As my own sons enter the next phase of their lives, I feel I am doing the same. Yet, whereas their next steps involve new academic journeys, mine obviously is not of that nature. To be honest, I haven’t actually officially embarked on any new venture but, in my mind, I feel it’s time to try something different.
For all the years I’ve put a major part of my own life on hold, watching and waiting for my kids to grow up and become independent, I now feel the time is ripe for me to do something just for me. Yes. Me and nobody else. I plan to start with necessary things like taking better care of my health. At the other end of the scale, if I am fortunate enough inshaAllah, I want to find myself standing on another corner of the world and exploring a new place on my own. I want to enjoy my own company – single and in silence with uninterrupted thoughts. Gosh, that sounds shamelessly narcissistic.
However, for many, we often lose ourselves in the company of others and find that we unwittingly allow ourselves to be led in whichever direction the crowd takes us. Not a negative thing necessarily. But for a change, I want to make a decision by myself, for myself and with myself. I am going to lap the situation up. So many women complain of not ‘having time out’, being overwhelmed with family life, the demands of husband and home etc. So, now that Allah has given me the opportunity to do something on my own, inshaAllah I will take it. I don’t want pity. This is not a sour grapes attitude. Rather, I simply want to make the best of the situation I am in.
I already have been so fortunate to have had some memorabe and cherished experiences in the last few years. I have to pinch myself to remind myself that they even came to pass. My recent climb up Mount Snowdon was, quite literally, the pinnacle of those achievements. But it’s not about going higher now. It’s just about keeping going. I have been awakened to the realisation that I am still surrounded by beauty in its many forms and my zest for life has been reinvigorated. I contemplate my personal situation often. Sometimes those thoughts occur as a fleeting moment in a day; other times it can be longer periods of deep reflection of how I came to be in this ‘here and now’. Alhamdulillah, I can never separate the knowledge that this is all the brilliant mastery of my Creator. When He says he is closer to us than our own jugular vein, I get it now. Like how a parent teaches their young child to ride that first bike and watches them fall over and over and when eventually the stabilisers come off, and they witness their child racing through on their own, so I liken Allah’s guidance and support towards me. Whether we acknowledge it or not, Allah’s divine intervention and control is an indisuptable fact. He sees our initial scrapes and scars but He knows how to help and heal. All at the same time.
We always think the grass is greener on the other side. From where I am standing, Alhamdulillah, I have already got plenty to be content with. For me, this is the other side.
For those readers who have been following my blog, they would know by now that a recurring theme in my writing is the mindset which does not give up easily and wallow in self-pity.
Last week, I skipped a blog post not because of the lack of anything to say. Far from it! I was away in the Peak District of England and then Snowdonia in Wales, exploring the countryside and deliberately losing myself in nature. It wasn’t my first time to either places. Yet the novelty of being there and liberated from the shackles of city life had not worn off. Dipping into a completely different ‘otherness’ is not only refreshing and exhilirating. It’s actually necessary. Like how a good dose of hot lemon and ginger offsets a bad flu, so an escape to the country is the perfect panacea for the humdrum monotony of life.
Our holiday this summer was a long time in the planning. In fact, it had been postponed from 2020 due to Covid. For a while I was doubting if we’d even manage to get away this year. Alhamdulillah though, we did. Myself, my boys and their cousins – eight of us all footloose and fancy free.
Being in the open countryside meant being away from home and its beckoning calls to take care of this and that. I immediately felt my mind and my soul empty themselves of any distractions. I was fully present – physically, emotionally and spiritually – in my surroundings of green fields, forests, lakes and rivers. Allah is the ultimate artist and I was standing on His palette of pristine blues and greens and relishing the visual perfection.
Looking out from within Thor’s Cave
Each day we explored new places, climbed new mountains and hills and from high and low I never stopped marvelling at the beauty and majesty of the natural world Allah has created on Earth. It was so hard to imagine how much of this planet is suffering at the hands of humans when I was sitting in places that seemed to have remained completely untouched since the beginning of time. It is easy to understand why many prophets were shepherds. Out in the open, away from the distractions of people, they must have enjoyed a deep connection to nature and ultimately, a connection to their Creator. It allows for a purity of thought and, no doubt, a lot of soul-searching. Back to today and despite the influx of summer tourists, for the most part, there is a deep regard for the preservation of the countryside and most of it remains unspoiled. So it’s still very easy to find a way back to Allah in those silent moments on a mountain, in awe of the vista from up there.
On our Snowdonia leg of our trip, we were joined by my oldest nephew and his wife, so our group size had increased to ten. We had all agreed to try see Mount Snowdon up close. I had erroneously assumed the rest of the group would have been content to stay at ground level. Silly me! I should have realised that youth is a synonym for audacity. So, it wasn’t long before I found myself nervously tagging along at the back of a fearless line of novice mountain hikers. Not daring to look down, for fear of falling and neither daring to look up, for fear of not seeing a convenient stopping point, I gingerly clambered on.
The weather had started off on a promising note with clouds providing cover but no rain in sight. Every so often, I was lead to believe that we had reached our final stop but when I paused to catch my breath, the others simply carried on upwards. It wasn’t long before I realised the group had been secretly planning to reach the summit! By then, I was damned if I were to turn back and return alone. The only option was to continue on regardless of how apprehensive I was.
The love is mutual, looking on from Mount Snowdon
About halfway up Snowdon, I was silently satisfied with the knowledge that I had climbed about 540m. That was good enough for me. I was mentally preparing to retrace my steps and head back down. However, my middle son quipped that I wouldn’t be returning to Snowdon any time soon and questioned if I was prepared to write in my next blog that I had only partially climbed Snowdon? Of course, he knew which buttons to push. His trick had worked and precisely at that moment, I knew I was going to see this mission through to the very end. I don’t deny it was a very tough undertaking. Further on, the clouds had decided to offload their burdens upon us and visibility was poor. Our waterproofs were anything but that and my puddled boots squelched water with every step. We were all soaked to the skin but determined to complete our mission.
Three cold and blustery hours later, we finally emerged at the top of Snowdon. I wish I could tell my readers of the wonderful vista from up there. But the truth is we were shrouded in cloud and mist and could barely see 10m in front of us. Additionally, the wind was very strong in the exposed parts so, pausing just long enough to take a few quick photos to document our accomplishment, we soon started our descent. But none of that mattered too much. I was still reeling from the fact that I had actually made it to the top. I had defied my own self-expectations and found myself standing 1085m high up in the world. It is a moment I will never forget.
And this is how I came to find myself accidentally climbing Snowdon. Any regrets? Absolutely not! It was one occasion that I was so grateful for the tenacity of the young people around me. Had it not been for their gentle coaxing and encouragement, I probably would never have stepped foot on Snowdon itself. I can’t explain how surreal it was for me standing at the summit when I had never envisaged hiking up a hill let alone the highest mountain in Wales. It was something only other people did. Not me.
All the way down, I was contemplating the enormity of what I had just achieved. I had just proved to myself that I can (and should) pursue new goals outside my comfort zone. Yet the main lesson which the Snowdon experience confirmed to me was that I am living my best life now since my divorce. I actually had an epiphany right there. Not only am I a survivor but I am thriving, Alhamdulillah. I have ventured into new unchartered territory on many fronts. My life is not over just because my marriage expired. I am simply in a new phase and I will embrace new opportunities and adventures with open arms, inshaAllah.
Nobody knows exactly how much time they have on this Earth but inshaAllah I plan to continue my journey of discovery. For years I had thought I knew myself but I see I am still learning. Without doubt, the most wonderfully inexplicable thing in all of this is that I have not lost my faith in Allah at all. On the contrary, the last few years He has taken me down an unexpected road only for me to realise that His design, His beauty and His mercy were (and are) always there. I just needed to see them from a very different perspective. To use that loathsome cliche Facebook-speak, “I am feeling blessed.” I see now that I have accomplished things in recent years that I probably would never have dared try had I been married still.
This is the subliminal message I internalised from Mount Snowdon. I will always look back on that place with awe and respect. On the 7th of August, 2021, a handful of people would have unwittingly witnessed a 50 year old first-timer hike up a mountain and go back down. The truth is I did much more than that. I conquered a mental impasse and feel poised to scale many more self-imposed emotional embargoes, with Allah’s help.
I know that title doesn’t seem to make sense at first glance. However, I can explain. Lately, I have been going through bouts of feeling high and low as is normal when looking back at the past and looking ahead to the future all at once. Nothing unusual. Everyone has those moments although recently, I’ve been leaning more towards a restlessness which I can’t fully explain.
Alhamdulillah, I am in a fortunate position to be able to say that I’m heading off on a short break to escape the monotony of life for a while. My destination is the Peak District in England – a little respite offered by Mother Nature that nestles quietly in the middle of this verdant green island of ours. It will feel like deja vu since I am returning to the same place where wonderful memories were created exactly two years ago with my boys and their cousins. Some people would argue that you can’t recreate the same experience twice. I beg to differ. I leave tomorrow with the same high expectations that we will all have another wonderful time in that place inshaAllah. Even the vagaries of the British summer weather will not be enough to dampen my spirits.
Determined to make the most of it…
This summer was originally the year I had planned to go abroad as it is this year where my boys would have all been at a suitable juncture of their lives; we could have escaped before the madding crowds had been released from their own work and school commitments. Covid changed all that but that’s OK. InshaAllah, I hope I can still fulfil that dream holiday in the not so distant future.
If it can’t be fulfilled, then I hope to travel alone to a destination I’ve never visited before. It’s something I want to challenge myself to do. I don’t pretend to go backpacking as an intrepid solo traveller but I would like to do something and go somewhere where I am able to just watch life go by and be uninterrupted in my thoughts. I want to do something completely on my own terms.
As for my imminent trip tomorrow, I have packed my travel journal. I last wrote in this book 16 years ago! Back then, my last notes were about our road trip from England to Mauritania and all the encounters and experiences in between. I am so glad I kept the journal as I can relive small details about my travels which would have definitely been lost to the wind had I not written them down. I’ve enjoyed many other holidays and trips since that time but never recorded them diligently. Usually, I didn’t have the time nor the inclination. Since I now have a new cartridge pen gifted to me by my oldest son, plus the journal with its empty pages waiting to be filled, I have the perfect excuses to pick up my pen and so I intend to write again.
InshaAllah, I shall return to my blog with an update and summary of my trip to the Peak District. I hope I can share tales of unexpected adventure, laughter, reflections and a deep appreciation of the beautiful world we all still inhabit. Alhamdulillah.
I am the product of two immigrant parents who left all that they knew in their homeland in order to seek out better lives for themselves in the UK. Like many migrants before and after them, the impetus for leaving was economic reasons. Today, we see across the world not a lot has changed. People are still uprooting themselves and foresaking everything they have known for the Unknown and (ostensibly) Utopia. Perhaps the biggest difference nowadays is that the journeys the migrants are taking are infinitely more dangerous.
As second-generation children, my siblings and I were exposed to much more in England than our parents could ever have been. We were born here and like it or not, we have been imbued with aspects of British culture. For some onlookers, we are a beautiful blend of two diametrically opposed cultures able to effortlessly slide from one to another. It reminds me of a visual image – that of oil and water. The oil is suspended in water and sits comfortably in it but is never totally assimilated with its host. For other people, we are a confused and chaotic culmination of mixed languages, food and clothes. We are too Asian to be British and too British to be Asian…
Fast forward many years and here we are today with our own children. Whilst ties to the motherland of our parents (their grandparents) is even more tenuous than our own, at the same time, our children seem to know who they are more than we ever did. I have always considered myself and other “second-generationers” to have been the transitional generation; the one that had to make the sacrifice for the generation before and the one after. We are the bridge between the past and the future.
Making the Sacrifice for a smooth transition
So why am I talking about all this anyway? It’s because I sometimes feel my children’s generation is more fortunate than us in some ways. Because they had us as parents, who knew the workings of both the savoury and unsavoury elements in society, they know how to navigate their own way through it. Many people of my generation could not resort to parents who would have understood what racism in schools looked like, how difficult it was to explain your religious beliefs to your English friends or why your mother wore strange ‘ethnic’ clothes as opposed to ‘normal’ people. We could not even begin to explain to our parents the seemingly nicer things like the benefits of taking up a sport outside of school which many of our friends would have done. Of course, I don’t blame my parents. To be fair, they had their own struggles. However, the cumulative experience of my generation prepared us for parenthood.
Even before I had my own children, I knew that instilling a sense of identity and belonging in them was absolutely vital. I myself have lived a life going through different labels and trying to see which outfit suited me best. I realise I came full circle back in my twenties. Having tried different labels, ‘Muslim’ was the one I realised I had been searching for all along and yet it had been staring me in the face my whole life. It was – and is – the one label that supercedes all others. There is a permanency about it which pervades everything else. I knew this was the one identity that my own children would need to be equipped with if they were to feel comfortable in their own skin.
Alhamdulillah, it was a belief that has paid off. I say that because even though my children are of mixed ethnicities, the one thing they have been able to carry with them is their faith as a Muslim. No matter where we have lived (and there have been many cities and countries) they know identity is not a question of belonging to a physical place or ethnic group. It is knowing what they believe in terms of their religous disposition and letting that notion precede them wherever they are. It is reassuring to see that they don’t have what I call “colonial siege mentality”, the mindset of my parents’ generation where they felt inherently inferior because of their colour, ethnicity or religion. This next generation exudes a confidence and is proud but not arrogant, Alhamdulillah.
Having taken the insults and physical abuse at the hands of racist strangers on behalf of the generation that has come after us, we will not sit quietly and let them suffer the same fate. As a result, I see that my children claim Britishness with more ease than we did at their age. Looking back at my youth, I see I was someone who questioned her loyalty to her parents’ motherland which seemed a remote and arbitrary place. There was also a conflicting and almost guilty loyalty to the country where I existed in real time. It was a bizarre and confusing crossroads to be at.
If there is any harbour which we would want our children to anchor in, it would be a wise choice to make it the one of Islam. Of course, I would say that as a Muslim and I make no apologies. From its inception, my faith did away with racism and other cultural hierarchies which are so divisive and unethical. Alhamdulillah, I have experienced the beauty of Islam and still am. I can still say that I have seen the best version of Islam through my own marriage, even though it did not last as long as I had wished. I hope my boys will continue to hold the torch, inshaAllah and pass the light of their faith on to their progeny in years to come.
A lot of debate surrounds the origin of this legendary quote. Some historians attribute it to Greek philosophy, namely Socrates; others say he cannot take the credit.
To be honest, I am not interested in the historic roots of this maxim. I am only interested in what these two simple words mean for me when put together. It is that the journey of self-discovery should never stop. Yet it does. We go through life in erratic bursts of finding out what we want, when we want and even who we want. Then we settle into a routine of complacency and stagnation. It’s a normal process of life and there is nothing wrong with that until we are jolted from our seats and realise that the old way of handling things will no longer do.
When life throws a curveball, sometimes we fall right off the path which we were once on. Whilst we try to refocus and time moves silently on, this leads to retrospection which itself leads to introspection. In the process of that, we really begin to know who we are. We learn our limits vs. our capabilities, our strengths vs. our weaknesses, our friends vs. our enemies. All those things suddenly become more apparent than ever before.
It’s all in hand now
I never once imagined I would be running a house alone without a husband to raise my children – especially not because of a divorce. However, here I am and in these last five or so years, I’ve learnt a lot about myself. Here are a few of those things:
I will not allow anyone to denigrate me for being divorced; I have to shout much louder than a married woman to be heard and/or taken seriously; I have to be the steel armour which contains and protects the delicate parts of my family; I will never let my boys feel bereft in the absence of their father; I will do my best to remain financially independent of any help from others so as not to give them the chance to feel indebted to them.
The list above speaks of a certain kind of defiance in the face of a society that really does not do much to support women facing life on their own with their children. I can honestly say that it does take its toll on me mentally. It is quite draining to be perfectly honest. I have to present a bold front to the world and then turn around and face my boys and do the same for them. In a sense, I am living between two parallel realities and serving as a buffer between the two.
However, life doesn’t afford me (and other women like me I guess) much scope to have bad days where you don’t feel like getting dressed or going out of the house. I have no choice but to go on. There is no second person to hand the reins over to. And the irony seems to be this: whilst I wear that armour as a strong facade, inside, the core is also very tired and weary.
People have sometimes asked me if I would consider remarriage. The short answer is ‘No’. I believe there’s a time in life for everything I wouldn’t feel the excitement one does when in their twenties and all the expectancies that come with the vigour of youth. I don’t have the desire or energy to get to know someone and nor do I wish to explain my own story so far. I am not cyncial of marriage or love but I know that marriage is not the panacea to my life now.
So, in summary, I have come to know about myself in ways I perhaps would never have done if I had continued in my marriage and allowed someone else to control where we would be going next, both in real terms and spiritually. Allah has given me a new set of circumstances through which He wants me to shine. InshaAllah (God willing), I hope I don’t miss many of those opportunities. Along the way, I will continue to know the updated and revised version of myself.
Sometimes, the best memories come from the simplest of things. They do not always emerge from exhilirating adventures or adrenaline-filled excursions. It can often be the most nondescript days that produce little moments of ineffable joy.
Today, I write not about my own trip down memory lane. Quite unusually, I write here to talk about the recollections my sons and I have been sharing of times gone by; memories from all the different places we have lived in over the years. (And I can tell you, we have had quite a peripatetic life for the most part).
It’s heartwarming to learn, for example, that my oldest son recalls a time in Saudi Arabia, when he and I had walked together along a palm-tree lined avenue and then were sitting perched against our parked car sharing a bag of Doritos. It was early evening, so the sun was tolerably hot and we were enjoying a chat about nothing in particular. I myself had forgotten that day and I certainly had no idea he had remembered it till he told me just recently. It’s lovely to know that those kind of special memories don’t only belong to me but also to my sons.
The backdrop to a significant memory
It goes to show you never know the impact small things make on your children. Better still, those indelible photos taken with their minds are born of surprisingly unassuming outings with the family. Memories don’t have to be created from lavish and expensive displays of affection. They certainly don’t need to be created in the public domain. I much prefer a private and quiet life without drama of any sort. For that reason, despite existing on a select few social media platforms like Facebook, I consider my own life definitely not for the scrutiny of random strangers.
I’m sure those reading this post now would argue that I have fallen into the very trap I promised myself not to fall into. Precious moments between my sons and myself should be kept out of view. However, the very purpose of mentioning such an anecdote here is to serve as a modest attempt to help others see that there is a happy and intimate alternative to the public carnival lifestyle. Wonderful memories don’t even need to have heavily-planned prior investment. That is a fallacy that Covid-19 has definitely taught us. Magic memories can evolve naturally on their own without any effort. My wish is that adults understand that there is no definite correlation between the amount of money spent on something and the memory which it creates. What does matter is the presence of the heart.
For me, I live little private celebrations every day.
On the face of it, ‘feminism’ and ‘Islam’ are two diametrically opposed traditions. Some would argue that no two things could be further apart in their outlooks.
If we defined feminism as ‘the advocacy of the equality between men and women’, I can just imagine how many people would be clamouring to argue that it’s impossible that Islam is a feminist religion. To some extent that is true: in Islam, men and women aren’t considered equal, especially physically and emotionally. However, I would go deeper and not just skim the surface of the argument.
What those outside of – and even within – Islam forget is that Allah recognises the inherent differences between the sexes. After all, it is He who has placed those default settings in us. Yet he does not ask us to compete on the grounds of physical and emotional differences. Allah gives both man and woman a level playing field called ‘duniya’ (the world) and it is here that we exert ourselves in racing to do good and be good. The equality that we inherit is to do with our starting point in taqwa (God-consciousness). We all begin at zero and work our way up. Some falter along the way; others forge ahead.
All is fair in the race for equality
The trouble is that not many Muslim women are aware of their equal position at the starting line. We’ve all seen athletes taking their positions on the running track in a race. The one who starts in the innermost circuit seems to be the furthest behind whilst the athlete running on the outside lane seems to have an unfair advantage at the front. Yet, the reality is they are all evenly positioned despite what it may look like. This is the same for life. We women may be running in that innermost lane but, in fact, we are on an equal footing as the men.
So, ironically, as I go along my personal journey in life, trying to figure out my rights and non-rights in Islam, I have come to learn that this great religion defends my corner very well. It is both judge and jury working in my favour. I’ve so far lived a life as a single (pre-married) woman, a wife and mother, and now as a divorced and single woman again. As I have moved through each phase of my journey, I have also unearthed hidden truths about what I can and can’t do within Islamic perimeters. The net result is that I have not found religion inhibiting.
I know many people would beg to differ. Islam has such a negative image in today’s media. In so many arenas in life, Muslim women are usually side-lined, silenced or sullied. However, I feel it is incumbent upon me to stress that this behaviour is the working of a dystopic patriarchal society that does not recognise the rights and honour of women. If we all truly lived within the boundaries of Islamic tradition, we would not have modern Eurocentric ‘feminism’ serving as the alternative rhetoric to Islam. As it is, there is a growing body of Muslim women who feel betrayed by Islam and can’t see that it is their menfolk, and not the religion itself, that has let them down.
We do ourselves a great disservice by keeping the beauty of Islam hidden from our own women. Maybe some men fear a rebellion. For example, if we teach a Muslim woman that she has inheritance rights, that her money is her right to do with as she pleases, or that she is not only allowed but she is encouraged to get herself educated, then all these bold assertions will necessarily shake the self-serving pedestal that men put themselves on.
Knowing my rights as a Muslim and as a woman, is not an option any more. In an age where divorce is rife, women can’t afford to be ignorant about these things. I believe now that Islam incorporated feminism from the beginning. It’s just that it was never given a title. Feminism isn’t inherently antagonistic to Islam. I believe it is the inner of those two concentric circles.
I have recently been told I am a feminist. There was a time I would have considered that as a possible criticism. Today, I see it as a compliment. It does not offend. Instead, it is in keeping with my identity as a Muslim.
It is a harsh truth we must learn to face. Who has not lived a life where, in our youth, we had high hopes and an innocent confidence of what was yet to come? Then, as time passed, those hopes slowly diminished and at the other end of the time spectrum, we look retrospectively at life and realise that many of those ambitions never came to fruition.
So, who is to blame?
Frankly, I believe no single person can be held responsible for those missed opportunities. Life is complicated and often the trajectory we map out for ourselves is met with unforeseen circumstances which put a dent in our plans. The thing that I have learnt in recent years is that it is up to me to close the gap between the ambitions I desire to fulfil and the actual job of fulfilling them. Reliance on someone else is a dangerous dependency which I have cured myself of.
I would argue that having seen life from both sides of marriage, the gap between reality and fantasy is even more possible to close. That’s because I am in charge of my own affairs now and do not need to consider someone else’s views. That may sound pretty selfish. However, I beg to differ. It is precisely because I put a great part of my own life on hold to facilitate others’ progress, be it my children in their academic lives or my ex-spouse in his career goals, I feel I have earned the right to focus on me. Now, I come first. If I’m not going to take this stance at this stage of my life, then it’s never going to happen.
I would advise anyone anywhere never to rely on someone else to make your life happen. It is entirely within your grasp. If a goal can’t be achieved now for whatever reason, never give up on it altogether. For women especially, they must carve out a niche in life for themselves which nobody can enter. It is a zone which allows them to be as creative or as relaxed as they wish but it must be a place for their wellbeing. It has to be a place where they call the shots because goodness knows they don’t get to do enough of that in so many other realms of their lives.
Higher goals yet to achieve
An example of what I mean is this blog of mine itself. It is my own space where I am liberated from the drudgery of life’s routines and can almost have a conversation with an invisible audience. The bonus is that nobody can interrupt my train of thoughts. Another goal I have is to sit solo on a cliff top lost in reverie – a nelipot overlooking the azure sea and sky on a sunny afternoon! Neither of these are examples of unattainable goals but to have them and make them happen is so important. It is a satisfying sense of independent accomplishment set and achieved by myself.
There are some gaps in life which may never be closed but I could do worse than not to aim to at least make them narrower. I refuse to be held back or feel disadvantaged because I do not have a man by my side. This will not be my handicap. It will be my liberation. I don’t deny that good company would have been a wonderful bonus. However, I totally believe I am a work of Kintsugi as I mentioned so many blog posts ago. I have not given up on myself. I have not given up on life. InshaAllah, I will do my best to keep moving forward as long as Allah Himself allows. The only gap that I need to keep in mind is the one where I am forging ahead and others cannot keep up.
Who would deny that the simplest things in life are the best? We spend the better part of our lives vying for this and that, be it a job, a house, a car and a myriad of other material things. Age does give the benefit of hindsight and a wisdom that cannot be gained from reading books or simply listening to others alone.
Nature
In my own limited experience, I have come to know that I derive the greatest pleasure in life from the simplest of things: a stunning flower, the subtle sounds of water lapping on the riverbank, the mellifluous sounds of chirping birds, the susurration of trees swaying in the breeze. Nature displays its charms so unreservedly and it is there for the taking. I like to think I rarely miss an opportunity to lose myself in its midst. Alhamdulillah, I am fortunate to be living in a place where all these things are at my disposal 24/7.
Family
Quite apart from nature, there is one other aspect of my life which I relish. It is the time when my boys and I come together to sit and talk about anything and everything. It’s not so much what the topic of discussion is but that we are simply fortunate enough to be in one another’s company at that time. I know as they become fully-fledged adults and the demands of modern life pulls them into their own distractions, their affection is real and still draws them back to me as their mother, Alhamdulillah. I may not have had a daughter but I don’t miss her absence. My boys have often combed my hair, pampered my tired feet and massaged my head. (There have been varying degrees of alacrity in those moments but at least they have obliged).
I do remind them of the many things I juggle in my daily life. It is not to instigate sympathy for me or a word of ‘thanks’. It’s my way of preparing them for their own future. One day, inshaAllah, when they get married themselves, they will already be aware of the work involved in running a household – especially as a woman. My hope is that they will never take their wife for granted as, chances are, she will be doing the lion’s share of the housework. Feminists can roll their eyes here. However, I’ve rarely seen a reversal of traditional roles sustain itself in a marriage and not without a negative impact in some way.
I am convinced that if men were more acutely aware of the miracles that women perform in their daily lives at home, then perhaps many more marriages would have lasted today. The same applies to women who are unashamedly disconnected from the daily grind that their husbands endure to support the family. In both cases, being blissfully ignorant of the other is a disaster in the making. I believe it’s why many marriages tragically come to an end.
So, being in tune with nature, being brought back to a place of humility, is a good place to learn our own insignificance in the grand scheme of things in this world. We are so deluded with self-importance. A great reality check would be to stand at the foot of a mountain, or in the middle of a field, to know how tiny we are. Our egos are disproportionate to our relevance to this world. Likewise, just being present in the moment of a conversation with those we love or care about – these are the priceless treasures nobody can create. Not only are these things free but they are humbling.
Faith (Imaan)
Being humble is a means of connecting us right back to our status in this life. It is predicated on the knowledge that Allah should always remain at the epicentre of our existence. I have found that having a reference point to conduct my affairs in all matters large or small, is by far the greatest free gift given to me by my Creator. Acceptable behaviour is not some random set of rules I design for myself. Rather, it’s a formula which has been assigned to me from Above. But abiding by those rules with a conviction that Allah knows what is best for me, rather than leaving me to judge for myself, is such a wonderful gift that it’s surprising it goes unnoticed. In one stroke, it does away with manmde biases such as culture, traditions or habits, where these contradict Allah’s orders.
My advice to others? Chase the things which are intrinsic to developing your soul and give you a clearer understanding as to why you are here in the first place. Material things are anybody’s game. They are simply an outward manifestation of purchasing power or money in your pocket. But to appreciate nature and to value family is a testimony to understanding all of that from a station of gratitude and faith that everything is in perfect balance.
For the last five years, I have, more often than not, wondered about the reasons which lead to the demise of my marriage. I concluded that it must have been insurmountable incompatibilities rooted in cultural and ethnic differences. Moreover, it was all my fault; I hadn’t worked or tried hard enough to move across those monoliths of ‘culture’ and ‘ethnic differences’ and adapted to a new normal.
All that changed for me recently. I now know for certain that those were not the catalysts for the breakup of my marriage. Why do I speak so boldly? It’s because I very recently learned that my former husband, who had swiftly remarried after my departure, to a fellow thoroughbred of his own background, has recently succumbed to another failed marriage. Intriguing. How do I feel? Vindicated. Completely. Utterly Vindicated.
The years I have spent beating myself up for being the sole cause of my divorce, I cannot explain. In my mind, I had failed my husband, failed my children and worst of all, failed myself. He had not been pleased and had sought a new life to start afresh. Now I see that actually, it wasn’t me who was to blame. As clearly as I see the white full moon against the black canvas of the night sky, I believe the whims of man are often the cause of so many failed marriages. Mine was no exception. How else could I explain the sudden, erratic decision my ex-husband had catapulted onto our reality?
An unpredictable change
I write today with an unreserved candidness to explain to others reading this that there are no fixed formulae for marital success. For those who ruminated on my own marriage, offering their sometimes outlandish theories as to why it ended, I reject all they say. There is no rationale for it. Except this: man is an irrational being. And I mean ‘man’ with the exclusion of women. Perhaps that will irritate many male readers but I speak with empirical evidence. This has been my personal experience and my personal observations of too many countless marriages that have ended, including my own. How else could someone wake up one day and quite literally do a U-turn? I have seen men reach that critical mid-life point and suddenly become restless and confused – as if they have just awoken from a state of suspended animation and realise they need to make up for lost time. They seek to rewind time and press the ‘Replay’ button. How best to achieve that? Release themselves from their present lives and find a suitable replacement which deceives them into thinking they are able to recreate their own youth….
I am writing today without any real editing. I am expressing thoughts which I have had fermenting for some time but never gave any real attention. Now, upon hearing that my ex-husband is divorced for the second time, but in a fraction of the time he had been with me, gives me the right to make these statements today. He, who married a woman of the same ethnicity, culture and language, and therefore, an infinite ‘improvement’ on me, will have to admit that the common denominator in both failed marriages is indeed himself. However, I don’t believe he is quite ready to do that yet.
Until men admit to themselves a great deal more culpability for their own shortcomings, rather than shift the onus on their womenfolk, then we can continue to expect to see many more marriages coming apart at the seams. I am tired of seeing and hearing women beat themselves up about their own faults because they couldn’t live up to the impossible standards set by their husbands. My plea to women who find themselves in this situation, is to not reduce themselves to a nothingness, a person of no self-worth. Only Allah has the right to judge our worthiness. In uttering those fatal words of ‘divorce’ or ‘talaq’, I see now that the real victim is the man himself. He deludes himself that he will be moving onto Bigger and Better. In fact, he has shot himself in both feet, not just one. He has paralysed his own future. Pity the man who does not recognise this tragedy.
Alhamdulillah, I have lived to see justice being delivered. The best part is that I didn’t need to do anything except exercise patience, and Alhamdulillah the fruits of that I can see here and now. The truth is nobody is a victor in all this sorry mess. For five years, I have only ever wanted people to see the ugliness of their own actions. Alhamdulillah, my prayers have been answered.
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