Bending the river

What a challenging day it has been today.
I've experienced first hand, several times, how difficult it is to be the one to bend the river.
The river has been flowing for so long in the wrong direction, that some lands were laid barren. It's supposed to flow there too, but somehow something  (probably beavers) have been rerouting the river by making a dam to suit their needs, defying the law of nature.
So I changed it.
The beavers were struck mad I tell you, hurling so many accusations that sometimes amazes me. I am baffled, how could you not see that what you are doing is so wrong? If it's easy doesn't make it right. Just because it was like that before doesn't mean it has to be so now. When something is wrong and you get away with it, even after a thousand years it won't be right. Whatever your reasons, ignorance or cunning, are destroyed by one truth: it is wrong.
So excuse me as I continue to bend the river. The route before is wrong and it has to be set right. Even if your assaults are relentless, this is what gives me conviction: this mandate is mine to carry and answer for before my God. Therefore only the best will do. Only the truth will do. Nothing else.

Incomprehensible absence

Most things are forgotten over time. Even the war itself, the life-and-death struggle people went through is now like something from the distant past. We’re so caught up in our everyday lives that events of the past are no longer in orbit around our minds. There are just too many things we have to think about everyday, too many new things we have to learn. But still, no matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us forever, like a touchstone.
~Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

There is a definite hole in my reality now. Just to fill it, I mouthed your name. Then I said it clearly,"Ayah". It took so much to say it, I was nervous about what would happen if I said it. But once I did, the word just got out, foreign to my ears.
Then the weight of how I miss you came on my shoulders, more so with the realization that you will not be found again, even if I look at all corners of the earth.
The absence is final, incomprehensible.
I love you, I miss you and we are all lost without you.
Surely Allah will take care of you, more than we ever could.

Braving through the rain

It was cold. The rain has been pouring endlessly from the dark sky, with no sign of abating. My umbrella is useless, I'm drenched from head to toe, my arms crossed over my shoulders in a frail attempt to give some warmth.
I have given up on running for shelter, this lonely road offers none, miles on end. I have given up thinking about my predicament, as the cold now is my major concern. It's always a wonder for me that people spend so much time wallowing in self-pity without actually devising ways to escape. It is not like I myself is saved from this trap, but I make it a point to not spend too much on it. Plus, if you fear for your survival, it leaves not much time for fruitless self pity right? So I plodded on, hoping that somewhere, something gives.
I held up my head for awhile, because walking with the head bent down is a sore to the neck. Occasionally I look up, look ahead to see where I'm going and to search for signs that the rain would stop. But the rain droplets assaults my eyes, flooding my vision. So I bent my head back down again, tiredly focusing on my battered shoes.
But wait. Was that a flicker from the distance? Is it a house, a car or anything that can offer solace? I suspect that it is just my mind orchestrating its devious tricks again: playing mercilessly on my hopes. So I look up, using my hand to cover my eyes in an attempt to see better.
My heart skipped a beat. Oh God, it is really a shelter! Finally, a place to go. It was as if injected with renewed energy, I made way toward the shelter. There were no concerns within my mind as I just really wanted to get off from the rain.
Reaching the wooden shelter, a grateful prayer crossed my heart. Finally, a break from the cold rainy night! I was standing on the ledge, with just a small awning of the roof over my head, rubbing my hands together to summon some warmth into my frozen limbs. Looking around, my eyes met with an uninviting pair of eyes staring at me accusingly that I have no right to be there. I was taken aback, muttering softly, "So sorry, I'll go once the rain let up a bit". There was a grunt signalling that I am not welcomed, but can stay until the weather is slightly better.
I was standing around there restlessly. It felt awful. How I wish I could have wings, so that I can run away without ever being an inconvenience to anybody. But to brave the rain again, my strength is drained. Just a little while, just a little while. I was trying to shrink the space that I take up, although the pavement of the shelter is wide and spacious. I feel the eyes sizing me up disapprovingly, and with each glance from those eyes, my heart sunk deeper.
I can't justify my presence there, that person doesn't know my journey and doesn't look eager to understand. Understanding is subjective and always a victim to judgment and prejudice. Knowing this, my attempts to explain would fall on deaf ears and hateful hearts. So I concede to their perception, praying constantly that I could run away and escape the situation.
I promise myself, as soon as I have the strength, I will continue my journey as lonely and dark it may be. These unwelcoming stops are just a natural part of the path. Convincing myself that the end is near, that there is a hope for salvation. These thoughts are what distracted me from my current circumstance.
Sure enough, the rain let up a bit. I mumbled my appreciation before darting for the road again, holding on to my useless umbrella. Not long after, the rain started again, with increased intensity from before. I was wondering where does all this water come from? It's a wonder why it hasn't flooded yet. The cold crept to my bones, cementing my resignation to whatever comes my way. The experience at the shelter leaving a bitter aftertaste. A cloud of despair shrouded my heart, but I plodded on. Maybe, just maybe the sun will finally show up and save me from this fate.