Sometimes, when I can find no words to best translate these thoughts, I listen. I listen to people who can articulate my thinking and form images with such stunning arrangement of words, and offer their valuable perspectives and prescient views. I have been listening to On Being with Krista Tippett; a podcast which discusses big questions in spirituality, on finding purpose and what it means to be human. A recent conversation with poet Jane Hirshfield had me listening on repeat, over and over again, strikingly mesmerised and enlightened as I tried to internalise some of the wisdom she has to share in such poetic language. I urge you to listen to the brilliant conversation in full. This part resonated with me profoundly:

“I have been given this existence, these years on this Earth, to accept what has come into my lifetime — wars, loves, trucks, betrayals, kindness. I must take them. I must find a way to live in this world. You can’t refuse it. And along with the difficult is the radiant, the beautiful, the intimacy with which each one of us enters the life of all of us and figures out, what is our conversation? What is my responsibility? What must be suffered? What can be changed? How can I meet this in a way which both lets me open my eyes the next day and also, perhaps, if I’m lucky, can be of service?”

“…every inch of ground on this Earth has seen unfathomable suffering, some of it human, some of it not human, but there is no inch of Earth which is not soaked in suffering. But there is also no inch of Earth which is not soaked in joy and in beauty and in radiance.”

Jane Hirshfield

What struck a chord with me is how much her words reflect the truth of our living. Of responsibly owning our existence and discovering our abilities in order to pursue our purpose and bring benefit to self and others. All of life is learning to masterfully tread this earth lightly yet fully in its glorious transience. Acknowledging that joy comes with sorrow, that grief comes with hope, is the only way for us to embrace the fullness of everything, the wholeness of our every day. Regardless of our differences in faith, humanity will eventually come to understand that we are put on this earth for a specific purpose, distinct from the living of forest trees and sea creatures. We are given our bodies and our minds and our souls to do important work. Every single one of us carry within us a a great deal of significance. We are not data and numbers; we are flesh and bone, souls, we are emotions, we are art, poetry, language, we are matter. We matter. We matter a huge deal in this terrifying and beautiful universe. And we must not refuse and deny its catastrophes the same way we must not refuse and deny its brilliance.

Earth has been a silent witness to simultaneous suffering and sweetness. I am reaffirmed that this is the way she has been designed by Allah (SWT) in maintaining balance and teaching humanity by means of opposites. Every single thing on this earth and beyond is fully purposeful in its pairs.

everything He creates
exists in pairs –
the sun and the moon,
day and night,
the skies and the earth,
darkness and light,
women and men,
happiness and sadness,
slavery and freedom,
health and sickness,
past and present
wealthy and poor –
for what’s the value of one
without knowing the other?

In that fashion, so is this life. There must be another life that awaits us after this. Perhaps this is why life brings us disappointment and despair; they are here to teach us the value of joy, of love. And that is just the way this world is built to be. It gives us previews of the life in the perpetual hereafter – pleasant moments and breathtaking scenery give us glimpses of paradise, while burning fire and agony resides in the other. A way to let us remember that we are not to strive for perfection in the fleeting, but to believe that we are all on this journey for a while to attain something surer, and bigger than this, in a place eternal.

“Exalted is He who created all pairs – from what the earth grows and from themselves and from that which they do not know. And a sign for them is the night. We remove from it the [light of] day, so they are [left] in darkness. And the sun runs [on course] toward its stopping point. That is the determination of the Exalted in Might, the Knowing. And the moon – We have determined for it phases, until it returns [appearing] like the old date stalk. It is not allowable [i.e., possible] for the sun to reach the moon, nor does the night overtake the day, but each, in an orbit, is swimming.

Qur’an, 36:36-40

I like to believe that hope is ever constant, but hidden. I like to believe that there is still so much of this universe we do not know. Like a whole undiscovered continent sequestered underwater, discovered only centuries later. Nevertheless, in all that we know and do not, in all of current earth’s seemingly endless pain, there is always healing, there is always hope. As much as there is grief. There is always hope.

From my viewfinder, the world around me has been constantly shifting, moving, changing in its language, in its landscapes. The world in me is similarly experiencing a shifting, a readjusting, a relearning. 2021 has brought about a multitude of change, significantly in ending a phase of my life and entering the new. In the beginning, the unfamiliar feels daunting, the changes feel uncomfortable. To have to live with someone new in my life in an ordinary instant has been an adventure. Over time, as the shifting settles in a steady rhythm, it suddenly feels natural to be with a partner, as though my previous years of living in solitude, I can never imagine going back to. It has been nothing but surreal, these shifts I am grateful to experience. Like the moon, I am moving in phases; I am remembering how happiness feels like while grief coexists and says to me, you are allowed this lightness. Like every sign in this universe, I have learnt that never is our God imperfect in his plans as he creates everything with its balance; everything exists on an equal scale, in perfect measure. In perfect time. Like my husband and I, we are both swimming in our own orbits to complement each other, and learning from one another to live the phases of our lives as they come, with tears, fears, but always, fully and unapologetically, with laughter.

This beautiful life is short and long. All at once. Instead of counting the days with anxiety and worrying about the things that will not matter when we breathe our last breath, may we remember to find a way to live in this world fully, with the time we are given. As the year comes to an end and another year begins, may we ever remember our purpose, be constant in renewing our intentions, and believe in the power of our prayers. May we ever be patient with our personal storms, and may we ever be grateful when the sun shines its light on our faces.

And may we ever remember to live in the fullness of our every day.

It’s a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman past her twenties and in possession of a stable career, good degree, decent looks and fine manners must be in want of no man…

who doesn’t deserve her, obviously.

See, I’m tired of the ‘smart girls stay single’, or ‘girls like you intimidate men’, ‘we don’t need no men’ narrative. I’m tired, slighted and to be honest, cheated by it, because I once believed those platitudes, only to come to a gradual realisation that that’s not true. I believe that we are all destined to meet our life partners, eventually. I’ve written a blog post about relationships and all that jazz and if you had read it, you’d know my views on finding “the one”. My singlehood was a blessing and I appreciated my years before I turned 30 and got married as it allowed me to fully love myself, grow in my passion and anchor my values in what I truly want in life. (Here’s a book recommendation if you are wandering through this phase of life: Smart Single Muslimah by Farhat Amin. You can get it on Amazon or Book Depository. You’re welcome).

Recently, I got married, alhamdulillah. It’s been 3 months now, and we sometimes reminisce our first encounter and laugh at how easy it felt that afternoon, as though it had all been written and we were merely characters moving along God’s plot. I enjoy reading stories about how married couples met each other (particularly those that went to great lengths to preserve the sacredness of love after marriage) so here I am to share my story about how I, well, technically, first met my husband in a bookshop…

Like a classic 21st century love story depicted in the movies, our love story started with a swipe on the screens. We met on one of those Mozlem dating apps (lol) in what I’d say was an accident. You can call it a pleasant coincidence, because long story short, my family and I had already known his aunt’s family way back when I was in my kindergarten years (she was my teacher!). But we had never known of each other’s existence. Anyway, I thought I’d never be caught dead on one of those apps, but plenty of married friends have proven that these apps managed to yield pretty impressive results. Also, if you are like me, a teacher, at the point of your late twenties, then you’d know how bleak your chances are in finding a single, stable, mature man at your workplace.

So where do you go when the offline world seems hopeless?

Online, of course.

I downloaded it once just to see what it’s all about, and regretted my decision in 30 seconds. On my first attempt, I didn’t upload a photo when prompted because I didn’t want to be visibly seen; I was just there to ‘look around’. To my horror, I saw several familiar men I knew in real life and on the internets. Their profiles threw me off; some were vapid, while others were bordering on nauseating, considering that it was written by adult males of mature age. Needless to say, with a shudder and a sworn oath to never get on the app ever again, I deleted it.

In a few months’ time, for some inexplicable reason, I broke my own promise and decided to download the app again and post a photo – perhaps a decent photo will give me better chances of finding better quality men? – which doesn’t really show a clear photo of my face (I stand by my anonymity!) and CTRL+C CTRL+Ved a poem I had written to my future partner when I was a hopeful and sappy singleton in my bio because I couldn’t be bothered to write what my likes and dislikes are. And if a man doesn’t care about my poetic pursuits, then I do not care about him. Swiping through profile after profile of men who had liked you first felt so painfully superficial and reminiscent of scrolling down Shopee, shopping for a husband. Soon, I got sick of it and decided to delete it off my phone once again.

A few months later, after coming home from my summer trip in Europe, I decided to download the app again (it’s part of putting in effort, woman, you can’t simply pray, have tawakkul and expect your husband to fall from the sky, tie your camel!!) because, well, third time’s a charm, they say. And I was constantly reminded of my late aunt’s wish to see me married. So I did. I tied my camel by swimming in the dangerous waters that is the dating app, filled with disappointing, underwhelming, suspicious muslim men again.

(Before I get questions on why didn’t I ask friends and family to help me, well I did. But they couldn’t find anyone in their radar who met my criteria and were mostly afraid the poor candidate would not meet my expectations lol.)

It was an unceremonious afternoon. I looked through the accounts who had liked mine, and raised my brows when I saw a profile of a man who stated ‘Teacher’ as his occupation. It caught my eye because it was the first time seeing a fellow teacher on this platform. I said “Salaam!”, he replied, and the rest was history. He was skilled in his advances (He read my poems and my blog? He listened to my podcast? He bought my book? The man’s been scoring points!) as he studied my Instagram page and quickly learnt how obsessed I was with books, which wasn’t exactly rocket science. I too did my research (of course) by putting the analytical skills I’ve picked up from studying social sciences in university into good use (kidding), and found out that he’s fond of books and cats too (on the surface level, that kind of sealed the deal lol). He mentioned that had he known me from Instagram first, he wouldn’t have dared approached me because of how intimidating I came across. Well, thank God he didn’t find me there.

After a few conversations, we knew it was better if we met in real life as soon as possible. We had communicated our intentions clearly from the get go that we were not on the app to “just look around” so we knew we weren’t wasting each other’s time.

So, guess where did we decide to meet?

Yes, at our favourite bookshop. It was the perfect date – a trip to the bookshop, lunch, and coffee right after. It was also the first time he tried an Americano, which I’d only found out later on in our relationship that he wasn’t actually a fan. “So you drank all that on the first date just to impress me?” “Yes.” I was simultaneously amused and charmed by his determination and candour. I discovered that we have plenty of similarities as much we do differences, which mainly lies in our personalities (he’s calm, patient, gentle, slow, a homebody, hates vegetables, and basically everything I’m not). After an afternoon of good food over pleasant and cerebral conversations, we felt like we’d already known each other for a long time. Something inside clicked for the both of us. At that moment, I remembered my late mom’s answer when I asked her how she knew dad was “the one”. “The first time we met, I just knew.” I could never fathom what she meant by that, but at that moment, it all made perfect sense. Fast forward a few months, we decided that we were sure of each other, told our parents about our relationship and made plans to tie the knot soon. I prayed fervently and asked God to guide me in this life-changing decision. On the 12th of June 2021, we finally wrote our first chapter together.

Finding him wasn’t like a puzzle that finally fits and makes sense. Finding him was like finding the book that I’ve been wanting to read. Or the outfit that matches my book cover. He doesn’t complete me. He complements me.

(At this point, I thought I’d slip in a disclaimer: I’m not endorsing any dating apps and encouraging you to find your other halves through such platforms. It’s an option in this day and age but do exhaust other alternatives like asking parents and friends first. And if you do get on the app and were to meet the person in real life, do take the necessary precautions and do not meet in a secluded area.)

For the longest time, I thought I would never find this elusive, perfect man and settle down happily ever after. But once I let go of my lofty expectations of the people I love, I learn to love them in their journeys and progression. I lowered my ego and acknowledged my shortcomings too. I’m not perfect either. I learn to love better, treasure His temporary gifts, and appreciate his answered prayers. Till today, I still find it hard to believe that I’m married. How simultaneously bizarre and beautiful is this!? Allah works in such brilliant, mysterious ways. And He works in His own perfect timing.

If you ever feel like giving up on men because of all the unpleasant firsthand experiences or stories which your friends have told you, I feel you. I have been there, plenty of times. I remember making du’a to Allah to simply grant me what’s best for me, even if that means living a life of solitude with twelve cats, dedicated to cultivating herbs and spices and working on my dream novel. But at the same time, I knew deep down in my heart that I would rather have a life partner I could grow old with, so I put in the effort to wake up for tahajjud and shamelessly ask for Him to grant me a husband who loves Him, and who loves me. I learnt to be open to friends’ and family’s recommendations. I asked my loved ones for their prayers in secret because I knew how powerful they can be. I begged on the floors of the Haram and prayed for companionship. I remember saying, “Ya Allah, I’m so lonely. I admit that I can get very lonely sometimes. Please send me someone who loves me and who deserves me. Please gift me someone who loves You.” And when things somehow fell into place, I knew that it was a culmination of my effort, my loved ones’ prayers, lots of tawakkul, and of course, entirely Allah’s will.

I genuinely believe with all my heart, and affirmed by Allah’s word (78:8), that there is someone written for everyone. And that everyone’s story has been written by the Writer of all writers. So trust that in the destined library of love, between shelves of different souls and stories, every single one of us has a love that’s been reserved. And so, very, absolutely, well-deserved. (It’s just waiting to be checked out.)

But first, go find him in a bookshop.

Then, write your story. Together.

Photo credits: Love Me Tender @lovemetenderfilms
Location credits: Wardah Bookstore, Singapore @wardahbooks

Notes:
alhamdulillah – praise be to Allah
haram – holy/sacred place (referring to either Mecca/Medina)
tahajjud – prayers during the night
tawakkul – trusting in God’s plan
salaam – a common greeting in many Arabic-speaking and Muslim countries

I can’t recall the first time I was acquainted with your space. Was it with a friend? Or alone? Either way, you feel like home. The paperbacks, hardcovers, pocket books and tomes are enough to accompany my languid afternoons flaneuring down Bussorah Street. All my friends know I can’t leave the precinct without paying you a visit.

Leila Aboulela’s The Translator for myself, and Tariq Ramadan’s Islam: The Essentials for a dear friend. The first books I’d picked up from your neatly arranged stacks. Often, without meaning to, I’d swing by and sequester myself between your shelves. An assembly of ochreous, hanging lamps light your face like little moons. Whispered conversations, hands skimming new books. Light tinkling of your door bell greets a curious and sweaty visitor wandering around the corner on a sweltering afternoon. Your sturdy yet rickety century-old staircase transports me to the iconic bookshop flanked on the Left Bank in Paris. You are our city’s very own Shakespeare and Company, London Review, Atlantis.

A much-needed respite from a hot and humid day, or a shelter from the cold, drizzling rain, you have held space for many book lovers and fledgling authors like me. I enjoy chats with your booksellers who are ever so genial, warm and welcoming. I have connected with gentle, kindly souls during my first Qur’an journaling session which I had shared in your second-floor classroom. I was so generously given space to hold an Author Session for my debut book. And unforgettably, I had the golden opportunity to distribute my works – the first with a friend, Untuk Mama, and the second, my book of poems, Homebound, under your care. From Rumi to al-Ghazali, from Palestine to Turkey, from Qur’an to Poetry, the books you carry are food for my mind and soul.

You were even a witness to what’s been written in my own, personal story. On our first meeting, my husband and I had arranged to meet in your corner; flipping books and pretending to not notice the other as you witnessed our very first “Hello”. I knew I had to immortalise this memorable moment in photographs after we were wedded, at the place where we both first met in real life. You saw me reading, searching, teaching, learning, loving, in humility and gratitude. And I believe, that this surely is God’s gift, for gratitude is the Giver’s vision, never the gift.

Every book has a soul, the soul of the person who wrote it and the soul of those who read it and dream about it.

Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Perhaps this is the reason returning to you feels like visiting a dear friend. Perhaps this is why a step into your unassuming space makes me feel so alive. I feel welcomed and thrilled to join in these deeper conversations even if for a while. Here, as I wander down your aisles of towering books, and hide inside your cosiest, comfiest nooks, I am content to be ever transported to a world where I lose myself in these pages and find myself whole again…

The hour will not begin until time passes quickly, so a year will be like a month will be like a week, and a week will be like a day, and a day will be like an hour, and an hour will be like the burning of a braid of palm leaves.

The urgency of this hadith cannot be felt more this year which simultaneously feels like the slowest and the fastest year yet. I don’t think anyone would have anticipated most of 2020 to be spent staying home baking various types of bread and concocting sugared coffee, or manifesting one of the greatest ironies in life – social distancing – while granting our secret wish of having more personal space in this ever crowded city, or making ‘zoom’ probably the most widely used noun and verb of the year. All the important events and well-thought out plans that did not make through and which had us acquiesce in the maddening ‘new norms’, awaiting the denouement of this historical episode with the uncertainty of our fate, only revealed to us the realisation that there is nothing more precious than this one thing we have been taking for granted: life.

If someone were to ask me what would my highlight reel be for 2020, I’d say… this. This right now; me, sitting on my white IKEA chair, writing in my journal, a stack of unread books beside me, while ‘Cafe Ambience for Quarantine Corona Survival’ plays softly from my laptop. It is mornings spent running and trying out different routes, alone or with a friend. It is lying on my bed with a book in my nose, as my cat jumps on my stomach and insists for a nightly 10-minute cuddle. It is sending Whatsapp messages to say ‘I miss you’ or ‘Let’s meet soon’. It is none of the eventful things which had happened throughout the course of the year like my engagement, or my promotion, or my book selling around the world. The hallmark of 2020 to me will always be the glorious ordinary. The mundanity of the every day. The routines I might have since neglected, coming back to life again. The imagination I have let atrophied because I did not make the time for writing. The little insignificant moments that often go unnoticed, that pass by the day, are the highlights of my year. I’d like to think that I’ve become more acutely observant and grateful of the things in my immediate environment. Don’t get me wrong, I would still jump on the next flight to London or Istanbul, but I am quite content sitting here, on my chair, waxing poetic on the quotidian and scribbling in my thought journal, as the hands of the clock continue to move at fantastic speed. To be mindfully slow in a fast-paced, all-consuming world is a form of resistance. And I will continue to focus on what truly matters, if it means to resist.

What a time to be alive. For all that He has granted and denied me this year, I am still grateful to be alive. Many reroutes, but hope nudges me that hindsight’s always 20/20. Time will accelerate, the calendar will turn to a new page, things will change, but you will always have the power to carve your own slow space and take refuge in the eye of the hurricane, and tell yourself: Breathe easy. The morning is still here. As long as the hour is still ticking, there are books I have yet to read.

until i’m no longer laughing.

–

ps: you want to stand with the black lives,
then please stand first in your backyard.

shuffle across the kitchen floor.

after fajr prayers, he retreats

into his room. he recites a surah

until the skies grew lighter.

it’s been almost two months.

his bicycle in the balcony

has been collecting dust. some days

he lies on his bed, restless.

“bapak rindu tak, dah lama

tak pergi masjid?” he shook

his head. resigned.

my father lamented

when the announcement was made:

mosques will still close for eid.

i wish some voices could go softer.

the world is hard

as it already is. every day,

his feet, aging like weathered leather,

would pace their steps

to his second home. his latest

DIY project; sewing a layer of foam

to his prayer mat because his feet

had been away from the thick

carpets in the prayer hall.

we performed the final tarawih

prayer in the living room.

i just learnt that angels

the size of mountains

are with us when we pray.

the days have been a blur

of weekends and weekdays.

then came the subdued skies,

the final rays of sunlight. we recite

the takbir. victory and glory

tinged with melancholy.

in the morning,

i let him see his grandchildren,

their tiny feet, their antics,

through the screen. their bright smiles,

and the lampu lap lip we switched on

since the start of Ramadan

will warm the nights

for now.

I look back and half of Ramadan is over in the blink of an eye. Before I know it, I’ll be saying that about my entire life. – Nouman Ali Khan

I can’t find a better string of words to sum up how I feel about the remnants of Ramadan. Weren’t we just preparing ourselves for the arrival of this blessed month a few days ago?

I have to admit that Ramadan 2020 has made me more acutely aware of the blessings I took for granted for the past years’. I’ve missed staying up for Qiyam at a mosque with my dear friends, heading to the neighbourhood bazaar to get affordable food for iftar, performing taraweeh with congregants at the mosque, communal iftar with friends and other family members…

But in hindsight, Ramadan 2020 has brought with it hidden blessings that I’m incredibly grateful to experience. I might not have the chance to do Qiyam but I get to schedule my day around daily prayers, carve some time to watch Islamic lectures online and catch up on the books I’ve always wanted to read but complained of not having the time for. I might not be able to go to the bazaar to buy food on days I run out of ideas to cook, but I find more time to try my hands on new recipes. There might not be a congregant to pray with, but at least I have my dad to lead our prayers together, and have a better concentration in it because I get the privilege of taking my daily siestas. Loved ones might be far away, but this distance is made nearer by dearest family and friends who surprised me with food, making sure we are well-fed. The following is just an appreciation post of the delicious iftar goodies I received from my loved ones – they’re all my absolute favourites!