a reflection as the sun rises on a day that is not promised

a few weeks ago, i was at a really low point. i had a hard time coping with the things i was feeling and old memories, but i’ll spare the details for another time maybe. one night, actually the last night that i was in Austin before going home because of the pandemic, i became overwhelmed with it all. i was with my friends and everyone was having the best night of their lives - but i was on the verge of a breakdown that i haven’t felt in a long time. i was surrounded with people i loved and that loved me but that didn’t stop me from feeling suffocated, so i left. i got home in tears, terrified for the first time in years of something that i thought i had healed from. turns out i hadn’t healed yet. i fell asleep out of pure exhaustion late that night and as scared and as upset that i was, i also remember being angry.

i was angry at myself for feeling so hopeless, for letting myself become overwhelmed. angry at the fact that i couldn’t explain to my friends why i broke. and i was angry at the fact that i felt so alone, despite having just left the people who i care about the most. for a while after that night, i caved in on myself. i started quarantine physically and emotionally, hardly having the strength to reply to anyone or even interact with my family. my sadness persisted, but so did my anger. i expected the people around me to know what i needed without me having to say it (simply because i didn’t know how to) and i got frustrated when they didn’t. i wanted someone to miraculously fix me because God knows i was having a hard time doing it myself.

my family and friends have always been my greatest support system. in all honesty, there’s nothing wrong with that being true. but it’s the expectations i had for them that have changed drastically over the past few years. i expected my support system to always know the right thing to say. i expected them to be able to show me love the same way i showed them. i expected their time when i needed it. but i expected too much from individuals who have their own lives, problems, and most importantly - their own ways of communicating. as i spent time adjusting to quarantine, finding a routine and some stability again, i slowly began reaching out to people. i took a long time coming up with an excuse or explanation as to why i disappeared, even going as far as to open up to those closest to me about my past. hearing everyone’s replies and simply talking to the ones i miss so dearly made me realize three things-

1. even if people don’t know what to say, or maybe even if they say the wrong thing - it doesn’t mean they don’t empathize or don’t care. very rarely will you find someone that understands you completely and you will never find someone that is able to read your mind. but i have been lucky enough to find people that i know want the best for me, that worry about me when i disappear, and that will do anything in their power to make me feel better. everyone loves differently. some of my friends always know exactly what i need to hear to calm my anxiety. some know how to just listen when i talk. some of my friends tell me about little things in their day or send me things that remind them of me, regardless of how long it’s been since we last talked. some give hugs that make me feel like nothing could ever hurt me again. and some just know how to make me laugh no matter what. and at the end of the day, each and every single one of them love me in their own way. 

2. COMMUNICATE, when you are ready. despite being someone who is naturally vulnerable and will typically willingly talk about what she’s feeling, this time around was incredibly difficult to be honest. first and foremost, honest with myself about what happened and why it happened. but telling those closest to me was difficult because i didn’t want it to change what they felt about me. the more time i spent isolating myself and shutting everyone out, the more i was worried that they would eventually grow tired of waiting for me. however, i understood that it was unfair of me to expect them to reach out or even be able to help if they didn’t know what was going on. when i finally did find the courage to talk, their responses were almost universal - we are always here for you, you don’t owe us anything, and we still love you the same if not more. 

3. no relationship you build is permanent (save for the relationship between you and your Creator); no matter how close you are to your family or friends, there are limits to the love and time that they can give you. sometimes those limits are not even up to them. it’s something that’s taken me a long time to come to terms with because i wanted to believe that my loved ones were indestructible, safe from harm and from ever harming me. and it’s that standard that has come to hurt me and teach me the most. i’ve grown close to friends who were seemingly perfect, only to find out sooner or later that my trust or love was expendable to them. i’ve depended on friends who seemingly saved me when i needed someone most, only to realize that my dependency on them meant that i never grew as a person or as a Muslim. i counted on the fact that my grandpa would always be there, be there to witness my milestones in life. always sitting in his blue recliner waiting for me when i came to visit. but even a relationship as pure as that one is not guaranteed forever on this earth. everyone you will ever meet, you meet for a reason. for however short or long they are meant to stay in your life, they will teach you things about yourself that will change you. in one way or another, they may even break your heart. but heartbreak is inevitable and it is human. what makes it worthwhile is what you learn from it.

this life is so, so short. and time is never promised. not a minute, a day, a year, or even another Ramadan. if there’s anything anybody can agree on after the past few weeks, it’s that no matter how meticulously we plan our lives - there’s nothing that can stop our plans from being completely taken from us. but that just means that every second is ours to utilize.

a reminder this holy month of Ramadan, to myself most importantly: you are in this life for you. sure, being there for others and productively contributing to society are things that could make you a better person. but those things mean nothing if you cannot forgive yourself, if you cannot be kind to yourself, if you cannot constantly strive for improvement. allow yourself to be loved and to love, without unfair expectations or ego being involved. find the friends who not only make you comfortable, but make you a better person. and lastly, give yourself time to heal, hana. it will take time. i know you thought you were done and i know sometimes you get tired, but i promise that every step of the way makes you stronger.

may God allow this month to be beneficial to us all, bringing us the peace and guidance we seek all year round. may He accept all our sincere worship, fasting, and prayers. may He ease every hardship. may He allow us to love each other for His sake. may He grant us success and pure intentions in all that we pursue. may He protect our loved ones and reunite us with them in the highest levels of paradise.
ameen.

“Although the halting place is dangerous and the destination distant, 

there is no road which does not have an end.

God, the changer of conditions, knows my condition, all of it,
if separated from the beloved and importuned by the rival:

Don’t grieve.”

- A Hafezian ghazal from medieval Iran 

(and KDJ’s instagram story)

missing my Austin view and West Campus white noise