Tag: Principles

  • Trust your psychiatrist at your own peril

    This is one of those moments that makes me realise that simple logic will always triumph above the most baffling academic bullshit. The simple truth is that we don’t have mental illnesses, nor mental disorders. We have disorders of perspective, and disorders of self-worth. The above documentary gets a lot of simple things right. It makes it plain to see that the ethics we rely on from health professionals is more often than not compromised.

    When greed starts driving medical professionals to recruit innocent children from as little as two and a half years old into their sick cycle of kickbacks, you know that humanity has reached a new low. The one single point that I disagree with in this video is that they still conclude by referring to it as mental problems. It’s not a mental problem, it’s a problem of perspective, and a low self-esteem. When we undermine our own self-worth, we automatically adopt labels to deride or dis-empower ourselves so that we can pacify ourselves into believing that there is something external to ourselves that we can blame for our current state.

    You first become a victim of your own self-worth before you become a victim of circumstance. The lack of ethics exposed in the above documentary is in no way limited to just the field of psychiatry. Think before you pop that next pill.

  • From Father To Son

    I watched a movie tonight that was probably the most accurate portrayal of the life of an average Muslim family in South Africa. The movie is called Material, and sets out to depict the struggles of many Muslim Indian families that are ruled by a firm-handed man. The authenticity of the characters, the script, and the setting made it feel as if it was a chapter taken out of my own life, although I can’t lay claim to having nearly as meaningful a relationship with my own father. Perhaps the familiarity with the themes is what hit home for me, but I think it’s more than that.

    I often feel a twinge of guilt when I speak plainly about my relationship with my father, but like it is said, speaking ill of the dead only hurts the living. My intentions are never to malign him, nor to earn sympathy from anyone that bothers to listen, but describing my relationship with my father as a relationship at all feels somewhat unnatural. There are a few traits that I have quite unwittingly inherited from my father which includes my sharp tongue, my cynical nature, and my uncompromising approach to matters of principle. Perhaps a part of my dark humour was also inherited, but very few see that side of me, so it probably doesn’t count.

    The truth is I’ve often wondered what it must be like to have a father to turn to when in need of advice, or perhaps just a sounding board steeped in wisdom. How must it feel to be able to stand up and be counted for your accomplishments knowing that your father is standing in the crowd feeling a sense of pride about what you made of the little that you had to start with. I was clothed, fed, and I had a roof over my head, and for that I will always be grateful. Unfortunately the duties of a father don’t stop at that point. The basics only provides the shell, not even the foundation.

    I’ve often assumed that only once I grow to understand what drove my father to be the bitter and angry man that he was, will I be able to subdue similar demons on my part. I wondered if he was perhaps misunderstood, or if he himself did not understand the source of his rage or his bitterness, but even if that were true, I see the damage in my siblings that leaves me loathe to make excuses for much of what he did. I’ve always maintained that the best gift a parent can give their child is the gift of a healthy self-esteem. Everything else in life becomes bearable, or even easy, if we have a sense of self that is founded in a childhood that was indeed a childhood.

    I’ve never known the true embrace of a father, not physically, nor emotionally. It’s an emotion that I’ll never experience the pleasure of, nor will I ever experience the pleasure or the consoling comfort of knowing what it’s like for him to be proud of me, or my achievements. My very strong streak of obstinate rebellion in the face of criticism took hold at an early age. I realised very early in life that nothing came easily. Every handout or hand-up was inevitably attached to an expectation of reciprocation, not always in equal measures. There was little encouragement to pursue anything meaningful beyond what I was innately capable of. I was barely in standard nine (11th grade) when I recall having a conversation with my mother about wanting to move out because I refused to put up with the toxic environment that we called home any longer.

    When the father in that movie showed his son the door, and arrogantly encouraged him to use it, I had very vivid flashbacks of similar moments in harsher tones, with significantly more colourful language, including the moment when I was shown the door when I was barely 6 years old as punishment for forgetting my jacket outside. Somehow moments like those, moments that shaped my character in ways that I would only realise much later in life, always seemed to happen on cold winter nights. The moment when my ex-wife flew into a rage and threatened mine and my daughter’s lives, or the moment when I stared at the beautiful moon through metal grids mounted at least twenty feet above me as I paced around the courtyard of the holding cells on the coldest night that year, each leaving scars and traces of wisdom that only the school of life can teach.

    My resilience, tenacity, compassion (albeit well hidden), and patience, I get from my mother. Reflections like these are what dissuades me from writing that book. My story is not unique, and in that fact alone there is much to be sad about, not celebrated. It sometimes feels as if writing about it romanticises it in a way that undermines the cruelty of it all. I guess, if nothing else, I’m grappling with whether or not I have a story to tell, or if the story only needs to be written so that I can finally rid myself of it.

  • A Self-Indulgent Reflection

    I have a  tendency to over commit. It’s a recent change in my personality, although many would probably accuse me of doing it for most of my life. I’m often seen as the guy that rarely says no, but my recent spate of over commitment is not a result of wishing to please, or trying to earn brownie points. Instead, it seems to be driven by a realisation that life is short.

    I know, that must sound weird, but when I mentioned this to someone recently, they looked visibly moved at the realisation of it, which almost visibly moved me. The realisation was a simple one although it suddenly feels as if the true gravity of it only dawned on me when I said it out loud. When I look back on my life it seems like a million things happened in the blink of an eye, yet when I look ahead, I often delude myself into believing that there’s much time remaining. But that’s the obvious part. Taking that moment to reflect on the million things that I’ve done relative to the million things that I would like to achieve, I suddenly realised that having the skills and resources to contribute towards courses that are infinitely larger than my own life almost demands that I make the contribution.

    It’s difficult to articulate, but the truth is, I’ve spent the better part of my life daydreaming about how I will be able to influence change on a global scale, but always feeling meek when I realise that I can barely influence it in my own life. That daydream is not so far fetched any longer. The occasional burst of interest by random strangers in thoughts that I share, and then seeing those thoughts shared with their circles, and even paraphrased in their own writing soon thereafter suddenly kindles that flame of hope that perhaps it is possible to influence that change that I wish to see in the world. For once, I’m not limited to the prejudices of the circles that I grew up in. I can, and do, finally engage in a circle of beings well beyond the bigotry of the society that spawned me.

    This must sound awfully clichéd but it’s true. I find when I engage with those around me and I share, without restraint or fear of ridicule, my true sentiments on what makes life worth living, or what makes death inviting, I get a very different response when compared with the times that I speak cautiously from fear of ridicule, or worse, dismissal. I’ve also realised that when I gave up the inclination to seek affirmation about what I think or what I do, I found a sense of empowerment within me that dwarfed any fears I previously had of interacting in a social setting. I went from being shy and introverted, to being bold, controversial, and able to address gatherings or strangers about topics I’m passionate about with barely any preparation or support at all.

    My old self always nags me to be cautious, and not to over indulge in the support or affirmation that I may receive at times, but a stronger more convincing voice in me denies the right of such doubt to be heard. I’ve stopped hiding behind diplomacy and political correctness, because the very hint of insincerity nauseates me. I’ve been on the receiving end of too many callous tongues that sought to subdue me rather than inspire me, almost always cloaked with the false pretences of wanting to protect or guide me. But the opinions of others holds no sway these days, because I’ve accepted (for some time now) that they just don’t get me, and never did. But I get them. I get them well, because while they were manipulating and soliciting popularity, I watched them closely, observing the doubts and the fears behind the bravado and the bullshit, and now when their opinions don’t matter any longer, I find it easy to use that knowledge of their weaknesses to cut through their defences and disarm them with the sharpest observations that leave them struggling to find their composure.

    It felt amazingly empowering at  first, but now it just feels normal. The realisation that most people are actors living out someone else’s fantasies and fads makes it easy to see people for what they are. Unfortunately more often than not, they’re not much to behold at all, except the few with substance that is.

  • A Brain Dump

    We buried my aunt last night. We weren’t very close, but she was a nice lady. She passed on in the afternoon, and we buried her by 22h00 the same evening in line with Muslim rites and customs. But like every funeral, I embraced the scent of camphor, probably more so than most would. We use camphor as an embalming agent to prepare the corpse for burial. So it’s always been a sobering reminder of the inevitable outcome of everything.

    Sobering! That was the lingering feeling that stayed with me throughout last night, and today. And it lingers still. At times in my life I often visited the cemetery alone on cold nights. Sometimes, if not always, I felt a sense of belonging, probably from the knowledge that that will be the final abode despite our best efforts to prolong our avoidance of it. Last night was different.

    Last night I made a feeble attempt to reflect on the sight of thousands of graves with their flaking lime-washed surrounds and the lives that were distilled into that piece of earth that didn’t care about their riches, their comforts, their legacies or their significance amongst men. It was cold to the touch, and lifeless. And the sense of belonging, or even yearning, escaped me. I felt dejected, not just in my own life any longer, but last night I felt dejected from the after life. Nothing offered me comfort or certainty, let alone peace. I had always felt some morbid sense of belonging to the dwellers of the graves.

    The above unfinished post has been laying in my drafts since August 2011. I never completed it, and I don’t think I can do so now either. But recent events in my life, mostly at the office, serves as a stark reminder of the purpose of my time on this earth. Betrayal is like pain, no matter how it is experienced, how long it persists, or how familiar it may become, it will never be a joy, nor a welcomed guest. I often have to remind myself of the advice I so readily dispense. Live with hope, not expectations.

    It’s been a while since I indulged myself in a brain dump. One is definitely called for, although the audience that I have solicited for my blog makes me hesitant to be as brutally honest about my thoughts as I used to be. The problem with trying to be yourself irrespective of those around you is that a large part of being yourself is in fact shaped by those around you. Thoughts spilt recklessly under the pretence of spilled ink, or freedom of expression, only adds to the already burdensome load of callousness in this world.

    Despite the incessant betrayals that I experience in my life, which incidentally becomes much easier to rack up if you’re naive like I choose to be, I still find it impossible, or at the least distasteful to treat others with suspicion simply because I was betrayed under similar circumstances before. I believe betrayal is the root to all evil, not money. We first have to betray ourselves, our deepest held convictions, before we can muster up the cowardice to betray others. Money is simply a distraction, like almost everything else that we surround ourselves with in life. Reflection is called for if we hope to know what it is that we stand for. With all the distractions there is little time for reflection, so it stands to reason that we’re more inclined towards acting in a way that contradicts our dreams and aspirations without realising it, while speaking wistfully of missed opportunities and bad decisions, because each time those opportunities visited us, or those decisions were made, we could barely discern the bullshit from the burden of reality.

  • Still The Distracted Ummah

    The sad reality of this Ummah is that it is prone to being divisive while crying for unity. We find it so simple to speak disparagingly about the personal perspectives that some adopt, and choose to openly mock them in their absence, thinking that not mentioning names is sufficient to free us of the hypocrisy of that action.

    We find it easier to highlight the shortcomings of every sect, every community, every sub-culture, or any person, but find it extremely difficult to celebrate the common ground, to build on the positive aspects that we share, or to jointly pursue beneficial programs that will contribute towards the unity of the Ummah rather than constantly hammering down on that wedge that sectarianism has created.

    A strong and united Ummah doesn’t happen on its own, nor does it miraculously form through dua. Dua unaccompanied by action is fruitless, hence the very plain instruction that guides us to tie our camel AND trust in Allah, not just trust in Allah blindly without any action.

    A united Ummah is a result of a united society. A united society is not possible without united communities. United communities will never be established if we have internal bickering and political agendas that make the American government look saintly. Unsurprisingly, united communities require united families to establish its foundations. A united family is not possible without committed individuals striving for harmony and understanding within the family unit. Finding the required common ground on which to build this entire structure that we all so achingly yearn for requires individuals committed to these holistic goals before they find reason to commit to selfish objectives that undermine these goals.

    The simple truth is that it starts with us as individuals before it becomes a global problem. Every global problem is a result of a critical mass of idiots that contribute towards the universality of the issues that result in said problem. We need to stop pacifying ourselves against the shortcomings of others. We need to stop being creative in introducing western concepts and western agendas into Islam under the guise of progressiveness, liberation, feminism, or similar such euphemisms that belie the true nature of the courses being pursued.

    Political correctness has no place in this Ummah. It has no place in Islam either. Political correctness breeds insincerity, and insincerity is at the heart of hypocrisy and disunity. If we’re forever prone towards counting our troubles and taking for granted our blessings, it’s hardly likely that our generation will see the Ummah progressing towards the noble status that we inherited from Rasulullah (SAW) and subsequently destroyed because of nothing more than infighting and selfish pursuits.

    Talking about the need for a reawakening is only a distraction from actually doing it. The time to talk about the strategies is long gone. We have strategists and intellectuals crawling out of the woodwork in droves, but very few who are willing to put into practice the knowledge that they so fervently seek to acquire.

    I’m often reminded of the prophecy that says that a time will come when the Ulama will be despised, and I realise that the basic assumption is that this will be so because people will despise the religious teachings that the Ulama try to establish. However, it is also entirely possible that the Ulama will be despised in the same way that unprincipled leaders are despised by their subjects. We have factories churning out Ulama by the dozens, online universities making the acquisition of Islamic knowledge easy and convenient, western institutions offering degrees in Islamic studies, and of course we have access to entire collections of ahadith and Qur’anic commentary through mediums that allow a layman to develop a critical and informed opinion on almost any aspect of Islam without leaving their favourite arm chair. Despite this massive and unfettered access to information, including students and scholars alike that have years of studies applied to acquiring this knowledge, the Ummah is in a state so despicable that we are impotent in the face of blatant persecution and abuse throughout the world, not least of which includes the so-called Muslim lands.

    Yet we still have time to point out the errors of our brothers and sisters, and we also still have the presence of mind to judge who is deviant, who is kafir, and who is damned to hell, while Muslims are starving themselves to death to get us to notice that there is a bigger issue that the Ummah needs to deal with beyond the pettiness of liberalist agendas and personal preferences. May Allah have mercy on us for our distracted state, and may He guide us towards a path of conviction in the beauty that we all profess to hold in our hearts. That is the beauty of Imaan. Ameen.

  • Humility and Happiness is not a choice

    We often look at humility and consider how it can’t be acquired, because the very effort to acquire humility will be the result of an arrogant indulgence. Then there is the cliché quoted by many that the profession of humility is in itself arrogance, which has much truth in it. What isn’t so obvious though is that the pursuit of humility is equally arrogant. Humility is similar to happiness. It can’t be acquired on its own, but is in fact the outcome of something else. That may sound absurd, but in reality, it’s not the act of trying to be of a happy disposition that makes us happy, but rather the satisfying outcomes of various activities and choices that leads to a state of happiness.

    Humility is something that we witness in others, but the moment we think of ourselves as humble, or we do something with the intention of being humble, then the underlying motivation for that would be that we’re considering ourselves to be pious or good, which is arrogance. So when you see someone that appears to be humble, consider that maybe their action is driven by shyness, insecurity, a lack of confidence, or many other attributes that undermine our ability to achieve our full potential, but because we can’t see what their motivation is to do what they do, we assume they’re humble.

    However, the pursuit of happiness within this context is not tainted in the same way that a pursuit of humility is. What we witness as humility is often not an intended humility on the part of the person that we’re observing. More often than not, humility is a result of insecurity, shame, modesty, shyness, embarrassment, etc. In other words, when someone is in a situation where they seem overwhelmed by the gravity of it, or the significance of it relative to their own stature, their act or response may appear humble even though the motivation behind it may be fear or disillusionment, or a feeling of being dis-empowered or overwhelmed.

    With happiness, the same principles apply. We often hear of people that appeared to be happy and carefree, only to hear of their suicide a few days later. Their appearance of happiness may have been a choice, but it obviously had no substance. This, along with a few other life experiences prompted me to reflect on the truth behind the statement that if we choose to be happy, we will be, and that no one can stop us from being so. This is dangerously false. It leads many to believe that simply making the choice is sufficient. It’s not. It never has been. Happiness has always been a state that was achieved when other aspects of my life were in line with my needs or expectations. Happiness was never something I experienced independent of those experiences.

    Unsurprisingly, the current approach to the ‘pursuit of happyness’  is in line with the prevalent mentality that was spawned by ‘The Secret’. I have never seen so many delusional people in my life. People that walk around believing that being positive yields positive results. It doesn’t. If it did, it would mean that the proverbial bull would never charge at you if you were a vegetarian. The logic simply does not add up. However, take that same positive attitude and couple it with a focus on opportunities and beneficial outcomes to drive your actions, and suddenly you have a recipe that will allow you to take control of how you respond to situations, rather than how you simply perceive them.

    It may sound like a play on words, but it really isn’t. I engage with people on a daily basis that have this false belief that they can choose to be happy or sad. They can’t. How many times haven’t you tried to be sad or grumpy when someone came along, or something unexpected happened that put an instant and sincere smile on your face? This further cements my argument that happiness is a state that is achieved as a result of our actions in line with our desires or needs, and is most certainly not simply a choice we make. The moment we are compelled, or at least feel compelled to act contrary to our value system or our ethics, that state of happiness eludes us, and instead, is replaced by a state of anxiety and stress.

    For the same reason, a poor man can find contentment in his life, while a man of excessive wealth will find it impossible to have a peaceful night’s sleep.

  • Reflections on Islam as we know it

    The more I learn and experience and the more I witness with my own eyes, the more I realise that Islam is not nearly as monolithic as many would like to believe it is. Far too often I come across many sahih ahadith (authentic narrations) that are seldom quoted when I see the raging debates about whose manhaj (path) is more correct.

    These are ahadith that refer to social interactions, differing forms of worship that many are keen to dismiss as an innovation, and many other contentious issues. And it leaves me wondering how many times do we engage in ferocious debates aware of only the mainstream view of the subject without being aware of the body of knowledge that supports many alternate views?

    I’m not suggesting that we should suddenly become liberals in our tolerance of the views of others, but consider that there are over 600,000 ahadith that have been narrated. Of that amount, how many have you actually seen quoted to substantiate differing opinions of how to worship Allah? Given the number of times that I have consistently seen the scholars get it wrong regarding principles versus rituals, I’m loathe to assume that every differing view, except where it blatantly contradicts direct injunctions from the Qur’an or Sunnah, is actually a heretical view.

    The tendency for the scholars to selectively refer to principles at times and dismiss principles in favour of rituals at other times is also concerning. The issues pertaining to the sighting of the moon versus calculation of salaah times, and the use of those pagan symbols without any significant opposition by all the leading scholars is just two simple examples that I as a layman has been able to identify. Why then is it so difficult to believe that Islam is not merely what is presented by the scholars, or their blind followers that have been so effective in driving divisions in the Ummah, and even in communities?

    Recently the Islamic school that my daughter attends issued a newsletter indicating that the parents will be given the opportunity to visit the teacher to review their child’s progress. However, the meeting will commence at 09h30 and continue for the rest of the school day. This is directly aimed at encouraging mothers only to attend such discussions since most men are at work during this time, and only women from traditional Muslim homes are available. This despite the fact that all schools in the area hold parent meetings in the evenings to accommodate those parents that are in full time employment. What’s more irksome about this is that there are clear ahadith that confirm that the provision of education is the right of the father over his children. So why is the Islamic school system so mother-centric?

    This is just another example that further cements my concerns that we’re getting it wrong. We’re indulging in excessive ways and interpretations because of this perpetual focus on individual piety and we’ve completely lost the plot regarding social cohesion in Islam. We establish barriers and divisions under the guise of modesty and negate the fact that free movement and interaction with mahrams present is not outlawed. Yet we insist on husbands and wives sitting separate from each other at social gatherings because we want to pre-empt the individual actions of a few deviants. Whenever this happens, I always recall the hadith where Rasulullah (SAW) was present with Aisha (RA) at a public gathering where entertainers were performing. Rasulullah (SAW) sat there with his wife while she watched, and he turned away from the entertainment because he disliked it. (May Allah forgive me if I am quoting this incorrectly, but I will search for the original hadith as soon as I am able to, insha-Allah).

    My point is, the constant focus on individual piety, and same sex groupies is eroding the community. Women and men both play an integral part of the Muslim community, jointly, not separately. But just because we’re afraid of encouraging illicit relationships, we establish boundaries that are unnatural and disruptive to the harmony of the community, whilst the very same fitnah that we aim to prevent continues unabated.

    The very same groups where hijab is strictly enforced, separation of sexes is strictly enforced, and most women are in full niqab are the same groups where I have either witnessed first hand or heard reports from credible sources, the degradation and outright disgusting behaviour of many. This is not to suggest that they are worse than others that don’t observe such boundaries or attempts at modesty. Instead, this proves that our excessive efforts at establishing unnatural boundaries not supported by the Sunnah is in fact pointless, and quite possibly attracts ridicule towards the Sunnah rather than embedding its wisdom in the hearts of those that observe it in practice.

    We always seem to focus on excess in a negative light on those actions that are blatant innovations, but we fail to realise the excess in our actions that are intended to achieve piety. Excess of any form is forbidden for Muslims because Allah does not love excess. Yet we label those that encourage moderation, and elevate those that encourage excess in forms that are apparently above reproach.

  • I Hate Skinny Jeans

    It’s been a while since I felt an inclination to post any reflective thoughts about my current state. I’m 100% primed for a mid-life crisis right now, but it seems like the only crisis I’m managing to acquire quite successfully is a mid-drift one. My chest is still pretty much where it used to be for the most of my life, so I’m quite comfortable that this is not a case of having a drop-chest. I’ve accepted that I am firmly part of the horizontally challenged brigade that still struggle to squeeze into their jeans of yesteryear. However, the situation is not as dire, nor as disgusting as it may sound.

    I have a very simple philosophy when it comes to maintaining my weight over the years. I’ve reached a point where my pants’ size is as big as I would ever want it to go, and I’ve been convinced of this for many years now. So each time when I feel it getting really uncomfortably tight around my waist, I know that’s a sure sign that I need to shed some baby fat. Incidentally, it turns out that baby fat is not as cute on a grown man. So the simple philosophy really just says that when my pants get too tight, instead of buying a bigger size and giving in to the bulge, I make a concerted effort to lose weight instead. My tolerance level to put up with that discomfort has obviously grown, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m only maintaining my pants size because of my anatomy extending over the belt line, rather than being constrained by it?

    Ok, enough of the disturbing mental imagery and on to the real point of this post. Going shopping for new jeans (of the same size I might add), has turned into quite a frustrating chore because of the insistence by retailers to shove all men (including us real ones) into that girlish designs that suggest that skinny jeans look good on real men. It doesn’t. It never did, and it never will. A man that wears a skinny jeans is probably a man that is either still living with his mother (for her to take care of him and not the other way around), or a man that gets his nails polished and has facial products to keep his skin looking soft and youthful. I hate skinny jeans. Especially for men. And I hate men that pamper themselves as if they’re women. We have more women than men in this world, literally and figuratively, so give it a rest already. Try being a man for a change. You’ll be surprised at how refreshing that can be. And no, being a slob doesn’t mean you’re a man, it just means you’re a slob. Usually a blob of a slob, now that I think of it.

    Shopping at several local retailers has proven that there is a pervasive assumption that men want to wear what women wear. I’m old school and proud of it. I yearn for a time when men were men and women were women, and each had equitable roles, and chivalry was still admired. But the feminists and the apologists will not allow such wholesomeness to survive, so they decided to force men into bootlegged jeans, skinny fit everything, straight leg jeans, low rise jeans, and everything but REGULAR FIT jeans! What happened to the good old regular fit? I don’t want some fanboy designer look. I simply want a comfortable pair of jeans that will allow me to do the chores around the house without having to shift my jewels back in place after each movement because of the feminine crotch that someone thought would be a good idea on a man’s jeans. It disgusts me to say the least, and physically pains me at best.

    No wonder we have such a dysfunctional society. Men are trying to prove that they’re as sassy and polished as women, and women are trying to prove that they’re equal to men. Neither are comfortable being their natural selves any longer except when they’re alone in their homes without any social stigmas to comply with or judging eyes to appease. All this is blatantly reflected in our children when they develop that vacuous mentality that allows only for self-promotion and a desperation for affirmation, while believing that any challenge is a reason to be diagnosed with a mental illness because the support structure that should be there to guide them through the insanity of adolescence is suddenly replaced with self-centred adults trying to compete with their children in appearance and social status resulting in social ills that leave even anarchists cringing with fear.

    Seriously. Can someone simply point me to a retailer that stocks men’s clothes for men in the men’s section, so that I don’t have to constantly look around me to reassure myself that I am actually shopping in the men’s section of the store?