Ingratitude

Rock bottom, 

And unable to bring herself back up again.

She drowned in progressive depression, seeing the woman in the mirror uglier, poorer and unluckier by the day.

A socialite, surrounded by consumerist friends engrossed in conversations revolved around worldly desires. The more she heard one talk of her designer handbags and the other of the flirtatious comments she gets thrown at her, the angrier with life she became and it destroyed her inside.

Frustrated. Her father could only afford to provide a simple life and not the extravagance that her friends had. The man that spent his entire life loving and protecting her, she now grew to dislike.

Irritated. She lost her connection with God, because she was annoyed not being as attractive and wealthy as her friends.

But an angel whispered:

…And if you count the blessings of Allah, never will you be able to count them... {Quran 14:34} 

“Not everything is what it seems. There is more to life than counting shoes", her dear sister would tell her. "God has given us loving parents, excellent health and a  warm home. Be grateful, lest you lose it all and beg for what you had back”.

Although twins, they were exact opposites of one another. The first dwelled on what she didn't have; the other prostrated out of gratitude for even the little she was given.

“What is there to lose?” she replied. “We’re too poor to buy whatever we want and I’m ugly. Look at Mona! Look at Layla! They have wardrobes full of beautiful gowns and every man gawps at them in awe of their beauty!” 

“My dear sister, '…if the son of Adam has one valley, he will wish that he had a second, and if he had two valleys, he would wish that he had a third' – Contemplate on these words!” her twin pleaded, sorrowfully. “Allah has blessed you with things that money cannot buy and yet you weep because men do not look at you with lust and that you own fewer bags than so and so. I fear that one day, because of your ingratitude, we will lose everything we have and drown in remorse!”.

Not wanting to hear anymore, the first stormed out. That voice in her head returned and told her:

What does she know? She’s too religious and antisocial to appreciate the wonders of the West. Your sister is too regressive to understand your needs. Look what God hasn't given you.

And with every satanic whisper, she began to fume.

But again, an angel whispered:

…And if you count the blessings of Allah, never will you be able to count them... {Quran 14:34} 

She walked out of her home, wearing a frown and torn between the prevailing pessimism and wisdom of her sister. Head down and analysing the cracks in the sidewalks, she almost stumbles on a frail figure sat cross-legged on the cold slabs. The elderly man, struggling to break his rock-hard bread, puts a halt to his humble meal to give a heart-warming smile. 

“Such a frown hides the good in one’s heart” he said. “You seem agitated. Is there anything that you need?”. She shook her head frantically and hurried off, right before the frosty breeze brushed her face. 

“What could he possibly give me?” she thought, whilst fastening up her warm coat. “He doesn't even have a blanket to save him from this blistering cold”.

And again, an angel whispered:

…And if you count the blessings of Allah, never will you be able to count them... {Quran 14:34} 

She wished for the warmth of her room and craved her mother’s hot cup of cocoa. But she continued walking, with a half-frown, now torn between sorrow and sulkiness.

Her thoughts continued:

What reason did the shabby, old man have to smile? To be impoverished and yet, so content? If only I could go back now and bring him one of my old blankets. Yes, I’ll do just that! 

The goodness prevailing.

She scurried back, only to be barged into by a young girl of similar age. 

“Watch where you’re going!” she scolded at the stranger. All colour from the young girl’s face vanished and she apologised, beautiful eyes wandering, half concentrated on her and half on the road ahead. The young girl then bent to reach for her dropped belongings and walked off. The ungrateful twin froze in her place, each tap-tap-tap of the girl’s white cane crushing her discontent heart.

And again, an angel whispered: 

…And if you count the blessings of Allah, never will you be able to count them... {Quran 14:34} 

Her thoughts continued:

Such beautiful eyes yet she lives every day without the ability to see. How rude I was to her and yet how courteous she was to me. Shame on me! Maybe I should go back and apologise for my ignorance. Yes, I’ll do just that!

And she scurried back once again, but the young girl had vanished at a corner. She wore a half-frown, now torn between a pool of remorse and pinches of pessimism.

In those exact moments where she believed she had nothing, God showed her content people lacking what He had blessed her with. How ashamed she felt. Walking home, she began to appreciate everything around her - the warm clothes which protected her from the sting of the cold, her fully functioning legs, and the clarity in her sight to even the roofs on the homes she passed which sheltered the families within it.

As she stepped into her humble home, she saw her father also returning from work. He smiled at her lovingly from a distance, face paler than usual from the long, grueling hours of labour. She saw him flinch whilst holding his back and a nail pierced into her heart. Foolish, remorseful and feeling nothing greater than an ignoramus.

As she lay down her prayer mat, it struck her how much she had neglected Him by busying herself with trivial happenings and materialistic ordeals. The result of those in her social circle made her believe she was lacking or incompetent at appreciating life’s worth and the loved ones around her. Acquaintances they were, not genuine friends to neither learn from nor cherish. 

Prostrating and suffocating on her own tears, she whispers,

“O Allah, help me to remember You, to thank You and to worship You properly”


And He replies,

…Therefore remember Me, I will remember you, and be grateful to Me for My countless favours on you and never be ungrateful to Me... {Quran 2:152} 

And out of His mercy, her eyes were opened. The blinkers were lifted. She understood that gratitude can transform what we have been given into sufficient and beyond. “It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend” - The secret to internal bliss.

…And Allah has brought you out from the wombs of your mothers while you know nothing. And He gave you hearing, sight and hearts that you may give thanks… {Quran 16:78} 

If  He challenges his slave, it’s a test of the heart’s purity. How graceful we are in the face of calamities will be returned with His infinite blessings. 

…And swiftly shall We reward those that serve us with gratitude… {Quran 3:145}

I dedicate this to our master, Imam Mohammed Al-Mahdi (May Allah SWT hasten his reappearance)

Lord, Take Me Back

This is a fictional short story based on a young woman who's life takes an unexpected twist.


Headphones are in. World is out. 

Volume, amplified. Problems, postponed. 

My head moves rhythmically to the beat of the drums. 

Adrenaline rush, oblivious to the world now. I am in a bubble of my own, drowning out the disturbing sounds of this depressing world as my thoughts take me on an escapade, in tune with the song. A fantasy, and in it I am invincible. In it I am – Bang! 

My surreal world crumbles. Back to Earth.

Mother, knocking on my room door. She opens it and I hear a penetrative melody seep into my room. It was the call for the Maghreb prayer. A song of its own, but of a different sort. One that eases the heart yet awakens the mind. Soothing at the same time that it is reminding. Adrenaline is interrupted by guilt, but the power of the music has deafened me.

“Leave the music”, she said. “This is the Shaytan! Get up and pray”. I shuffle in my seat to show my mother that I’m getting up. 10 new notifications. Let me check them quickly, prayer can wait. I spend an hour updating myself with the trivial happenings of people I barely know.

My friend calls me, wanting to go out. I kill another 45 minutes deciding on what to wear, making sure that my jacket is super fitted, jeans are fashionably tight. She parks outside and calls me to leave the house. 

Damn, I haven’t prayed. In 5 minutes I manage to squeeze the prayers in but with a million thoughts in my head as I do so. My body is robotically moving to the verses, but my mind is far, far away. I am prostrating, but not reflecting. 

I rush down the stairs without saying goodbye to my mother. Get in the car and we head off. The CD goes in and I’m back up there. The car is moving with the song and I feel the bass pounding against my chest. All the stress vanishes. I shove all my troubles under the carpet because, momentarily, the lyrics have snatched my care away. Once again, I enter a realm of oblivion.

My favourite part was coming as we reached the traffic lights. My friend looks at me and I look back at her laughing. We wait for the best bit, clearing our throats for the high notes to come. Five seconds…four…three…two….

Halt.

We went spinning. Neither of us saw the van and it hit hard.

I was in a trance. Everything was blurred and I couldn't work out where I was. For a moment or two, the white light above me had me believing that I was floating in seventh heaven, but the indistinguishable voices of the uniformed professionals surrounding me came as a sudden realisation. I was probably in the emergency unit of the hospital because around me, there were many people at my care. They were discussing me. I was the centre of attention. But this time, I wasn't invincible. I was a vulnerable adolescent, hopelessly lying on an awfully clean hospital bed. Bruised and in a state of utter confusion. 

Why did this happen? How did I let this happen?

Between unconsciousness and full awareness of my surroundings, I heard deep, muffled cries. The same cries I heard once from a broken-hearted mother that I once neglected, and never listened to. The same cries of the woman that rushed to quench my thirst and hunger, from my cradle to this age. That woman, who wanted nothing more than my happiness. I heard the sorrow in my father’s voice as he reconciled my mother. I remembered all the times that I made fun of him to my friends for being angry and overly protective. What was the pain from my battered body now compared to that of my heart? I wanted to jump into their arms and wipe my mother’s tears. Apologise endlessly. Why were they crying? I’m going to be fine. 

I’m too young to die. I’m too young to die. This thought was repeated and ran through my mind. I can’t die.

But it wasn't up to me.

In that moment, I remembered the song that I was last listening to in the car. But this time, I couldn't move to the beat. I couldn't move my lips to the lyrics. I was paralysed, and the rhythm of the song was like fire down my ears. I wished to have my senses back, the senses that I had too many a time abused. Remorse overcame me and I bled inside. All those times I was disrespectful to my parents or didn't show them love, came back to me. I wanted to kiss their feet and hands. I remembered that girl dressing in front of the mirror, careless whether her clothing was tight or not and I was crushed inside. I wished that I had used my ears to appreciate the melody of the Holy book’s verses. That last prostration – If only I had let it last longer.

Just one year, God. Give me one more year and I’ll change. Lord, take me back.

But you can’t cheat death.

The wails as my corpse was lowered six feet under were piercing but became hushed cries the deeper I went in. Wails came from the same people that I had once slandered behind their backs. I could have done so much more in life. God’s mercy? Unfathomable. Immeasurable. He allowed me to make mistakes but I never bothered to learn from them. Instead, I repeated them over and over again thinking that the pilgrimage to Hajj would clear my history. Delete. Never did I think that I may not live to make that journey. The circumambulation should’ve been within, every day of my life. It was too late to regret.

I knew death was certain, yet I didn't prepare myself for it.

“I wonder at the proud one who was a drop of sperm yesterday & will be a rotting corpse tomorrow.

And I wonder at the one who doubts God but sees God’s creation.

And I wonder at the one who forgets death even though he sees the dead.

And I wonder at the one who disavows the final genesis even though he sees the original genesis” 

– Imam Ali (as) 

The Angel of Death does not wait for you, so what are you waiting for? 

Please recite Surat Al-Fatiha for all our loved ones and the youth in our communities that have passed away recently, in particular Yousef Zayni and Sakina Ahmed.