When I think of how I approach everything in life...whether it is my studies, my faith, my growth, my passions, my hobbies...for me, it is all about proving something to myself. I envision a brick wall that I am breaking with a chisel with my own hand. Everything for me is about proving to myself that I can do it by labouring at it...even traveling or my new found karate passion is about me facing a brick wall that I must break. I view my life as a set of internal challenges that I must overcome for myself. It is about proving to myself that I am strong enough. I have adopted this perspective because of him. For so many years of my life I was fighting an internal battle with myself. Everything was about me fighting myself. And till today, I approach life thinking of one battle after the next. I hope that this perspective will change...I think it may very well be changing already. Life shouldn't be about fighting all the time...everything that is meant to be will be. I wish sometimes I could just sit back and watch life just unfold. Perhaps one day I will reach this stage.
Having said that, I want to put things into perspective. I suppose there are two ways that people go through hardship in their life. For some, it encapsulates them and defines their entire existence. For others, it is part of their life...a major one...but in reflection it is recognized that it just one portion of their life. I fall into this latter category.
By Allah, I have had mountains and mountains of blessings in my life and I recognize them. I have had an amazing life Alhamdulillah...I have a supportive family and I feel I have been able to accomplish a lot. Allah has opened doors of opportunity and ease for me that a lifetime of prostration is inadequate to give Him thanks for what I have been granted. Beautiful people have entered into my life, and I am ever grateful for this.
This relationship did define things for me...but it defined things for me on the inside. Inside I was angry, guilty, and hurting. Inside I hated myself and could not supplicate for myself because I felt dirty and unworthy. But outside, and truly, I was not in a state of depression. On the contrary, and I have mentioned this before, I have been, and am, a very happy person Alhamdulillah. There was just this huge secret I was hiding and my struggles were purely internal...a battle with myself. Other than that, my life outside was a perfect life Alhamdulillah...this relationship did not inhibit me from developing a zest for living and having multitudes of moments of genuine happiness. My life was and is amazing. My battle, the battle that I share with you, was my own struggle in my heart.
When I recount these stories, it helps ease the suffering I experienced inside. But this relationship did not inhibit me for loving life and living in comfort. I am grateful that this was the extent of my trial...it is by God's grace that it did not infiltrate into my external affairs. I know for some, their experiences do take over all aspects of their life. May God grant them strength...I do not know how I would have handled things if it was like that for me.
I think it is important that I make this distinction apparent...I do not want to seem ungrateful for the life I have had. It is important for me to make sure I keep things in perspective. Have I been able to articulate this distinction? Am I making sense?
Thursday, December 9, 2010
his words.
"it is Allah's will i know. my hurting heart will never show the eerie sadness that will loom it. my prayers will be from now on that inshallah with Allah's will, somewhere sometime our paths cross. One thing i promise u my sweetheart i will always try to wear a smile on my face. will truly miss ur shining face. it will be the hardest test of my life. maybe a blessing in disguise, allah's test on me. pray for me always. its ur time now to pray".
These were his last words to me on an sms message after I had decided to end the relationship and moved overseas. At that time, I truly believed that he was a forsaken love and that our love was our blessing - because it was so special - but also our curse - because we could not be. Now I realize it was just wrong. All wrong. Overtime I grew blinded and brainwashed...and it is now that Allah has truly opened my heart and put the whole entire relationship into perspective. Alhamdulillah for this.
But, lets look at his words to me. It's 'the hardest test of [his] life'...'Allah's test on [him]'. This is what he sees my absence from his life as - or at least that is what he saw it then. Maybe he was not well? I do not understand...maybe he was just as blinded as I was in post high school phase? Did he really see nothing wrong with the relationship? Does he see anything wrong with it now?
I wonder if one day, if ever the circumstances permit, how he would reply if I ask him 'Why?...why?...why especially when I was so young?' I was honestly robbed off my childhood. I grew up very fast...unnecessarily. And, it was unnecessary because I grew up in adult ways when I should have been growing up in progression instead.
I remember once, a couple of years into the relationship while I was still in high school, that I had made another one of my attempts to leave him. I must have written him a letter. The next time I saw him, his hand was wrapped. He told me that he had taken a knife and cut his hand - I believe his left. The cut was on his palm, from the corner where the thumb meets the index, to his wrist - diagonally. He told me that he was mad at himself for feeling this way about me but he can't help it. His sorry eyes melted my heart...his cut palm made me believe he was helpless. And so, I remained in the relationship. Again.
I do not understand. Did he or did he not see anything wrong with our relationship? Does he think it was wrong now?
These were his last words to me on an sms message after I had decided to end the relationship and moved overseas. At that time, I truly believed that he was a forsaken love and that our love was our blessing - because it was so special - but also our curse - because we could not be. Now I realize it was just wrong. All wrong. Overtime I grew blinded and brainwashed...and it is now that Allah has truly opened my heart and put the whole entire relationship into perspective. Alhamdulillah for this.
But, lets look at his words to me. It's 'the hardest test of [his] life'...'Allah's test on [him]'. This is what he sees my absence from his life as - or at least that is what he saw it then. Maybe he was not well? I do not understand...maybe he was just as blinded as I was in post high school phase? Did he really see nothing wrong with the relationship? Does he see anything wrong with it now?
I wonder if one day, if ever the circumstances permit, how he would reply if I ask him 'Why?...why?...why especially when I was so young?' I was honestly robbed off my childhood. I grew up very fast...unnecessarily. And, it was unnecessary because I grew up in adult ways when I should have been growing up in progression instead.
I remember once, a couple of years into the relationship while I was still in high school, that I had made another one of my attempts to leave him. I must have written him a letter. The next time I saw him, his hand was wrapped. He told me that he had taken a knife and cut his hand - I believe his left. The cut was on his palm, from the corner where the thumb meets the index, to his wrist - diagonally. He told me that he was mad at himself for feeling this way about me but he can't help it. His sorry eyes melted my heart...his cut palm made me believe he was helpless. And so, I remained in the relationship. Again.
I do not understand. Did he or did he not see anything wrong with our relationship? Does he think it was wrong now?
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Dodge-Mom
I had it again…the same type of dream. I have not been getting a lot of sleep these past few days. You know…one of the worst dreams for me to have is a ‘feeling dream’. They are the dreams where you replay feelings that you once felt…negative feelings. They come out while you are sleeping and you feel them to be so real…you feel the same anxiety that you once felt years ago. It is very exhausting.
One of the worst feelings for me throughout this whole relationship was the fear that my mother would find out. My nightmares during high school or when I was at home from university during the summers, would be of him being in my bedroom or in the basement, while my mom is asleep in her room…she would then wake up and somehow even though she senses something…nothing happens. Either she doesn’t see him because he runs away and I cover the tracks, or he makes up a lie and she buys it, or, circumstances make it so that things were not able to be apparent to her.
Today, when I hear any lecture or anyone speak about parents…especially mothers…I am brought to a state of weakness instantly. I wasted so many years. Instead of loving my mother…I resented her. I was hurt by her. I was afraid of her. I was running away from her. And he would say things that would make me believe she is a bad mother to me. He would fill my head with stories about how my mother loved my siblings more than I….that I had a purer heart than my mother…that she was evil. He would say that I was more mature than my own mother - that my mom controlled me to the extent that I was mothering my own mother. Yes…for the duration of the relationship, this is what he would say. And I suppose he would go through moments of guilt for filling my mind with these stories because every once in a while he would ask ‘who loves you most in the world?’…when I said him, he would say ‘No, its your mother’. A contradiction. So many contradictions.
In today’s dream, the same thing happened. I was in my home doing some work. He then comes over and asks me to go to the next room. He has made sure no one is at home and wants to get intimate. I am disgusted. I do not want to do this again. He is weak and needy…I told him…”enjoy this because this is the last time you will see me like this. I’m done. This, you won’t see again,” as I pointed to my body…and it looked the way it does now. “I’m done” I told him. “I’m done”.
Before anything happens we hear a sound – I go out of the room and subhnallah my mom is on the couch. She apparently came back home and acted like she was napping for a while. She says I heard his voice..I said, “Who? Mom, you’re hearing things” – and while I am talking to my mom he slips out of the room and runs away. I am burdened by the fact that I was so close to being caught, but even more in pain that my mom buys my story. Each time she bought my story.
Alas, though….in my dream I told him “I’m done”…and I truly believe I am done Alhamdulillah. That’s it. I am not afraid of him anymore…and I only recount these memories to get them off my chest forever, and to help whoever is reading if possible. God has opened a new path for me...and I can have a future without feeling the burden of guilt towards Him because of this relationship, Inshallah.
I am hoping that somehow I serve my mother in ways she cannot imagine…so that I may be internally cleansed from the years of hate he made me feel towards her; for my anger towards her for not noticing; and, for all those years and years of lies…deception…running away…I was a fugitive…the best of con-artists. I played dodge-mom for almost ten years of my life. Its time for her now. She is my door to heaven. It was not her fault…I was a good liar, as was he…and she just couldn’t see. It’s not her fault.
Sometimes we look to others to blame for our problems. But, quite frankly, sometimes things just happen. Either way everything happens for a reason. Maybe the reason why my mother didn’t notice was because she was not supposed to. What am I going to do with my life now that I am stronger, and now that I can look back as an observer? Who needs to hear this story and who do I need to touch through the lessons it gave me?
One of the worst feelings for me throughout this whole relationship was the fear that my mother would find out. My nightmares during high school or when I was at home from university during the summers, would be of him being in my bedroom or in the basement, while my mom is asleep in her room…she would then wake up and somehow even though she senses something…nothing happens. Either she doesn’t see him because he runs away and I cover the tracks, or he makes up a lie and she buys it, or, circumstances make it so that things were not able to be apparent to her.
Today, when I hear any lecture or anyone speak about parents…especially mothers…I am brought to a state of weakness instantly. I wasted so many years. Instead of loving my mother…I resented her. I was hurt by her. I was afraid of her. I was running away from her. And he would say things that would make me believe she is a bad mother to me. He would fill my head with stories about how my mother loved my siblings more than I….that I had a purer heart than my mother…that she was evil. He would say that I was more mature than my own mother - that my mom controlled me to the extent that I was mothering my own mother. Yes…for the duration of the relationship, this is what he would say. And I suppose he would go through moments of guilt for filling my mind with these stories because every once in a while he would ask ‘who loves you most in the world?’…when I said him, he would say ‘No, its your mother’. A contradiction. So many contradictions.
In today’s dream, the same thing happened. I was in my home doing some work. He then comes over and asks me to go to the next room. He has made sure no one is at home and wants to get intimate. I am disgusted. I do not want to do this again. He is weak and needy…I told him…”enjoy this because this is the last time you will see me like this. I’m done. This, you won’t see again,” as I pointed to my body…and it looked the way it does now. “I’m done” I told him. “I’m done”.
Before anything happens we hear a sound – I go out of the room and subhnallah my mom is on the couch. She apparently came back home and acted like she was napping for a while. She says I heard his voice..I said, “Who? Mom, you’re hearing things” – and while I am talking to my mom he slips out of the room and runs away. I am burdened by the fact that I was so close to being caught, but even more in pain that my mom buys my story. Each time she bought my story.
Alas, though….in my dream I told him “I’m done”…and I truly believe I am done Alhamdulillah. That’s it. I am not afraid of him anymore…and I only recount these memories to get them off my chest forever, and to help whoever is reading if possible. God has opened a new path for me...and I can have a future without feeling the burden of guilt towards Him because of this relationship, Inshallah.
I am hoping that somehow I serve my mother in ways she cannot imagine…so that I may be internally cleansed from the years of hate he made me feel towards her; for my anger towards her for not noticing; and, for all those years and years of lies…deception…running away…I was a fugitive…the best of con-artists. I played dodge-mom for almost ten years of my life. Its time for her now. She is my door to heaven. It was not her fault…I was a good liar, as was he…and she just couldn’t see. It’s not her fault.
Sometimes we look to others to blame for our problems. But, quite frankly, sometimes things just happen. Either way everything happens for a reason. Maybe the reason why my mother didn’t notice was because she was not supposed to. What am I going to do with my life now that I am stronger, and now that I can look back as an observer? Who needs to hear this story and who do I need to touch through the lessons it gave me?
Monday, December 6, 2010
Double Faced.
When I was in high school, I had not yet taken on the hijab. However, I was active in the Muslim community. I used to teach at the local mosque, was an avid volunteer, and lobbied for prayer space in my high school during Ramadan. When I joined university, I immediately become a member of the Muslim Students Association - the best years of my life. I attended regular lectures, study circles and numerous spiritual development programs.
I always knew that I was going to take on the hijab, but he was certainly integral in encouraging me to do so. His method was amazing – never forced me, but would mention the numerous university educated women that took on the hijab over and over. He asked me why it was that so many of them put it on if it was not important…he told me that it was because they were educated and studied Islam, and therefore understood its virtue.
I put on the hijab during my first year of university. It was a blessing and continues to be one, and one of the best things I did for myself and my faith.
As we know – hijab is more than just a piece of cloth over one’s head…and, when the desire to put it on is not forced upon you, there is nothing more comforting. It is a complete way of life…u grow closer to God; you feel Him in your life ever time you step out of the door; you are in an ever ready state for worship…whenever and wherever you can just get down to pray; and you feel uplifted. Hijab was not easy when I first put it on because I wanted to make sure I was doing it right. I stopped bobbing to music when in public and began walking with a lowered gaze. I changed my whole wardrobe….I was one of the long skirt and baggy blouse wearing “hijabis”. I never second guessed my decision. But, I did know I was being double faced.
You see, no one knew. Anyone who saw me could have made the false assumption that I did nothing ‘wrong’. I was active in the community, appeared pious in my actions and didn’t engage in wrong for them to see it. How wrong were they? I knew I was a walking contradiction because my private life was anything but modest. I had my hijab on to everyone in the world, but him. I was in university at that point so I had managed to make myself feel less guilty about the whole relationship than earlier, but I was well aware that I was different from all my friends. They would have never believed me…and I’m sure will be shocked if I reveal it to them now...I don't think they could ever imagine the life I was leading behind their eyes.
I was part of a religious circle for girls….one of our tasks was to memorize a portion of the Quran. I had such a difficult time doing that…it was very difficult for me to memorize even one verse, and I was in owe of my friends who seemed to get through it with such ease. Once I was at an Islamic lecture and the speaker made reference to this…he said, ‘if you are having trouble memorizing the Quran, then you must look at your life and see where you need to improve….what sins you are committing’. I sunk in my seat and lowered my head in shame…I knew why I was not able to memorize….I was double faced.
When I think of how people must have viewed me versus what was happening in my private life, I internalized (and continue to hold strong) the understanding that you should never judge a book by its cover. Everyone has a story. There is no saint. I was not only engaged in the relationship, but I would lie to my friends and family about my whereabouts, and I would make sure there was no way anyone could find out...deception. a lot of deception.
Despite the wrong that he initiated, I wonder how much reward he will get for actually encouraging me to put on the hijab. What is more ironic than the guider towards light, also being the leader towards hell?
I always knew that I was going to take on the hijab, but he was certainly integral in encouraging me to do so. His method was amazing – never forced me, but would mention the numerous university educated women that took on the hijab over and over. He asked me why it was that so many of them put it on if it was not important…he told me that it was because they were educated and studied Islam, and therefore understood its virtue.
I put on the hijab during my first year of university. It was a blessing and continues to be one, and one of the best things I did for myself and my faith.
As we know – hijab is more than just a piece of cloth over one’s head…and, when the desire to put it on is not forced upon you, there is nothing more comforting. It is a complete way of life…u grow closer to God; you feel Him in your life ever time you step out of the door; you are in an ever ready state for worship…whenever and wherever you can just get down to pray; and you feel uplifted. Hijab was not easy when I first put it on because I wanted to make sure I was doing it right. I stopped bobbing to music when in public and began walking with a lowered gaze. I changed my whole wardrobe….I was one of the long skirt and baggy blouse wearing “hijabis”. I never second guessed my decision. But, I did know I was being double faced.
You see, no one knew. Anyone who saw me could have made the false assumption that I did nothing ‘wrong’. I was active in the community, appeared pious in my actions and didn’t engage in wrong for them to see it. How wrong were they? I knew I was a walking contradiction because my private life was anything but modest. I had my hijab on to everyone in the world, but him. I was in university at that point so I had managed to make myself feel less guilty about the whole relationship than earlier, but I was well aware that I was different from all my friends. They would have never believed me…and I’m sure will be shocked if I reveal it to them now...I don't think they could ever imagine the life I was leading behind their eyes.
I was part of a religious circle for girls….one of our tasks was to memorize a portion of the Quran. I had such a difficult time doing that…it was very difficult for me to memorize even one verse, and I was in owe of my friends who seemed to get through it with such ease. Once I was at an Islamic lecture and the speaker made reference to this…he said, ‘if you are having trouble memorizing the Quran, then you must look at your life and see where you need to improve….what sins you are committing’. I sunk in my seat and lowered my head in shame…I knew why I was not able to memorize….I was double faced.
When I think of how people must have viewed me versus what was happening in my private life, I internalized (and continue to hold strong) the understanding that you should never judge a book by its cover. Everyone has a story. There is no saint. I was not only engaged in the relationship, but I would lie to my friends and family about my whereabouts, and I would make sure there was no way anyone could find out...deception. a lot of deception.
Despite the wrong that he initiated, I wonder how much reward he will get for actually encouraging me to put on the hijab. What is more ironic than the guider towards light, also being the leader towards hell?
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Murderer
"I don't want to be...a murderer"
I used to sing that line with so much passion when Rihanna came out with Unfaithful...I was obsessed with the song. I would watch the video and especially the last scene where she gives her boyfriend a hug and looks at the camera with those eyes - showing her guilt...I used to feel like that. I would go to my friends and sing "I ammmm a murdererrrr" and no one knew what I was talking about. They knew the song - that she is saying she is a murderer because she is playing her boyfriend and he loves her terribly...but they didn't know why I was saying the same thing.
These past few weeks I'm going through so many realizations. I had another night of sleeplessness last night. I have never had insomnia like I did yesterday. And the crux of the issue is about my role in the relationship.
You see, even in those moments as a young girl when I knew the relationship should stop, I wouldn't be able to pull myself out completely because I always felt guilty. 'He loves me', I would think to myself...'he does so much...how can I just leave him? Betray him'. I felt responsible. So, as I grew up and was in university, the same feeling of guilt was what kept me holding on even when I wanted to let go.
But, I knew that one day I'd have to let go. I knew that I wanted a family. I didn't want to have to anger my parents. I didn't want to run away. I knew that one day my heart would change...that I would fall out of whatever I was in. I knew that one day I would get tired of the feeling of displeasing God. That feeling in itself made me feel like a murderer. I envisioned that when I did move away, when I finally decided to let go, that he would become a zombie. He would have no joy in his life. I would have murdered him while he was still alive. And, I only said this because that is what he would repeat to me over and over. He made me feel like I was his lifeline. Without me, he would be dead.
But now that I look back - whether it was intentional on his part or not - I find it ironic. Here, a man that was taking advantage of me had actually managed to make me feel like the predator and him the victim. And so I would sing...'I don't want to be a murdererrrr'...while not knowing that he was holding the weapon, not I. And although I would sing that song, I never played him. For almost ten years of my life...there was no man but him. I didn't even have real crushes. But still, I felt I was killing him just by thinking that one day I'd leave him.
I realize now that much of why this relationship dragged on for so long was because of the concept of loving oneself. I think at that time I didn't love myself...rather, I loved him for loving me...I 'needed' him for that love. Do I love myself now? I think so...I think I'm finally trying to sit in the drivers' seat of my own life.
If the victim feels like the enemy, does it mean that they do not love themselves? Is this what causes them to put another's needs before their own?
I used to sing that line with so much passion when Rihanna came out with Unfaithful...I was obsessed with the song. I would watch the video and especially the last scene where she gives her boyfriend a hug and looks at the camera with those eyes - showing her guilt...I used to feel like that. I would go to my friends and sing "I ammmm a murdererrrr" and no one knew what I was talking about. They knew the song - that she is saying she is a murderer because she is playing her boyfriend and he loves her terribly...but they didn't know why I was saying the same thing.
These past few weeks I'm going through so many realizations. I had another night of sleeplessness last night. I have never had insomnia like I did yesterday. And the crux of the issue is about my role in the relationship.
You see, even in those moments as a young girl when I knew the relationship should stop, I wouldn't be able to pull myself out completely because I always felt guilty. 'He loves me', I would think to myself...'he does so much...how can I just leave him? Betray him'. I felt responsible. So, as I grew up and was in university, the same feeling of guilt was what kept me holding on even when I wanted to let go.
But, I knew that one day I'd have to let go. I knew that I wanted a family. I didn't want to have to anger my parents. I didn't want to run away. I knew that one day my heart would change...that I would fall out of whatever I was in. I knew that one day I would get tired of the feeling of displeasing God. That feeling in itself made me feel like a murderer. I envisioned that when I did move away, when I finally decided to let go, that he would become a zombie. He would have no joy in his life. I would have murdered him while he was still alive. And, I only said this because that is what he would repeat to me over and over. He made me feel like I was his lifeline. Without me, he would be dead.
But now that I look back - whether it was intentional on his part or not - I find it ironic. Here, a man that was taking advantage of me had actually managed to make me feel like the predator and him the victim. And so I would sing...'I don't want to be a murdererrrr'...while not knowing that he was holding the weapon, not I. And although I would sing that song, I never played him. For almost ten years of my life...there was no man but him. I didn't even have real crushes. But still, I felt I was killing him just by thinking that one day I'd leave him.
I realize now that much of why this relationship dragged on for so long was because of the concept of loving oneself. I think at that time I didn't love myself...rather, I loved him for loving me...I 'needed' him for that love. Do I love myself now? I think so...I think I'm finally trying to sit in the drivers' seat of my own life.
If the victim feels like the enemy, does it mean that they do not love themselves? Is this what causes them to put another's needs before their own?
Friday, November 19, 2010
Eighteen, the Phases and the Friend.
After about 9 years of being in a relationship with him, I made a decision to relocate. We had a mutual understanding that if we were meant to be together forever, our paths would cross again somehow. Despite the amount of love I had for him when I moved - as will be understood by the time you finish reading this post - I had reached a point where I realized that him and I would never be. I wanted to settle down and start a family one day, and I knew that because it would not be him, I had to settle for someone other than him. It was the most difficult decision of my life, but it was mutual. It was during this move that I met my friend.
Every once in a while, you meet someone in your life whom you just have an immediate affinity towards. After spending just a few occasions together – or even from the first one – you automatically know that you want this person to be part of your life. And, for some reason you feel like you want to talk to them about your life. You find comfort in their listening ears.
A few years ago I met someone like that. She has grown to be an important part of my life and I suppose she doesn’t really understand how much I do need her and value her presence. Only a few weeks into our relationship, I decided to tell her about him. I was 23 as I spoke of this story to her.
I am not sure whether or not if someone would replay the initial conversation that I had with her about him, they would think that I am the same person, or that I am discussing the same story. I often see this relationship, and my journey through it, in two phases. One during high school and one post high school. My outlook on my relationship with him while living these two stages in my life were so completely different. Polar opposites.
By the time I turned 18, I didn’t question the relationship at all. I was totally convinced that he was the man of my dreams, and that our biggest test in life was that societal norms and family pressure would mean that our love would be forsaken and we would never be able to be together. If we were to end up together, it would mean that we would have to be ex-communicated and leave our families. I knew that I wasn’t strong enough to go through that. He was ever ready.
During my first year living in residence, a couple of hours away from where he was, I found comfort in him coming to visit me almost every week. I was old enough to feel like he was my man and if people saw us together I would introduce him as my fiancé. I longed for him to come over, and for us to eat out and spend time together…to reflect on life together. He would shower me with love, and I in turn would shower him with the same. He would help me brainstorm my essays, and I would teach him what I was learning at university. I made sure he knew my every step during the day. Our phone bills would reach far into the hundreds. But, it didn’t matter. We were in love. ‘True love’, I convinced myself.
By the time I was 18, I had no doubt about the relationship. I had no anger. No confusion. Only love. I would thank God for his presence in my life, and my tears would not be ones from a heavy heart about why he was doing what he was to me, but rather why we wouldn’t be able to be together like a normal couple for the rest of our lives. I truly felt that he was a God send – a divine gift. Our love was paralleled with my spiritual journey towards Allah.
How did I reach this stage? I believe that after years of push and pull (from 13-18 for me), we humans honestly reach a stage where despite the pressure, we finally convince ourselves that it’s not as bad as we make it out to be. Each moment I prolonged during the first five years, my body’s and my heart’s defense mechanisms only grew weaker. I lowered my guard – because I realized that having my guard up and resisting did not change anything – it simply exhausted me. And so, overtime, I become blinded from the bad – I forgot about the pressure. In fact, once I entered university, if ever he would talk about the start of the relationship, I would tell him to stop. I did not want to remember. I feel that I experienced a phase of selective amnesia – the relationship was only good, and about good.
And so, from the age of 18, I thought I was Juliet and he Romeo. Honestly. As I sat with my friend and recounted, I told her the story of a man in love with a girl so many years his junior, and a girl in love with a man, so many years her senior. I described how despite how much they loved each other, society would not understand because of the age difference, and because my family would never approve of the marriage. I am sure her heart softened up to him as I described his romance with me, his constant praise and support and the amount of spoiling he would offer me. ‘This is from him, and this and this and this….’ I would say as I proudly revealed his gifts to me.
At that time, when I would recount my story I would be moved to tears as I reflected on why we weren’t together and why I had to taste the sweetness of his love in the first place if it would not be eternal. You see, I was living post high school phase. I remembered nothing of the beginnings of the relationship…nothing of the disgust I feel now when I think of things retrospectively.
Meeting my friend was a very important thing in my life. She opened my eyes and I honestly feel that God brought her into my life when I truly needed her strength. She came into my life at the moment I had made a decision to move away from him, and if it wasn’t for how she helped open my eyes and put life into perspective, I wonder if I would still be experiencing the selective amnesia that I mentioned – perhaps I would have already taken the leap and been with him by now. As our relationship grew, I would tell her more and more about my relationship, and it was during my reflections with her that I began recalling my feelings during high school.
I wonder what she thinks about my journey. I wonder what you, my readers think about the polar opposite phases I experienced. Why do you think I forgot about the pressure I felt during high school once I moved away for university? What was it about turning 18 that blinded me from the negative feelings that existed at the start, but that I remember now?
Every once in a while, you meet someone in your life whom you just have an immediate affinity towards. After spending just a few occasions together – or even from the first one – you automatically know that you want this person to be part of your life. And, for some reason you feel like you want to talk to them about your life. You find comfort in their listening ears.
A few years ago I met someone like that. She has grown to be an important part of my life and I suppose she doesn’t really understand how much I do need her and value her presence. Only a few weeks into our relationship, I decided to tell her about him. I was 23 as I spoke of this story to her.
I am not sure whether or not if someone would replay the initial conversation that I had with her about him, they would think that I am the same person, or that I am discussing the same story. I often see this relationship, and my journey through it, in two phases. One during high school and one post high school. My outlook on my relationship with him while living these two stages in my life were so completely different. Polar opposites.
By the time I turned 18, I didn’t question the relationship at all. I was totally convinced that he was the man of my dreams, and that our biggest test in life was that societal norms and family pressure would mean that our love would be forsaken and we would never be able to be together. If we were to end up together, it would mean that we would have to be ex-communicated and leave our families. I knew that I wasn’t strong enough to go through that. He was ever ready.
During my first year living in residence, a couple of hours away from where he was, I found comfort in him coming to visit me almost every week. I was old enough to feel like he was my man and if people saw us together I would introduce him as my fiancé. I longed for him to come over, and for us to eat out and spend time together…to reflect on life together. He would shower me with love, and I in turn would shower him with the same. He would help me brainstorm my essays, and I would teach him what I was learning at university. I made sure he knew my every step during the day. Our phone bills would reach far into the hundreds. But, it didn’t matter. We were in love. ‘True love’, I convinced myself.
By the time I was 18, I had no doubt about the relationship. I had no anger. No confusion. Only love. I would thank God for his presence in my life, and my tears would not be ones from a heavy heart about why he was doing what he was to me, but rather why we wouldn’t be able to be together like a normal couple for the rest of our lives. I truly felt that he was a God send – a divine gift. Our love was paralleled with my spiritual journey towards Allah.
How did I reach this stage? I believe that after years of push and pull (from 13-18 for me), we humans honestly reach a stage where despite the pressure, we finally convince ourselves that it’s not as bad as we make it out to be. Each moment I prolonged during the first five years, my body’s and my heart’s defense mechanisms only grew weaker. I lowered my guard – because I realized that having my guard up and resisting did not change anything – it simply exhausted me. And so, overtime, I become blinded from the bad – I forgot about the pressure. In fact, once I entered university, if ever he would talk about the start of the relationship, I would tell him to stop. I did not want to remember. I feel that I experienced a phase of selective amnesia – the relationship was only good, and about good.
And so, from the age of 18, I thought I was Juliet and he Romeo. Honestly. As I sat with my friend and recounted, I told her the story of a man in love with a girl so many years his junior, and a girl in love with a man, so many years her senior. I described how despite how much they loved each other, society would not understand because of the age difference, and because my family would never approve of the marriage. I am sure her heart softened up to him as I described his romance with me, his constant praise and support and the amount of spoiling he would offer me. ‘This is from him, and this and this and this….’ I would say as I proudly revealed his gifts to me.
At that time, when I would recount my story I would be moved to tears as I reflected on why we weren’t together and why I had to taste the sweetness of his love in the first place if it would not be eternal. You see, I was living post high school phase. I remembered nothing of the beginnings of the relationship…nothing of the disgust I feel now when I think of things retrospectively.
Meeting my friend was a very important thing in my life. She opened my eyes and I honestly feel that God brought her into my life when I truly needed her strength. She came into my life at the moment I had made a decision to move away from him, and if it wasn’t for how she helped open my eyes and put life into perspective, I wonder if I would still be experiencing the selective amnesia that I mentioned – perhaps I would have already taken the leap and been with him by now. As our relationship grew, I would tell her more and more about my relationship, and it was during my reflections with her that I began recalling my feelings during high school.
I wonder what she thinks about my journey. I wonder what you, my readers think about the polar opposite phases I experienced. Why do you think I forgot about the pressure I felt during high school once I moved away for university? What was it about turning 18 that blinded me from the negative feelings that existed at the start, but that I remember now?
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Karate Release.
I'm laying in bed and am on my smart phone. While I feel full from the inside...a part of me is empty. I get like this once a month when I miss God. I'm not ready to fall asleep yet. So let me write.
I'm under the blanket and the room is dark. A familiar scene. As a girl growing up, the most powerful lyrics for me were this: "Don't you know my tears will burn the pillow..set this place on fire cause Im tired of your lies" (from All Cried Out by En Vouge). I spent a lot of nights...a lot...crying myself to sleep. Its like a battle in your insides. Your heart is hurt, your mind is confused, your body is unsure...you are just fighting a war inside you. I sleep with my face into the pillow...its just the way sleep...but I think it began to stop myself from feeling the tears roll down my face...if they fall right into the pillow, the reality of their existence is truncated.
I recently joined karate. It has been a moving experience. The first day, I put so much passion into each kick, each punch, that I felt as if memories that we buried down for so long just resurfaced. It was tiring....exhausting. The trainer even commented that I was fierce..he asked 'you sure this isn't a therapy session?' I didn't think it was...but that night and for two nights after I couldn't sleep. Too much pain was coming out...too much anger...I was awaken every few hours from body-jerks. All I wanted to do was wake up the next morning to kick and punch some more.
But who is this anger directed towards? Is it to him? Yes of course...but its not that I imagine his face being punched in and his nose bleeding. No. Rather, I imagine fighting all my internal battles. Punching them till I come out victorious. Showing myself that I am stronger than who I thought I was. Proving to him that he had no right to corner me the way he did. Karate has surely become therapeutic.
I no longer think of him when I'm at the club, but I do know why I have so much passion for the art. No one should ever make you feel so weak, so vulnerable that you don't know what to do to fix your situation... or worse, how to get out of it. No one has that right. I often wonder whether if I was physically strong I would have been able to pull out a lot sooner than I did. If whether I was stronger outside, I would have found the strength inside to calm my confusion and ask myself what I really wanted.
They are both connected...your internal and external strength. One without the other renders both suboptimal. Would I have left if I felt stronger? I think so. I just regret not having realized that till now.
I'm under the blanket and the room is dark. A familiar scene. As a girl growing up, the most powerful lyrics for me were this: "Don't you know my tears will burn the pillow..set this place on fire cause Im tired of your lies" (from All Cried Out by En Vouge). I spent a lot of nights...a lot...crying myself to sleep. Its like a battle in your insides. Your heart is hurt, your mind is confused, your body is unsure...you are just fighting a war inside you. I sleep with my face into the pillow...its just the way sleep...but I think it began to stop myself from feeling the tears roll down my face...if they fall right into the pillow, the reality of their existence is truncated.
I recently joined karate. It has been a moving experience. The first day, I put so much passion into each kick, each punch, that I felt as if memories that we buried down for so long just resurfaced. It was tiring....exhausting. The trainer even commented that I was fierce..he asked 'you sure this isn't a therapy session?' I didn't think it was...but that night and for two nights after I couldn't sleep. Too much pain was coming out...too much anger...I was awaken every few hours from body-jerks. All I wanted to do was wake up the next morning to kick and punch some more.
But who is this anger directed towards? Is it to him? Yes of course...but its not that I imagine his face being punched in and his nose bleeding. No. Rather, I imagine fighting all my internal battles. Punching them till I come out victorious. Showing myself that I am stronger than who I thought I was. Proving to him that he had no right to corner me the way he did. Karate has surely become therapeutic.
I no longer think of him when I'm at the club, but I do know why I have so much passion for the art. No one should ever make you feel so weak, so vulnerable that you don't know what to do to fix your situation... or worse, how to get out of it. No one has that right. I often wonder whether if I was physically strong I would have been able to pull out a lot sooner than I did. If whether I was stronger outside, I would have found the strength inside to calm my confusion and ask myself what I really wanted.
They are both connected...your internal and external strength. One without the other renders both suboptimal. Would I have left if I felt stronger? I think so. I just regret not having realized that till now.
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