and my behaviour justified. I’m now left with only the feeling of surety regarding my position, but no longer my behaviour. I’m starting to doubt if staying away, and avoiding the difficult discussions with the trustees is in fact the correct way to deal with this, and more importantly, if it is a justifiable response to what is a bid’ah but not necessarily a major act of kufr. 

    May Allah guide me in this matter. Ameen.

  • Computing Loss

    When others share their views or sentiments about tragic moments in my own life, it often overwhelms me more than the experience itself. Those first moments on hearing the bad news, or rationalising the loss left me feeling sombre, but not always overwhelmed with emotion. On many occasions I’ve been able to hold back the tears and shrug off the pain, only to lose my composure through the simple gesture or words of someone else expressing their sadness at the news.

    I was in Saudi on contract when my father passed away. I recall clearly sitting in the staff bus on our way back from Bahrain where we made the monthly trip to have our visas renewed. It was late in the evening when I received the text message from South Africa. My father had passed away. He was ill for some time after surviving a stroke two years earlier, and he finally succumbed to the illness. I stared almost disbelievingly at the message, but managed to maintain my composure.

    After absorbing the impact of the news, I reached over to a close colleague and showed him the message. He reached out and placed his hand on my shoulder. Only then did the gravity of what had happened hit me. Before that moment, it was just bad news. When he rested his hand on my shoulder, it somehow brought to reality the loss.

    Despite never having a really meaningful or fulfilling relationship with my father, he was a critical influence in my life, and continues to be so. My relationship with him reminded me of something I had heard from a man that was facilitating a leadership course that I had attended early in my career. He said that his father had been the greatest influence in his life. His father always sat in his arm chair day after day and did nothing but page through the daily newspaper. That spurred him on to commit to never be that way, and so his father’s lethargy drove him to achieve great goals and aspirations in his life.

    I’ve often overlooked some of the lessons I’ve learnt from unpleasant experiences and relationships in my life. By far, the most character defining moments for me have always been in times of hardship and great personal strife. Those moments and lessons would have been wasted if I chose to block it out with the anti-depressant medication or other escapist actions that many recommended at the time. I chose not to numb myself to the pain of what was happening. Instead, I immersed myself like a martyr wanting to feel every emotion and every sensation of pain and release, of heartache and joy. And I remained deliberately sober throughout because those were the only opportunities that truly provided me with insight into what truly lies behind the anger and futility in the actions of others. In seeking to understand my own weaknesses and emotions during those trying times, I emerged with an understanding and appreciation for human angst that I would otherwise never have acquired.

    For this reason, I’ve grown to appreciate the struggles of others, and more importantly, I’ve realised that it can always get worse. No matter how bad my situation was, what appeared to be the most intensely despairing experience at the time is just another life lesson now, with each new experience raising my ability to feel joy and pain at a level of intensity that no drug-induced flight of fancy could ever produce.

  • There are times when the cowardly vagueness of some really threatens to unsettle me, but I quickly restrain myself with the knowledge that those that play for an audience will rarely engage in private. I believe that the true measure of our character is not determined by how we engage with others, but rather what thoughts and actions we entertain when we find ourselves alone, without an audience to appease. Everything else is a show, or an act, or both. Sometimes deliberately, but most times not. When we’re surrounded by others, no matter how intimately they may know us, there is always a barrier between who we are, and who we want them to believe we are. This is simply the innate nature of the human spirit that seeks to protect itself before it expresses itself. Accepting this truth allows me to master that which deludes others, while denying it allows me to delude myself whilst others achieve mastery over me.