Perfect Strangers - Part Three

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… … She’s always been a princess. Pampered lush extravagant girl who is taken care of starting from her hair-style down to the pedicure on her feet. This was before the hijab. But even after she came close to Islam, she wanted plush and lush and poshness. Once a princess always a princess, she’d later tell her daughter.

As days went by, this Cinderella had a child and then another, and then another. Before she could catch the next lip-gloss fab, she found herself on her knees giving the tiles a good scrub, while the food cooks on medium heat while the baby takes his afternoon nap before her husband comes back from his political meeting right after she has a minute to steal a quick shower so he doesn’t smell the lingering onion or garlic on her clothes.

Worn down hard by domestic reality, this princess had no spirit left in her to listen to poetry at the end of her tiresome day, nor did she care about the world’s situation nor today’s news or ways to get involved in the community. If anything, she would attend halaqas – she’d choose the ones that offered an extra few minutes after the lesson to socialize or notice each other’s new shoes, shirt, hijab or purse.

At times, she’d catch the new Arabic series on her satellite dish but before all of this, she made sure the kids were fed and rested, the house is spotless, her looks in place and the rest mattered less and less and less. He takes care of their minds, she’d say, and I’ll take care of their physical needs.

In this spirit of discipline to her role as wife and mother, she sensed that her life was a sacrifice. One sacrifice. After another. To her children and husband but Islam kept her intact like a sedative she needed. Islam saved her from pain so big if she felt it the world would crumble, thirty years worth of crumbles.

How come he’s not close to Islam? She didn’t like that in him. No matter how much he reads that poetry of his or engages in the question of injustice towards his people, or raises his political community to higher social action, it all doesn’t matter, she’d later tell her daughter, if he doesn’t pray.

So she prayed for him. And prayed and fasted and read the Qur’an and listened to halaqas. And then it was time for him to die. So she said, “ it’s all from Allah. I must accept it”.

Who can say if it’s right or wrong for two people to live like perfect strangers in marriage?
……………

when my
mama asks me will
it change?
I say yeah but it
Could always be the
Same
Until the end of time
until the
End of time
……………….T.A.S





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Perfect Strangers - Part Two

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To my unborn child
Since I only get one
Life to live
Hope you understand
My love letter
In case you never see
My face
Again

Daddy was a soldier
(T.A.S)

… … …
… the Lebanese beautiful woman in town marries the Palestinian man, and from day one her mommy and daddy grew into perfect strangers.

… Until the fifth child, she sported golden streak highlights, wore tight jeans and decked the dark eyeliner around her warm chestnut eyes. Her silky white porcelain skin would shine under the sun. He had no worries about that.

One day, out of nowhere it seemed, her children watch her cover her hair with a scarf, and her skin, white as snow, showed no more. Her daughter would say to her, “mommy mommy, it’s too hot, don’t wear that”. In time, her daughter would learn to obey her mother’s discipline when it’s time to memorize from the Qur’an, or go to the masjid, or play with the sheikh’s kids.

… … He was hardly in this picture. While she washed, cleaned, raised the kids and kept pretty for him, his heart and mind and spirit grew elsewhere. Not with her. Not one with her. He joined the Palestinian political party. Later on, he’d sit on weekends at a quiet place to read the news or discuss pressing political issues or explore his words of poetry – sometimes while she was there with him.

He would read and read and read to her all the poetry his heart can bring, all ideas about the world his mind can think. Force it daddy, the little daughter would think in her little mind wise beyond its age.

Daddy, keep going, she’ll like it one day, she’ll get it one day. I’m sure.

He kept his head up, he kept pressing her into his world just in case it’s true that two can become one. Even on his death bed, he kept his head up strong like a king. And for over thirty years, it never became true that two can become one. From dusk to dawn, I hope you understand, Daddy was a soldier.

…. To be continued




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From Yin-Yang: Maman, Je T'Adore

Bismillahirrahmanirraheem

A bit of a divergence from the usual posts about love between spouses, marriage etc, this post is about another type of love that is just as important, if not more: Mothers' Love.

In light of Mother's Day, I thought I would post something about it. By the way, Happy Belated Mother's Day to all mothers, grandmothers, aunts, and mothers-to be!

I was driving my colleague home the other day and chatted about what we were doing on Mother's Day. I told her that inshaAllah I will be chilling with my mother during the day, and making dinner for the family and my grandmother at night.

She was surprised and said she does not plan to cook for the family as she dislikes cleaning after the fact.

I asked her about her age: 22. I then said: "Your mom has been caring for you and the family for 22 years, what is one day out of that?"

My auditor mind began to calculate: 22 years * 365 Days/year = 8,030 days.

1 day/ 8,030 days = 0.01%

This brings about the topic of a mother's love. A mother's love is selfless: caring, loving, supporting without conditions. My mom doesn't say 'I love you' to me everyday (actually, maybe she does, hehe), but from her actions, I can tell.

Anyone can say 'I love you', but it takes a real man or woman to show this sincere and genuine love in actions. This is indeed true love. Love in its practical form that requires the most patience and selflessness.

(But let me tell you, women do like to hear and see love in action, so if you haven't said 'I love you' to your mom, do so to bring a smile to her face.)

This patience is not only for one day or one year, but many years until the end of your life on this earth.

I am not sure about you, but I am definitely falling short of what I can do to show my mom that I love her via my actions and words.

As they say: just do it.

Note: If anyone is against the celebration of Mother's Day, I respect you. I am not here to debate, in fact, my debating skills are indeed poor. However, if you do incline to do so, consider yourself having won the debate. (and congratulations).

Perfect Strangers

Being both an orphan and poor was an initiatory state for the future Messenger of God. Other than feeling for the underprivileged, this taught him a lesson that is valid for each human being: never to forget one’s past, one’s trials, one’s environment and origin, and to turn it all into a positive teaching for oneself and for others.

Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) lived in the desert, a nomad, forever on the move. Nomads learn to move on, to become strangers.

Such is the experience of a believer which the Prophet was to later describe in this way: “Be in this world as if you were a stranger or a wayfarer” (Hadith –tradition- by Al-Bukhari)… …

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The daugther was born in one place, raised until her teens in another, then spent her adulthood elsewhere too. Languages, she knows a lot. People, she met plenty. Cultural conflict, she’s known it well. Identity, it’s complicated.

But she thinks of her parents now. Perhaps, the first place where a child lives is in the world of his parents. What was it like? Their identity. Were they also strangers not only in this world, but to themselves? There is no tragedy in this, but a training for her in all that she’s been through, just like the Prophet who turned his experience into a positive teaching for himself and for others.
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The Parents

… He was a bright, handsome young man with an attractive leadership quality. They say he took it from his father – a Palestinian “Fallah” (farmer) down from the orchards of Acre, Palestine. He was the eldest of six children, and even though he belonged to the Fallaheen (the farmer culture), he had a love for education. Under the dim light of the lamp-post in the middle of the night, he’d later tell his daughter, I’d read my books and do my homework.

1948 hit, and Palestinians were dispersed like nomads in the world’s desert. He landed in Lebanon at the Palestinian refugee camps in Ayn al-helwe and Rashidiyyeh. In time, he attended university in Beirut.

…. She was a beautiful one from a well-to-do rich, affluent and reputable Lebanese family. She was the eldest of two girls and she had three brothers. When she was two months old, her father passed away, so she was sent to live in Jordan with her father’s family. She grew up and sprouted into a young woman who knew her grandparents more than her own mother – and later step father.

She came back to Beirut to continue her education. Her mother showed her off to the entire affluent Lebanese community – the beauty of the town! A girl like her, she’d later tell her daughter, would only marry the best of the best. Heck a Prince! A King!

A leader in so many ways, he excelled not only in his education but even in his political journalism. After school, he’d interview prominent figures in Beirut and publish about them whenever he could.

She joined the student Dabkeh (folklore dance) club, and he covered a story on one of their performances.

He was Palestinian, she was Lebanese. Palestinians were, and continue to be perceived as third rate minority citizens in Lebanon.

Her mother did not like how he proposed to her daughter who is supposed to marry the best of the best. Her mother said, “look, there are three suitors asking for your hand”, she’d later tell her daughter, “ you have to choose one”. Frustrated, she said, “I don’t want any of them. I want the Palestinian”.

…. To Be Continued ….



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From Yin-Yang

In my quest for the one, I ask myself, what is love? Is it something one can achieve, or ...? (i.e. a noun), or is it a process (i.e. a verb)?

I spoke with my good friend, an Arab, who is married to an East Asian. They have been married for 11 years, and alhamdullilah, going strong. It's so beautiful to see them together each time.

What is keeping them together, and still so in love, despite the differences in culture etc?

He told me three things:

1. They are best friends (vs. just spouses).
2. Most people have a deluded perception of what love is.
3. Lack of financial worries.

1. Best friends (below are his words)

There’s some sort of loyalty that we feel towards our best friends. For example, if my best friend wronged me, I will confront him/her, rather than go find another friend and talk about the issue behind his/her back.

Somehow, people feel it’s acceptable nowadays to cheat on one’s spouse. Being disloyal to one’s best friend (lying to your best friends about your weekend plans to go hang out with some other friends) is almost unheard of, unless they’re not your best friend.

I’m even honest about finding some other woman attractive: I actually tell my wife! You’d tell your best friend, but not your wife. Guess what? My wife IS my best friend so I tell her everything.

I have an open honest relationship with her. She appreciates that I told her at least. We both learn from it. Of course, since I’ve grown quite cynical about the world around me, I don’t actually find any of these shallow women attractive in the least so that doesn’t happen anymore.


Normal spouse: that’s self explanatory. The wife is just that: a wife, emphasis on the indefinite article ‘a’, meaning nothing special, and whatever connotations the title ‘wife’ carries in the west: boring, nagging, possessive, intrusive, motherly, not fun…etc. Wife as your best friend is something completely different.

2. Perception of Love:

Love is that unquestionable affection you feel towards someone. There’s no doubt in it; only certitude.

It’s something you know for a fact yet cannot quite explain or encapsulate with words. When you love someone, you love everything about them, both the beauties and the blemishes (you love them whether their breath stinks in the morning, or just came out of the shower sparkling clean). When you love someone, bonding with them becomes easy yet complex (true love isn’t simple, which means it’s not problem free).

Any relationship is just a series of exchanges and compromises. I reached that conclusion about two years ago. A relationship fails because of at least one of the parties refuses/complicates an exchange (feelings, actions, words) or is unwilling to compromise.

I have a short temper, and sometimes I say something I don’t really mean to my wife. She compromises by letting me get away with it. I then apologize (I too compromise, and we exchange gratitude).

Problem solved, we’re both richer for the experience, we grow more mature and more appreciative of one another in the end.

3. Financial dissatisfaction i.e.you promised me this, you never give me that.

I think part of the reason why my spouse and I get along so well (mashaAllah) is because we both have one thing in common about money: we care about it less than average.

Neither of us longs for a house. Neither of us cares about brand name products. Neither of us worries about money. AlhamduliLlah, so neither one of us has unmet financial expectations.

I am not sure if any married couples or singles have any thoughts on this?


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Quest for the Right One

I quest marriage, true. But it seems to me that the quest for the right one may have also been the quest for the right ‘me’ within me. In other words: self-knowledge.

I read a book about Prophet Abraham and the messengers. The question was: are trials in life a tragic experience? Is life and its difficulties a wretched condition?

All the messengers have, like Abraham and Muhammad (PBUT), experienced the trial of faith and all have been, in the same manner, protected from themselves and their own doubts about their faith by signs, inspiration, visions and words from God.

My quest for my right one, if I may put it this way, includes my self-doubt, my tribulations, my vulnerabilities as well as my enlightenment and glory. It is all written in the spirit of educating myself about myself. In this, comes an education in faith, inshAllah. And perhaps I’m not entirely at loss, for how can I possibly make a good wife or soul-mate to a man out there if I approach marriage without knowing myself?

I doubt I’d have anything beautiful to offer the marriage. And so, I await the dawn of oneness with myself, and if in Allah’s will, with a future husband. And so, the quest continues.

Peace.
Q

It's not Difficult

I have to find it! You don’t understand. I’ve been raised in Malta which is an Island in the Mediterranean. And now I’m back to it in Lebanon which touches the Mediterranean. I. Must. Be. In. That Sea! I heard of this women-only beach.

“Yeah it’s across from the Hard Rock Café. I heard there are lesbians and some like take off all their clothes to get an even body-tan”.

Ewwwwwwww! Then I’ll go to a normal beach and wear a burkini.

“Don’t forget the flippers!”

Dolpin style baby with pride.

“There are pools you can go to. There’s one at the Meridian, there’s one downtown too at this hotel. It’s above the penthouse floor on the rooftop”.

Is it only for women?

“No but it’s on the roof”.

I smile.

“okay just take off your hijab. There’s nothing in your religion that says if a woman wears the scarf and then takes it off, that she’ll be punished or persecuted by religious law”.

Not that I can recall a verse. But it doesn’t matter for me. I put the hijab on because I want to. Not because I’m afraid of punishment by people.

“So if there’s nothing wrong with it in your religion, just take it off. It’s stopping you from doing so many things”.

They’re challenges I can overcome. I’ve done it before all my life. Plus I think if I take it off, it’s like taking off my skin …

…. ….. I can’t remember what else we said that day but we kept walking. I guess I should have seen that my Catholic friend was trying to help me by ‘saving’ me from what appeared to her as a problem. I’m guilty as charged. I guess I did sound like I was complaining.

Did the conversation go like this: A quest for a way to swim with a hijab = a difficulty, and a good friend would help her friend from this perceived difficulty?

Later that week, I opened a book and it said: “He (God) has chosen you, and has imposed no difficulties on you in religion”.

It makes no sense, then, to simplify life and turn it easy, because it’s not difficult. Wrong tool for the job. Just change the tool.

Some take off this or that rule in Islam so they can go do more things in life -- like swim, sunbathe, dance, exercise, explore new knowledge, eat more food and drink, or get intimate physically to know love.

Religion – Islam or otherwise – cannot be approached with the feeling that it’s difficult. Trust this.

To myself, no need to suddenly feel like I’ve had it hard all this time. All I need is my memory. Remembering. When I stood strong. Atleast once. We’ve all been solid atleast once. It’s not difficult.


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