Blog

  • That Last Fateful Encounter

    I’m suddenly reminded of her again. The gentle ticking of her heart and her husky soft voice. Yes, the ticking of her heart. I knew it so well by then, and I missed it for a long time before that, the way I miss it now. Her infectious smile always remained infectious. Even through the pain of life and the heartache of my insensitivity.

    Our passionately tumultuous marriage ended because of an idealistic notion that I refused to let go of. Such is the curse of Hollywood. Even worse is the curse of a childhood that left me emotionally unavailable for the better part of my adult life. After falling in love and marrying according to the cultural traditions, we seemed like the couple most likely to succeed. We were often compared to Helen Hunt and Paul Reiser in Mad About You. We really got along that well.

    At some point, out of sheer paranoia and morbidity, I was convinced that if I didn’t end the marriage, I would lose not only my wife, but also the best friend I had up to that point in my life and the thought scared me. I behaved foolishly. But there was no turning back. Our friendship did survive, but it was always a stark reminder of my stupidity rather than the true comfort that it offered me before I lost my presence of mind.

    Years later, after a lengthy time apart, we made contact again. I just ended another insane chapter in my life, and she was as cheerful as always. She had her flaws, but I always loved her enough to only ever remember her romantically. And still do. Only this time, when we talked, there was a serious under tone that she tried hard to hide, and I knew better than to pry or make a fuss of it. She didn’t like people fussing about the seriousness of life. 

    I had been unemployed for a few months by that time and was still looking for work. We went for coffee a few times and eventually watched a movie together called John Q. It was a movie about a little kid that needed a heart transplant, and one of the final scenes was the graphic detail of the surgeon inserting the donor heart into the little boy’s chest cavity and tapping it to get it going. I could feel her heart sink at the sight of it. It was too close to home for her given her numerous open heart operations that left her with the artificial valve whose ticking I grew so fond of. 

    She just smiled as always and assured me that she was perfectly fine when we left the cinema that night. She was due for another blood test. Something she did at least every two weeks to monitor the thickness of her blood so that the valve wouldn’t clog up and cease. I could usually tell the thickness based on the sound of the valve. She insisted that I take her for the test, even though it was routine for her to get her family’s chauffeur to drive her to these fortnightly appointments. I was caught up in job interviews and she refused to go with anyone else. I told her that I was due for an interview the next day, to which she looked down and said that she knew I was going to get the job because I always got the job if I got the interview. I just laughed it off. 

    The next day I landed a job in Saudi Arabia for a one year contract, and I’ll never forget her response. For the first time since our divorce a few years before, she broke down in tears and pleaded with me not to go. She told me that she lost me once before and now that I was finally back, I was leaving her again. I couldn’t understand it, but I didn’t have much of a choice either. I needed the job. 

    She fell ill the following evening without me knowing. Due to a twist of fate, her regular doctor was not available, and some reckless bastard attended to her instead. He downplayed her symptoms of her chest infection and prescribed some medication without considering her heart condition which landed her in hospital, still unknown to me. 

    I needed to leave within days for the urgent assignment in Saudi, and had planned to fly out on the Thursday evening after the interview. On Thursday morning I delayed my flight plans at the last minute because I just didn’t feel comfortable making the trip that day. So I postponed my flight to Saturday instead. On Thursday evening at just after 19h00, around the time my original flight was scheduled to depart, I received a phone call. She had died. Her heart finally gave up, and just like that, she was gone. No long distance phone calls from Saudi as I had planned, or special trips to visit her. Everything was suddenly pointless. And I didn’t even see it coming.

    I broke down for the first time in my life, despite having lost other close family members before. I was always composed. But not this time. When I heard those words on the phone I felt weak and my knees almost gave way under me. I sat on the nearest thing I could find. She was gone and I didn’t know how to deal with it.

    Her funeral was held that same evening according to Islamic rites and customs. It was a cold winter night, and her family that had despised me since our divorce embraced me hesitantly when I saw them. I stood in the cemetery and watched in disbelief as they lowered her into her grave, and the most striking memory of that evening was the sight of tears dripping from the face of her nephew as he knelt over in the halo of the flood light that lit up the proceedings in the darkness of the graveyard. 

    Two days later I left for Saudi. Alone. And the months that followed saw one of the greatest depressions of my life set in. It was truly the winter of my discontent.

  • All that is gold does not glitter,
    Not all those who wander are lost;
    The old that is strong does not wither,
    Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

    From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
    A light from the shadows shall spring;
    Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
    The crownless again shall be king.

    ― J.R.R. Tolkien

    (via sohumanandflawed)

  • Misconceptions of Taqdeer (Fate/Destiny)

    reflectionofhumblemodesty:

    A husband and his wife were standing in front of a mirror The wife asked: “What do you see?” The husband smiled and said: “The rest of my life..”
     
     
    Allah subhana wa ta’ala has already written the names of your spouses for you. What you need to work on is your relationship with Allah. He will send her/him to you when you’re ready. It is only a matter of time!!

    I find such statements very difficult to reconcile. My instinctive response is that it has to be a misinterpretation of the concept of taqdeer. It is based on the premise that a single partner has been intended for every single person. What then of those people that have married more than once and divorced more than once? It simply doesn’t add up. I love the idea of having that perfect person just waiting for the right time to walk into my life, but I know it doesn’t happen. I know this from experience on more than one occasion.

    It reminds me of the following hadith:

    One day Allah’s Messenger noticed a Bedouin leaving his camel without tying it. He asked the Bedouin, “Why don’t you tie down your camel?” The Bedouin answered, “I placed my trust in Allah.” At that, the Prophet, sal Allahu alayhi wa sallam, said, ” Tie your camel and place your trust in Allah” – Tirmidhi

    To me, taqdeer is more than just having everything set out for us regardless of our actions or efforts. Maybe I’m completely off the mark, but the more I consider it the more I believe that the whole issue of taqdeer is very misunderstood. The above hadith is a prime example of this misunderstanding.

    The fact that everything is pre-ordained I do not dispute. How it is pre-ordained is where the interpretations come into play, and again, as can be seen from the above hadith, it is not a predetermined outcome regardless of your actions. Within the context of the original post, what would you say to the person who has been married and after trying their hardest, ended up being divorced? Divorce, although hated, is halaal. So are we suggesting that even that is predetermined? If so, where does our accountability start and where does it stop?

    Or perhaps we’ve got this entire perspective on taqdeer all wrong. Perhaps taqdeer comprises of rules and laws that determine the effect of every cause, or the reaction to every action. Perhaps, within this context, our limited free will allows us to choose the outcomes based on our choices, and the more informed our choices, the more predictable the outcome? In the absence of this relationship between cause and effect, our limited free will would be inconsequential, and subsequently, there would be no basis on which we are to be judged for what we do.

    So isn’t this romantic idea of marital bliss and perfect partners really an over-simplification of divine decree?

    (Source: http://reflectionofhumblemodesty.tumblr.com)

  • Between Martyrdom and Cowardice

    Don’t confuse the actions of a martyr with those of a coward. There are many that profess to be martyrs, but in fact hide behind their fear as cowards by presenting their acts as selfless acts, when in fact it’s nothing more than spinelessness. I know of many that lament their inability to live according to their principles. Who with one breath despise the oppression of society and with the next uphold the repulsive social structures that feed such oppression.

    We profess to uphold religious principles and moral high grounds until we’re faced with the reality of choosing between principles and daddy’s wealth, or principles and mummy’s acceptance, even though we know that both are steeped in cultural arrogance and societal bigotry. We embellish our profiles with elaborate degrees of knowledge, prestigious accreditations of piety and align with the most respected nobles of society, but succumb to the simple pressure of choosing between a life of comfort and acceptance, and a life of modesty and principles. 

    Being romantic in words and cowardly in action is easy. Both feeds an insatiable ego. The world will always be greater than our greatest aspirations if focused outwardly, but will fade from view the moment we seek to overcome the frailties within. I despise cowards, and cowardliness, especially when accompanied by a pretentious mourn for sympathy and understanding. Those that indulge the cowards are only appeasing their own need for such affirmation. That’s why a true martyr is rare, more rare than a coward ever will be. 

  • I wear masks, and create elaborate façades hoping that no one will see through them, but keep praying that someone will.

    Cynically Jaded (via cynicallyjade)

  • You could double the number of synaptic connections in a very simple neurocircuit as a result of experience and learning. The reason for that was that long-term memory alters the expression of genes in nerve cells, which is the cause of the growth of new synaptic connections. When you see that at the cellular level, you realize that the brain can change because of experience. It gives you a different feeling about how nature and nurture interact. They are not separate processes.

    Eric R. Kandel, Nobel Prize-winning neuroscientist.

    A Quest to Understand How Memory Works.

    (via storyseldomtold)

    The fact that the brain changes because of experience, as I’ve mentioned in several of my previous posts on the subject, to me, confirms that our study of chemical imbalances to prove the prevalence of psychological disorders is focusing on the symptoms rather than the root cause. But it’s easier to be a victim to chemicals than a master of your thoughts. 

  • …my parents had split up after a very long and disruptive marriage. They came from two different worlds. My father wanted to please his mother, and my mother wanted to please her father. Their commitment to these ideals made them stick it out for almost 28 years give or take a few years. That’s more than just a few of my lifetimes which in some ways is impressive by most counts, but in other ways it’s sad beyond belief. Being a family of six kids, plus my eldest brother that passed away when he was a precious six months old, and another miscarriage, it was a miracle that the stress and strain of all that responsibility, a low income, and a lack of real interaction between my parents allowed them to persevere for as long as they did.

    They were both admirable in many ways. My mother was always striving, and still continues to strive to improve the quality of her life and of her family’s. She never backed down from a challenge to supplement my father’s income by doing more than her fair share of work from home. My father worked as a warehouse supervisor for a leading clothing wholesaler at the time. This in itself had its perks because we would often end up wearing the sample items of lines that they never brought into the South African market which automatically allowed us to be fashionably dressed at the lowest price. However, not all the clothing samples were fashionable, and not having much choice in what we were given to wear, it was sometimes embarrassing to be seen in some of the clothes that we received. But the important thing is that we were always neatly dressed and never went hungry. So despite my anger and disappointment at some of the events in my life relating to my parents or my relationship with my father, that is something that I’ll always be eternally grateful for.

    Excerpt from Ramblings of a Madman. The book I never wrote.

  • The institute of dishonesty is older and more pervasive than religion.