Bismillah-ir-Rahman-ir-Raheem
Assalam alaikum wr wb!
This morning – big surprise - I woke up in a foul mood and a pre-packaged splitting headache. I had spent some of the night tossing and turning and didn't have a very restful sleep at all. The only thought in my head, try as I might to suppress it, was, "I hate my job. I hate my job. I hate my job." Then of course, since people's jobs are a large part of their lives, it became, "I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life."
I got to work. I can't remember why I called my mother, but I did. As the list of strangers to call this morning became longer and longer, I think I just wanted a familiar voice on the phone.
Well, she basically sounded off at me for some reason I couldn't express in a nutshell. I don't think she could either. Anyway, it isn't important. What is important are the questions she asked.
What am I frightened of? I am frightened of people.
Why am I frightened of people? Because I watched my parents get hurt, used and abused over and over again. People, even – ESPECIALLY – those closest to me, have hurt and disappointed me in the past in ways and for reasons I cannot even begin to fathom. And no doubt, they will attempt to do so in the future.
What can I do to stop being frightened of them? Let that pain – both past and future – go. People can be anuses. People can also be angels. Every single person I meet has the potential to be both and I can't control which way they decide to swing.
What else am I frightened of? That overwhelming success I had at the beginning of the year without even trying that hard. I faced a wilderness of choices that all felt right and all felt wrong. It was sheer torture.
"Our greatest fear is not that we are weak, but that we are powerful beyond all measure." Damn right. I fear that I will find myself swimming with sharks if I venture out into the open sea. I fear I will not consider myself worthy, I will allow myself to be chewed up and spat out and then I will sink to the bottom of the ocean of mediocrity.
What else confuses me? God's love.
God loves me, it would seem. He loves me a great deal. But I can't for the life of me think why. God has blessed me with much material strength Alhamdulillah. But emotionally and sometimes spiritually, I am worn and thin.
I am frightened of being unworthy of God's love. I am frightened of straying off the right path as so many have here in this country. I'm frightened of becoming like Rochelle, one of the ugliest souls I've ever met.
But this sudden clarity comes here in this space of warmth and comfort – my pyjamas, my room, my house. Will I feel this way out in the field or will the fear return?
What is fear really? I'm no scientist, but it feels like fear is trying to keep me alive and keep me safe. So this self-protection mechanism is faulty. Real faulty. I suppose I have to reprogram myself.
Cheers, me dears.
Wassalam and Fee Amanillah,
Zed.
Sunday, 8 February 2009
Friday, 6 February 2009
It was a mistake telling my parents.
Bismillah-ir-Rahman-ir-Raheem.
Assalam alaikum wr wb,
So I told my mom, and then my dad this morning, about the man I met in the parking lot. The last thing they thought about was how he was reduced to such humiliation. They thought, "Oh, you were being unsafe. He could have reached in and taken your handbag. He could have done this, that and the other."
But he didn't. I gave him a 100 bucks. He gave me the Ayat-ul-Kursi. He told me his story. He walked away.
They gave me grief over the money,saying I gave him too much.
I want to tell them - the man was in distress. Grave distress. I believed him. The part of me that is not ego, that is part of the invisible forces that binds all of us, believed him and I gave him the money.
Plus. It's just money.
It's just money!
It's just money!
I have thousands in my bank account and I gave this man a 100. So what?
God bless him and keep him safe. It's just money. He didn't ask for retribution, blood or sex. It was just money.
I told them about it because I could not believe the city of my birth, the city my parents had settled in almost 30 years ago, the city that had helped us make a better life, had become this thing, this thing that drives people to their knees. It had almost killed me this past year and I think it was killing this man too.
And my mother - oh my mother has a forked tongue. I said, "If he lied, it's on him, not me. My conscience is clean." She said, "Well, if I did a foolish thing and I felt good about it, well that makes it alright then."
I should never have told them.
I should never have told them. Why do parents do this to their children? I'm not a child - I'm 22 years old. But why would you teach your children to not care about other human beings?
Maybe this is the disproportionate reaction my therapist was talking about. I have a strong sense of right and wrong and when someone violates it, I am up in arms immediately, giving me and the other person much pain.
What do I say then? What's an assertive response?
I'll think about that and get back to you.
Wassalam and Fee Amanillah,
Zed.
Assalam alaikum wr wb,
So I told my mom, and then my dad this morning, about the man I met in the parking lot. The last thing they thought about was how he was reduced to such humiliation. They thought, "Oh, you were being unsafe. He could have reached in and taken your handbag. He could have done this, that and the other."
But he didn't. I gave him a 100 bucks. He gave me the Ayat-ul-Kursi. He told me his story. He walked away.
They gave me grief over the money,saying I gave him too much.
I want to tell them - the man was in distress. Grave distress. I believed him. The part of me that is not ego, that is part of the invisible forces that binds all of us, believed him and I gave him the money.
Plus. It's just money.
It's just money!
It's just money!
I have thousands in my bank account and I gave this man a 100. So what?
God bless him and keep him safe. It's just money. He didn't ask for retribution, blood or sex. It was just money.
I told them about it because I could not believe the city of my birth, the city my parents had settled in almost 30 years ago, the city that had helped us make a better life, had become this thing, this thing that drives people to their knees. It had almost killed me this past year and I think it was killing this man too.
And my mother - oh my mother has a forked tongue. I said, "If he lied, it's on him, not me. My conscience is clean." She said, "Well, if I did a foolish thing and I felt good about it, well that makes it alright then."
I should never have told them.
I should never have told them. Why do parents do this to their children? I'm not a child - I'm 22 years old. But why would you teach your children to not care about other human beings?
Maybe this is the disproportionate reaction my therapist was talking about. I have a strong sense of right and wrong and when someone violates it, I am up in arms immediately, giving me and the other person much pain.
What do I say then? What's an assertive response?
I'll think about that and get back to you.
Wassalam and Fee Amanillah,
Zed.
Thursday, 5 February 2009
Poor man wanting
Bismillah-ir-Rahman-ir-Raheem
Assalam alaikum wr wb,
Today was an interesting day, by the grace of God. I don't get many days like this, so I thought I'd share.
It's been a nightmare week. Three times this week, I had to do the thing I dreaded the most. I conducted on-campus interviews and "roundtable discussions" – both quite inane, meaningless and major anxiety triggers, but a necessary and popular part of our weekly publication.
But luckily, I had my co-worker Liz with me, since she is being trained to take my place. So it wasn't as bad as it could have been, had I been alone.
Today was a mixed day of frustration and fun as students at one uni either turned their noses up or were simply too "busy" on Facebook to bother with us and students at the other were only too happy to cooperate. In fact, they were such a jolly bunch, I didn't want to leave.
I'm really pleased Alhamdulillah that I didn't burst into tears during the rough parts, though I did have some residual anxiety about approaching the snot-noses. I did want to train my colleague to do the same, but still.
On the way back, we moaned about the meanness of Rochelle. Which was unnecessary. Moaning about people who are not a part of your life anymore does jack for your life and attitude. If they are part of your life, moaning simply revisits the bad feeling and gives her more power over your emotions. There are all kinds of people in the world and I cannot control what comes out of their mouths. I need to learn how to communicate with them. Communicate my views assertively and then thereafter, negotiate, according to my therapist.
Now this is the interesting bit.
I knocked off at 5:15 and spent about a half hour messing around at a sale in the shopping mall next door, scootling between the "on sale" rack – which was nice, but did not pack enough bang for my buck – and the "not on sale" rack – which had a beautiful wine-colored top with lovely puffed sleeves and a slightly puffed shoulder, which I would have purchased on the spot, had it been cheaper.
Come to think of it, I think they just made up the sale to get people in the store. Well, it worked for this shopper.
I walked to the car-park and started up Bess, my Prado. She was chilly, poor thing, so I let her have a few minutes to warm up.
Some fellow nearby was playing loud music out of his car and the song sounded good so I rolled down the window. Just at that moment, this gentleman with some things in a shopping bag came up to me and fished them out, asking if I'd like to buy them.
I quickly rolled my window up, shaking my head, "No."
"It's the Ayat-ul-Kursi!" he implored in Urdu, holding up a wood carving, the sort you hang up on the wall. I shook my head again – no.
He began to weep. He said that if I helped him, he would make du'a (pray) for me when he went back to Pakistan. He asked if I wanted to see his ticket. He fished out an Emirates Airlines ticket from his pocket. He said only God knew how much trouble he'd been through.
My heart broke. I asked him how much it was. He said that whatever I could give him, he would be grateful for. He said that he had bought the thing for 55 quid. I gave him a 100.
He wept again. Now that he had my window rolled down completely, he spilled his heart out to me. Unfortunately, I didn't understand his heart much because my Urdu is rather sketchy. In fact, I kept whispering, "Please go, sir." I feel really bad about that now. He said that he'd been walking around since morning, without eating or drinking. I should have given him my bottle of water.
I drove home in a haze. There are beggars in Sri Lanka, my home country, but not here. Not in the city that leverage built.
This city is really going to hell. For this poor gentleman, I imagine it is already hell.
I know what you're thinking. Poor dear Zed has been fleeced for her life. Perhaps you're right. But I didn't give him the money for your approval, I did for Allah's approval. By His grace and His grace alone am I wealthy to even be able to spare that money. Besides, somewhere deep down, I feel that man wasn't lying. I'm far too clinical to simply 'believe' my feelings, but still, it is a strong feeling.
It is hanging in my bedroom now, the wall hanging. I think, in any event, it was a good purchase since I was planning on redecorating my room to be more woody, autumnal and whimsical. And what better way to start that process than with the verse of the Throne?
His flight is tomorrow after Jummah. I hope he gets the money he needs. I hope Allah (SWT) gives him ease after this hardship. I hope he goes home to his family and is able to forget. Ameen.
Wassalam and Fee Amanillah,
Zed
Assalam alaikum wr wb,
Today was an interesting day, by the grace of God. I don't get many days like this, so I thought I'd share.
It's been a nightmare week. Three times this week, I had to do the thing I dreaded the most. I conducted on-campus interviews and "roundtable discussions" – both quite inane, meaningless and major anxiety triggers, but a necessary and popular part of our weekly publication.
But luckily, I had my co-worker Liz with me, since she is being trained to take my place. So it wasn't as bad as it could have been, had I been alone.
Today was a mixed day of frustration and fun as students at one uni either turned their noses up or were simply too "busy" on Facebook to bother with us and students at the other were only too happy to cooperate. In fact, they were such a jolly bunch, I didn't want to leave.
I'm really pleased Alhamdulillah that I didn't burst into tears during the rough parts, though I did have some residual anxiety about approaching the snot-noses. I did want to train my colleague to do the same, but still.
On the way back, we moaned about the meanness of Rochelle. Which was unnecessary. Moaning about people who are not a part of your life anymore does jack for your life and attitude. If they are part of your life, moaning simply revisits the bad feeling and gives her more power over your emotions. There are all kinds of people in the world and I cannot control what comes out of their mouths. I need to learn how to communicate with them. Communicate my views assertively and then thereafter, negotiate, according to my therapist.
Now this is the interesting bit.
I knocked off at 5:15 and spent about a half hour messing around at a sale in the shopping mall next door, scootling between the "on sale" rack – which was nice, but did not pack enough bang for my buck – and the "not on sale" rack – which had a beautiful wine-colored top with lovely puffed sleeves and a slightly puffed shoulder, which I would have purchased on the spot, had it been cheaper.
Come to think of it, I think they just made up the sale to get people in the store. Well, it worked for this shopper.
I walked to the car-park and started up Bess, my Prado. She was chilly, poor thing, so I let her have a few minutes to warm up.
Some fellow nearby was playing loud music out of his car and the song sounded good so I rolled down the window. Just at that moment, this gentleman with some things in a shopping bag came up to me and fished them out, asking if I'd like to buy them.
I quickly rolled my window up, shaking my head, "No."
"It's the Ayat-ul-Kursi!" he implored in Urdu, holding up a wood carving, the sort you hang up on the wall. I shook my head again – no.
He began to weep. He said that if I helped him, he would make du'a (pray) for me when he went back to Pakistan. He asked if I wanted to see his ticket. He fished out an Emirates Airlines ticket from his pocket. He said only God knew how much trouble he'd been through.
My heart broke. I asked him how much it was. He said that whatever I could give him, he would be grateful for. He said that he had bought the thing for 55 quid. I gave him a 100.
He wept again. Now that he had my window rolled down completely, he spilled his heart out to me. Unfortunately, I didn't understand his heart much because my Urdu is rather sketchy. In fact, I kept whispering, "Please go, sir." I feel really bad about that now. He said that he'd been walking around since morning, without eating or drinking. I should have given him my bottle of water.
I drove home in a haze. There are beggars in Sri Lanka, my home country, but not here. Not in the city that leverage built.
This city is really going to hell. For this poor gentleman, I imagine it is already hell.
I know what you're thinking. Poor dear Zed has been fleeced for her life. Perhaps you're right. But I didn't give him the money for your approval, I did for Allah's approval. By His grace and His grace alone am I wealthy to even be able to spare that money. Besides, somewhere deep down, I feel that man wasn't lying. I'm far too clinical to simply 'believe' my feelings, but still, it is a strong feeling.
It is hanging in my bedroom now, the wall hanging. I think, in any event, it was a good purchase since I was planning on redecorating my room to be more woody, autumnal and whimsical. And what better way to start that process than with the verse of the Throne?
His flight is tomorrow after Jummah. I hope he gets the money he needs. I hope Allah (SWT) gives him ease after this hardship. I hope he goes home to his family and is able to forget. Ameen.
Wassalam and Fee Amanillah,
Zed
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