Who I’m I??

 

It is funny how your peaceful sleep (ish) can be disrupted, all of sudden rendering you restless.

 

Late last night, I got a call from a dear friend of mine. There is nothing unusual in that itself, because I often get calls from that friend. As my intellectual friend and fellow conspiracies theorist, often takes my brain for a spin before leaving me with my rumbling confusion. Last night conversation was one of our more serious conversations about religion and the role of religion in our life. Struggling with practicing and maintaining the right balance between actions and hoping for Allah’s mercy can be tricky.

 

In some conversations I listen, others require my feedback, on this occasion I had no answers or feedback. The words both troubled and bothered me, not because I was confused by their content, but because I had no answers. There is nothing worse than having no answers when you are trying to sleep, in fact I can honestly say the worse bed bugs is the rumbling of an old brain.

 

The conversation centered on a question, one which they have asked themselves, friends and now me, the answer to the question was still unclear even to them. But the question partly answered itself, the conversation went something like this:

 

Y: I don’t know who I am, but I can tell you who I am suppose to be.

Me: Huh, is that because…

Y: Because Allah tells us who we are suppose to be in the Quaran and the Hadith

Me: Yeah the characteristics are given…

Y: But I am not who I am suppose to be, so who I am. I asked my friend today and…..

 

Having turned the question around in my head while I listen, I realised I was clinging to lingering ideas to try and define “who I’m I”.  After a long while of tossing around possibilities, we said our salamz and ended the conversation.

 

Now if only I could do the same with my brain, which continued to operate in its own fashion. I realised that I too, may not know who I am; huh I don’t know who I am? Say what, that cannot be possible I thought. Hmm, well I can point to what I do, what I intend to do, an account of my daily activity, but adding all these up, it does not amount to a decisive and definite picture to answer the question of “who I’m I”.

 

So who I’m I? I had no answers, so after tossing and turning for what seemed like hours on end, I fell into restless sleep. When I woke up I was in a bad mood, on my way to work I was still bothered by my lack of answers to the question. I won’t go into my endless thought process, but somehow, and I don’t even remember how, I started to dissect the second part of the question. It made sense since it was what I knew for certain, maybe if I break down “who I am suppose to be”, it will help. The task seemed enormous because as I recall “who I am suppose to be” consists of more 360 different characteristics, the list was endless…

 

 

I was getting somewhere because I at least I know who I am SUPPOSE to be, or rather what I am suppose to be. This is described in detail in the Quran, the Hadith, and one of my favourite books “the ideal Muslimah” which in 600+pages breaks it down. But I am not that person and trying to be THAT person is a lot harder than it first seems. Even worse, the chance of being THAT person completely at any point seems impossible or at the every least difficulty. Every step I take forward in one aspect takes me some steps back in other areas. Would I ever have all the core elements and characteristics of that person described, to be a complete. You know you always hear that person is a well rounded person, does that mean they are good at nothing and bad at nothing? I did not want to be hanging in the middle of no where, neither here or there, but I also understand that having all the elements and characteristics at any prolonged period is impossible, but moments are possible…right?  I concluded, that in those moments  will I know with certainty who I am because it will be congruent with who I am suppose to be. 

 

But the niggling feeling of knowing that perfection was not our intended purpose won’t let it be. I will sin, and I will make mistakes, so I cannot rely on moments to define me; So maybe we are just supposed to know who we are supposed to be and work towards that…  hmm. Therefore Who I’m I, is defined by the aspect of my life I am addressing- the part which I am trying to ensure its compliance with who I am suppose to be at that particular time.

 

If all my actions and components correspond with the ultimate perfection described, then I am who I am suppose to be, however we’ve already discussed the imperfection of humans, particularly myself. So I am a person in transition, a continuous cycle of improvement, monitoring, evaluation and retakes.

 

What is missing from this picture, is a mention of what I am, which I am not suppose to be (i.e. my wrong actions/sins.) These actions can be addressed by the actions and components described (i.e. prayer, fast etc), but at times extra help is needed. In order for me to even get close to who I am suppose to be. I should be aware of things that I am or do, which I should not be. Now that the symptoms have been discovered, part of the diagnosis is to address these symptoms appropriately. For example, if I am an alcoholic, part of my diagnosis will be considering appropriate treatments; this could include fear of Allah, fear of punishment, staying away from places that serve alcohol, throwing out my vintage bottles of wine, making new friends. It could include radical such as cleansing my blood stream, particularly if I am an addict. If my weakness if men or committing zinah, my treatment would be different to a certain extent from if I was an alcoholic, but very similar, I too can rely on fear of Allah and his punishment, remove myself from the environment, make new friends, avoid men, staying at home, living in a cave, getting married or some sort of invasive treatment.  

 

So what have I learnt?? Well I know who I am, but I also learnt that to become who I am suppose to be, I must address the symptoms and root causes of my short comings, it prevents reoccurrence of the same problem. I also learnt something else, and that is perfection is to be pursued, but not achieved, at the end of the day, anyone who goes to heaven including the prophets will do so, not because of their actions but by Allah (SWT) mercy. Therefore I can try my best and hope and pray Allah will have mercy on me and forgive me for my short comings.

 

Now that the puzzled is solved or at least makes more sense to me, I can look forward to sleep tonight, thank and inform my old friend of my findings.

 

I’m out.  

 

 

 

 

I had a test…

 

Last week I had my first exam in this semester. It was the module I hated the most, it was so complicated, a random mix of numbers, theories and empirical evidence. I like the teacher, he did his best to make me understand. I putted in the work, but I was still struggling. A month ago, I returned to working full time, therefore my revision was late night/early morning reading. I was tired but I was focused, I was determined. I stayed up late into the night, jumped out of bed early in the mornings, sometimes as early as 3.05am. The motivation was to “pass- with flying colours”  I mean, how could I not pass? I had all the information, what can possibly go wrong?

 

On the day of my exam I felt nervous, I was a mess, anxiety, tiredness and worry. The exam was at 6.00pm! At 5.30pm, I told my non-Muslim study buddy I was going to pray Asr quickly. I hurried away to the prayer room. I started my prayer in a hurry, for the first raka, I picked one of the shortest surah’s. When I got to the sajadah, I was suddenly overcome with guilt. I could not believe I was rushing my prayers for an exam. A bloody useless exam in this dunya was interfering with my prayer, my investment for the future , my worship, my link with Allah. In the four days leading up to the exam, I had swapped my after fajar Islamic reading in preparation for this exam, my thoughts had constantly been on passing this exam that I forgot the biggest one of all.  How sad, how shameful! I contemplated not even attending the damn exam. I made a promise, never AGAIN.  From that moment on I was clam, in fact I did not even care anymore, its importance started to fade. I even got to exam hall late. I did my best, then walked out and did no give it a second thought. Since then I’ve had three others…

I remember Syria:

Dedicated to Faith…..

 

Following my post “one year ago” it is about time I tell you what happened after I boarded the suicide Syrian Airline (it is chaos with the loudest passengers and it has dents on the side of the plane) with all Arabs and my America blond boy.

 

After several hours (six and a half to be exact) and a run thorough France we landed in Syria. I followed everyone, for I had no idea where I was going, we got to check out, and I started to queue up on the “British/ American” lane. A guard appeared immediately by my side, in Arabic he shouts “you are Somali” I look at him a bit funny “yes” I answer back, hoping he would leave me alone to ponder on why there was so many policeman in the airport. I noticed an Arab man shouting at one of the checkouts, although I could not hear what he was saying, he sounded Iraqi. “Follow me” the solider/ policeman barked at me. “Oh lord” I thought, I followed, “I am taking you to the area for immigration/ refugees….” (I could not understand everything he said) I stopped walking, he stopped too, I can sense he was getting annoyed with me. “I am not a refugee, I am a British citizen, so I am going back to the queue I was in” I start to turn back, “yes, but you are Somali, you must go thorough immigration” I was getting mad now, damn my Arabic it was letting me down, so I switched to English “did you hear me, I am here for a holiday, not to stay, I have British passport (I shoved it in his face, he snatched it off and started flicking thorough)…” I stopped as it dawned on me that he did not understand a word I just said. Errrrrrrg I was getting frustrated. I started speaking in my broke a*ss Arabic again, “give me my passport” I took it and started walking away back to the queue, he did not follow, as soon as got there, another one arrived “you are Somali, follow me” I wanted to cry but I laughed, I looked back, so I can point at the guard I was just speaking to earlier, but he blended into the dozen ugly uniforms walking around. “I don’t speak Arabic” I told him in English, “but you are Somali” he answered in Arabic. Alhumdulilah the first guy appeared again and took him away. I wanted to say thank him, but they left too quickly, I kept my head down for the rest of the time and looked at my shoes, I was wondering about my luggage, where is it and how do I collect it, I’ll ask the check out dude, I thought. I finally reached the front, where one chubby older guy sat with a slightly taller man standing behind him, looking over his shoulder.

 

Before I opened my mouth he said “you are Somali” and started to call one the policeman’s over, “follow him” I stood there staring at him, trying to calm down, I dropped my passport thorough the window to his side, he opened it, looked at the picture and then at me, “where is your visa” he said, I answered in English “The agent said I can get it from the Syrian Airport” He pointed me to a another check point, go there, change some money ($35) to Syrian money and get a visa and the come back to me. I did as I was told. It took another 30mins before I was done, In my haste to get out I forgot to ask where my luggage got to, but I did not have to look far, all the bags was in big hall with no guards, close to the entrance. I grabbed my suitcases and headed out into the sunshine, it was a beautiful day.

 

 

Fast forward to the next day, I was staying at Maashruucu Tomar, (or maybe Sharaqqu tomar) a nice quite hilly area with no shops for 20minutes walk. I won’t bore you with all the details, but in short I spent most of my time in Damascus.

 

Starting with the best part; my favourit and where I spent most of my time, the old Damascus, as Fabulous would say “It don’t get no better”!! Traditional restaurants, live music and entertainment, not to mention Saladins Tomb and Al qabani theater to mention a few.

 

Let me take you on a walk which I still remember so vividly (with the help of my loyal camera) starting with Souk Alhamadya, a beautiful little market with little shops that sell traditional items like jalabyas etc. I spent many afternoons there haggling with traders who force you to sit and drink tea while you work out a price (What is that about!?). At the end of the souk is the mosque AlOmayed, it is so beautiful, mashallah, I loved it. I can talk about this mosque all day, just this mosque deserves a post of its own and inshallah maybe one day I will, I spent hours inside it and they even do tours in English and tell you about the significant and history of each and every bit.  Carry on through the market because you will find the best shops for sweets and lovely spices etc. Finally dinner/ lunch at old Damascus restaurant is a must, it is called Dimashk alqadyma they had old guns and weapons and waiters dressed in traditional clothes with nasty coffee (worse than Turkish coffee, it is so strong, I still have nightmares about it)

 

Baab Touma has the most beautiful buildings and nice places to sit and how could I forget Hamaams.

 

Also in Damascus, the mountain of Bloudan offers one of the best views possible, It was snowing up in the mountain when I went and I had dinner at at Mora, I went further up the mountain, and they told us we must head down because the snow was getting really heavy and the road will be unsafe. Sadly I did not have time to go back to it. I also went to Boukein.

 

Speaking of mountains Jabal Qasyoun, made me want to move to Damascus for good, it is such beautiful view, that it is a wonder why any Syrians will leave Syrian for places like London! I eat in Ahla Tuleh, Which sits on the side of the mounting with the best food and view.

 

New Damascus was okay, I was not too excited by it, not much to it unless you want to extensively eat out/ smoke shisha and clubbing. I did go to the National Museum, the historical Museum and Al Salhia. All I remember about New Damascus is eating out!

 

Out side of Damascus, I went to Latakia and it was a lovely seaside, with sea food and a day trip up the mounting, so beautiful. I also went to Aleppo and Palmyra, passed Tadmor and Homs (Khaled ibn al-Walid mosque and so many old churches) on the way, but this is another story for another time.  

 

One year ago…..

 I once had a hectic lifestyle like everyone else, I’ve never had just one job, always a combination of different jobs, mainly because I have a short attention spam and get bored easily and secondly because there are so many things I like and want to experience. To top it all off, I have so many causes I care about, and hence volunteer with so many organizations. I can never decided which single cause I care about the most and will work on at the expense of others. I mean I love to work with the kids in my area, the Palestine groups are close to my heart, while the Islamphobia groups is even closer to home.  Then I had two jobs to pay for me, uni and send money to my family back home. So that was the necessity. 

Anyway I took a year off after I graduated from my degree and worked like a workaholic, I dived head first into everything and anything that I remotely cared about, I did documentaries, events up down the country, training programs, e-journals, several websites and much more. I slept for four hours and the rest of the time I was buzzing. Everything was going well. Then I burnt out, all of sudden I did not want to do anything, I quit my jobs, and stuck to just volunteering for a two month, soon enough I did not want to do that either, I felt disillusioned, it seemed pointless, I never getting anywhere, the Somali kids were still on the streets, Palestinians were stilling dying and their situation only seemed to get worse, the war in Iraq still happened, Islamphobia was on the rise, (the British national party was winning more seats in parliament) So what is the point I thought.

One Saturday, I was sitting in front of my computer at 1am, my hands just started to move and before I knew it I booked a one way ticket to Syria, leaving the next day at 1pm. I started packing, I had no idea how long I was going for, so I did not even bother packing much. Just the essentials, and a tooth brush, a towel, two scarf’s, one Caabayah, two tops, two pair shoes, one pair of jeans, one black trousers and few other things. I had to be at the airport by 11am. At 9.30am I came down the stairs with my small suit case. I met my brother at the top of the stair-case, he looked at me funny, and followed me down stairs, my edo was in the living room, “where are you going” she said, looking surprised. I went to her, I sat by her feet, then I said “edo I need to get away, I booked a flight to Syria, I need a break” then I started to cry, I don’t know why I just did, I felt tired and drained, I felt small and hopeless. My brother must have run out of the room, because when I finally stopped, it was just me and edo. I hugged her, she walked me to the train station, my brother too, I said my good byes, read my dua’s and I was off. I knew my edo was upset and unhappy about me traveling as women and alone and so suddenly, but she saw how upset and down I had recently been, I knew she wanted to say No, but did not have the heart to put her foot down. Maybe she thought if she says No, I will never go back to my old self. She joked that maybe when I come back, I will be smiling again. 

As I sat on the train in dawned on me that I booked no hotel, I did not get a visa, nor have I ever left the UK before. Suddenly I was panicking. Then I felt guilty, I knew no one in Syria, I had no Mahrum, was it safe, was it wise, this is crazy I thought. Before long I was getting off the train and following the signs to the airport, I got a bit lost, finally I checked in.

Syrian airline is the ride of suicide, looking out of the window, I could see scratches and dents on the plane. This is a bad idea I though… a really bad idea, what if I die in this state, I will go to hell..?. Then I heard the kids, and families chatting away, strangely it had a claming effect on me. I text an old friend who lived in Jordan and said I’m heading to Syria, if your around I’ll dropping by to see you, my friend was more than happy.

The rest of the people on the flight were Arab, I saw a blond guy sitting alone looking confused (everyone was chatting in Arabic) and slightly uncomfortable. I went and sat next to him and started to chat to him. He was an America overseas student, heading to Syria to study Arabic. As we chatted I felt life creeping back into me… I felt anticipation, I was starting to feel excited for the first time, and I smiled at him. This is going to be okay I thought, just before the plane started to take off, and my heart and stomach dropped to my feet while it took off. I felt sick for few seconds.

 ……..It took me almost six months to find my way home for good, back to London, only to find it that I no longer thought of it as home. I found so many homes, I will tell you another day, how and where I spent that time. When I came back…that is also a different story for a different night.