AGING...

Ever held the hands of the sick, the old, bedridden or a dying person?

My father was an astute sports man but none of it showed when he got bedridden for nearly 9 months at the hospital. An accident had left him frail, weak and unable to move most of his limbs without help. When you touched his hands, arms, legs or any part in order to wash or help him move, it felt old, weightless and nearly lifeless. Worse case, his situation ‘smelled’ to me like a pain that had probably come to stay. I was young then, so I never thought or hoped beyond him getting better. So his death, like many others, shocked the living out of my then 15 years old body. I had to fake tears.

My grandfather, actually my grand uncle, one of my favorite people to live, was quite the tallest, most energetic and caring man I knew. The cotton softness of his palms, the weakness in his bones and his inability to walk without a support always reminds me of the memory of him I keep. One of him walking gracefully to me in Senior High school with some food stuff in hand. Apart from an Aunty, he was the only one who ever came to check up on me in school. He was and has always been my hero and holding his hands, kneeling and talking to him now, only breaks my heart. His voice is weak, his movement is slow, old age caught up with him while we were not looking. Him telling me about how he now remembers having felt burdened when he had to take care of his own father in his kind of state, made him feel like he was a terrible son, made me shiver. Life caught up with him while we were unbothered!

My step grandmother whom I have always known as a beautiful woman lays nearly lifeless. Fair, not tall and not very short with beautiful hair and a great figure. She has been in bed for a while now and can hardly even blink. Touching her, kissing her face, smearing du’as all over her body, made me lose sight of the world in which we live. And this makes me regret all the days I declined eating the tz she’d cook whenever I visited. As we frantically searched for our purposes in life, we did not see this coming our way.

These days, I like to think that I’m old. At least, old enough because I see my child and I’m reminded of the ages where I only could talk to my mother and aunties by raising my head up. I like to think that I’m old because of my own collection of experiences in life. But even while assuming this, I’m hit by a deep realization of ‘How did I even get here?’ A sober reflection of The Who I am, what I am, where I’m from, where I'm headed, only brings to mind, FOR WHAT PURPOSE WAS I CREATED? If I do not die any time soon, how do I walk hand in hand with life so it doesn’t catch me unguarded?!

As Muhammad Ali has said, “Old age is just a record of one’s whole life”. How well do you live your days?! Do you live them in appreciation of being blessed with that day? Do you live them in glory and with the knowledge that if you do not die any moment soon, you will be happy with a life well lived? And in your hustle and bustles, do you pause and carefully look at your reflection in the mirror and see that you are different from what you were before? A character or personality build up? 

That’s your old age catching up with you. If you haven't, take a day and visit any old folk. Any sick person. Pray for them and have them pray for you. Then while at it, LOVE AND RESPECT OLD AGE BECAUSE YOU ARE AGEING TOO AND BEFORE YOU KNOW IT...

NOT JUST A WOMAN BUT A MUSLIM WOMAN

Being a woman is easy but being that of a Muslim is quite challenging yet, fulfilling.

Sometimes, you think you've had the worse of life until you hear that of another. For me, life has, in it's own subtle way, taught me to be content knowing Islam than being content as a Muslim. The trials and tribulations that come our way as a result of discovering Islam, is a test of our faith. However, it is more difficult on us women when we have to deal with the inferiority complexes pinned on us by our societies.

When i say societies, our consanguens are certainly not left out. To have to deal with them highly opposed to our covering up, our "Godly" lifestyles which they often term as colloquial, our zeal to achieve good in this world and the hereafter, the struggle to get ourselves well or critically informed (i.e.seeking knowledge) like our men, is not just an infringement on our rights as women but a display of ignorance (from their part)on our personas as Young Muslim women.

However, without hesitation amidst all the struggle to gain respect and have the utmost free will to worship or serve Allah, in our own ways; (perhaps, the ways we know best) we do so via our short falls and still constantly strive to attain piety, victory from our human races and a self fulfillment that keeps us going.

It is hard. Very hard being a Muslim woman. But with the love for God, it never occurs to us that there's that kind of challenge. We only remember that time of the month when our abdomen persists in a painful reminder of the fact that we are eligible mothers. We recall the times when things are rough but say Alhamdulillah. We reminisce on the good and nearly forget the bad. We do not have any memory of being Striving Muslim women.

That becomes, a gift that only us can be given. Why? Because, irrespective of what we face, good or bad, we still keep ourselves close to Allah. Yes, as i say to myself often,the road from yesterday was rough. Today, it is being tarred. But by tomorrow,all the roads would have been made smooth for a beautiful journey.

Toutes mes félicitations mes amie. We've been kept safe from harm's way. All Praises are Certainly to Allah. ALHAMDULILLAH! It's been Awesome being a Muslim woman.