redefining, rediscovering, and reminding

for so much of this year, i knew i was not myself. it’s been eating at my subconscious, making me second guess everything - my goals, my priorities, my hijab, my self-worth. it felt like i compromised so much of who i thought i was because all i could focus on was getting through these past few months. there’s something so incredibly frustrating about knowing that you are not at the best version of yourself. 

for those reasons and more, i think i began to categorize myself as someone who doesn’t deserve happiness. anything remotely good that might happen to me is tainted by this thought in the back of my mind that it’s all going to come crashing down and i don’t allow myself to enjoy anything completely. i led myself to believe that only purely good people deserve purely good things that last. everyone else gets a taste but nothing more meaningful. and let me tell you, that anxiety and that reluctance to enjoy life for what it is will weigh on you. 

there are bright days, even bright weeks, where i am distracted long enough to forget why my heart feels so heavy. my guard goes down and i allow myself to feel loved, to feel purpose, to feel happiness. for a split second, i allow myself to be those things and i’ll think i am making progress. 

then i’ll make a mistake, or two, or three and all the “progress” i think i’ve made goes out the window. because for some reason i’ve convinced myself that progress is an all-or-nothing concept and mistakes are unacceptable. but by believing that, the only person i am hurting is the 15 year old girl who thought the world would be better off without her, and she deserves so much more than that from me because of how hard she worked to get here. maybe i wasn’t my best self yesterday, last week, or maybe even now. regardless of the mistakes i’ve made or the times it seemed as though i was only moving backwards, i have to constantly remind myself that those mistakes don’t make me unworthy of good things. i have everything the girl i was at 15 thought she would never have or get to experience. that is progress. i owe it to her to acknowledge where there is room for improvement while also being kind to myself when improvement is hard. 

i have always been a person that feels every emotion deeply, been brutally candid in her writing and vulnerable enough to share it. but for a while, that version of me disappeared and i was scared. that vulnerability made me brave and it’s that vulnerability that i lost for a long time. being missing in action from my blog for so long now and attempting to sort through all of this self-reflection, you would think i’d have pages and pages of content to share with you guys. but trust me, i’ve sat down countless times and i could never write anything that seemed worthy of sharing. nothing seemed real or honest or beneficial for others to read. and i think that’s why it’s been so hard for me to write. somewhere along the way, i forgot why i started this blog. it wasn’t to be inspiring or be known as “the girl with a blog” or to prove to anyone the extent of my writing capabilities. this is supposed to be a space for me to document, to reflect, to grow from. this space is for me. my writing is for me. sharing this is just a method of accountability for myself to live by my words. to not just say “be kind to yourself when improvement is hard”, but to actually follow through. if, along the way, someone finds comfort in what i write, alhamdullilah. i hope he or she knows they are not alone in feeling the way they do, even if it’s not found in my writing. 

2019 has been a year of slowly redefining what progress means to me, reminding myself who i am, and finding the courage i needed to experience again. 

this year i turned 19. i experienced highs and lows like no other time in my life thus far. i became dearly acquainted with loneliness, both self-imposed and circumstantial. i visited the country whose culture and perseverance is embedded in my blood. i chose a major that i was passionate about rather than one i could settle for. i found refuge in a yellow house of worship that brings me unimaginable peace. i made the decision for myself to go back to therapy. i’ve met people who have not just simply changed my life, but they’ve reminded me who i am striving to be in this life and the next. the amount of blessings that have come from the life i’ve lived so far is something that i frequently forget, and when i do remember, i couldn’t possibly be grateful enough no matter how hard i try. 

“love comes around often…sometimes we crave a different kind of love but that doesn’t make this one any less meaningful”. ayesha, you beautiful soul, you couldn’t have said it any better. and in the moments love or validation or happiness seemed absent, i now know i was just looking in the wrong place. because if i look at the times where i’m dancing like a fool with my childhood friends in someones living room, the movie nights with my family, the number of Ramadans i’ve been privileged enough to experience, the motorcycle rides through Saigon, the endless games of cards or uno or frisbee, the laughter at 6:30 in the morning that can only be found at Nueces on a Friday - if i look at all that and more, how could i not allow myself to be loved, to feel purpose, and to be happy? 

sincerely and humbly, Hana 

x