When it feels like one.

Castles

Will you promise me?
That we'd build castles where happiness lasts
And we'd have a kingdom
With bridges made of love

Hands above hearts
For you I'd pick up the pieces
From what broke you
And tore you apart

Have we not been counting the days?
Yet we don't know if we have tomorrow
But if tomorrow doesn't come
I know that the last that you had
Is my heart you held fast

He takes, He gives
Not all's for eternity
We wait, we pained
Just a little more
It comes, and it will pass

Will you stay by me?
To go through all that shatters
We'll go above the stars
And build castles
You and I

Feeling unwell.

Being sick is of course, the least thing that people would ask for.

But when it comes, may all of us embrace it. And see it from the lenses of hikmah. 

With His grace and will, lately I have been falling sick from time to time - not the usual flus and fever - and I cannot deny that my energy level is fluctuating. Being drained physically puts me a bit behind my plans that I have for my final year in Egypt. However, I know He is the Best of planners. 

I like to think, and having my mind active nearly every moment is a thing that is habitual. Falling sick has made me realize, and thought about so many things. 

I know the physical state of my heart is small, but at this moment I feel that my thankfulness to Him is too much, it exceeds the walls of my little heart. I see people's concern, I feel so much love that keeps increasing every day, and I can never repay all of this kindness. I know I can only pray for their well being and for them to have the best of this world and the hereafter, and I will definitely do that. May Allah grant them all the happiness in this world, and I pray so much that Allah forgives all their sins without having to endure pain insyaAllah. 

We are reaching the end of time, yet we are in this journey. Even if we know that tomorrow's the last day for us, and we have a seed in our hand, we shall plant that seed. Khidmah, and prayers, go a long way. And we shall do that. We shall live every day thankful to Allah, for being there and forgiving our sins in every way possible, while we are here ignorant and forgetful, constantly repeating our mistakes. We shall live our days doing our best being good to people, not to please them, but only because we should. 

It is such a wonderful blessing to not have any hatred in the heart. It is more of a blessing that it is not apathetic, and filled with so much love. May we all return to Him in the best state, with the Quran as our companion and nothing but good things left behind. May we all attain husnul khatimah insyaAllah =) For you and I; for our parents, teachers, syuyukh, friends, and the ummah. 

Masykuur, ya Rabb =)

Egypt is where the heart is.

I am in a distant place; away from home, along with many others.

In this examination heat where many are counting their days home, I am too. I honestly am. Because the thought of family, friends, and um, food is comfort. 

Yet Egypt is in the heart so dear. 

Some people I know have grown to loathe Egypt. Dislike Egypt. Because of the bad memories it has given to them. Personal attacks. Assaults. Harassment. You name it. In a country with a high percentage of poverty and low education, that is nothing but normal. But ever since the uprising and having multiple presidents one by one taking the stage which Egyptians themselves have now burnt down to ashes, Egypt is in a critical stage. A mess which unfortunately is not beautiful like any other. 

Now we await as the new president is being announced. The spotlight is now on Egypt, after Libya and Syria are starting to become distant memories. It's becoming to take a toll on me, and I can see it taking a strain on Egyptians. My juniors and I were on the way back home from Atabah in a taxi, and in front of us was this lorry (excruciatingly slow) with blaring speakers playing a terribly joyous song in support for what seemed to be the obvious winner in the current presidential election. 

I saw many faces and emotions.

On the balcony there were old ladies in their granny gowns, clapping and grinning in rhythm to the song. Young men were fooling around splashing each other with water and dancing in the streets. Kids were happily trailing the lorry, laughing and racing with each other.

And then there were the non-supporters in disdain, trying their best to ignore the uncalled celebration, even though it was impossible. This scene stuck in my mind, and still is. The painful part, is being reminded that unity is just a dream. 

I dream of a bright Egypt with no crime. Where it is led by an honorable person, where people live harmoniously, where there is no crime, and Al-Azhar glistens more brightly than it ever has. But this dream never lasts, and it never became true. Because it is a fantasy.

Egypt is a place where I keep being torn into pieces, and shaken hard. It is the place which I have hit my face hard on the ground but it is on the blessed soil that I stood back up. In these 4 years I have shouted (real loud) to a number of Egyptians, but I have given my heart to a tad too many - and that is more memorable. Living in a Muslim majority country feels like home. Like living within a big, big family. The warmth and hospitality are blessings. The lessons learnt are gold. The life in Singapore is moving at a speed so fast that it becomes blurry. What is warmth? It has turned into a battlefield for the survival of the fittest, a live competition. 

What are we striving for? What are we searching for? We don't know. We don't know what we want but we know we haven't got it.

Even though the future is unsure, I'm glad I have this place called Egypt to brace myself.

Random taxi conversation.

My friend and I was in a taxi, going back from a discussion we had at the clubhouse. Something was bugging my mind, so I started the topic.

"Awak you know how my friends are high achieving undergraduates and graduates mostly career-minded and all?"

"Ahuh." 

"Well time tu dorang tengah having this debate that nowadays being a housewife is a lesser contribution to the community, so they said every woman should go out and actually do something."

"Okay..."

"Yeah abih kte cakap being a housewife is just as noble 'cause we're like building the foundations of the community, but they didn't agree to that?"

"Well," 

"Ahuh awk what do you think?"

"I think,"

"...that kalau awak jadi housewife, it's going to be such a waste to the community."

My face turned into a... cookie. Flat. Because I didn't get the answer I wanted and it bugged me more. For the fact that I didn't really know what she saw in me and what she really meant.  

Replay.

"Kalau enti graduate nanti, kelulusan enti lebih tinggi daripada ustaz."
"Apa maksud ustaz?"
"Ana cuma belajar sampai diploma je. Enti kalau habis belajar, enti dapat degree."
"Ana tak rasa gitu, ustaz."
"Enti fikirkanlah."

-----

"Ana tak kisah pun kalau tak habis belajar dalam 4 tahun. Tahu tak kenapa semua bersungguh-sungguh nak habiskan dalam 4 tahun?"

"Kenapa?"

"Sebab sekeliling semua macam tu. Dah jadi kebiasaan. Orang suka ikut kebiasaan.

.... In the end, fikir balik, ada apa dengan kita nak ikut kebiasaan. Apa sebenarnya yang kita dah dapat dalam 4 tahun tu? 4 tahun tak cukup sebenarnya."

-----

Replay.

Between fantasy and certainty.

A dream is something that feels up the emptiness inside. The one thing that you know if it came true, all the hurt would go away.

What's your dream?

At the photocopy shop.

Among my favourite photocopy shops is Salsabiil. A small, humble shop in the middle of the 7th district; a place so familiar. I love it because the quality of the printing is always rather pleasing as compared to other places. And the service has never been bad, alhamdulillah.

So today I had to make 6 copies of a stack of notes. This time, I knew my visit to the photocopy shop wasn't going to be a short one. The middle-aged man named Alaa' working at the Salsabil is someone whom I'm used to seeing, and kinda friendly. So when he sees me he'll always talk about everything under the sun. I had a lot of stuff to be photocopied, so the conversation was rather long today (obviously). 

I was busy replying text messages, but Alaa' seemed happy with my presence, and simply starting talking.

"Yasmeen, you know how much I like Asians and Russians who come or pass by here everyday?"

"No, not really. And my name is Fairuz."

"Oh dear I'm so sorry. Fairuz. Yes. I remember you."
"Who's Yasmeen?"

He became silent for a long time, and I felt bad. Because I knew I must've reminded him of a painful memory. But then the guilt turned into restlessness, because I did have to have 6 stacks of notes in my hands and have them binded, and he was just standing there, staring into the ceiling as if trying to stop himself from crying, with only one stack of notes in his hands. I had to say something.

"I'm really sorry... was Yasmeen someone you loved before?"

He blinked, and smiled. Not that kind of a smile that you make when you're recalling a beautiful memory. It was the smile you make when recalling something so bitter.

"I used to love a woman. For years. But I wasn't ready. I had to support my father, who's chronically ill, and I vowed to myself that I would see my younger sister marry first, and help her to that. I took years to have the courage. When I finally thought I was ready... she had already married. She had a daughter. Her daughter's name is Yasmeen. And now I just watch her from afar."

"I'm sure there's one lady out there you would like. Egyptian women are all beautiful."

"No, it's not the same. It will never be the same."

I didn't know what to say, except for my apologies. I believed the best way was to change the topic. (Either that, or I could just painfully stare at how slow the progress of the photocopying was going?) So we had lengthy conversations about politics, about the house he bought for his sister and other light things like how I was doing in uni and where I lived, also random stuff like how both of us agreed that living expenses in Egypt was getting a bit expensive.

The atmosphere was calm, and turned silent as Alaa' was picking up his pace at photocopying. And suddenly he started talking again. It reflected how the woman he loved was still in his mind. So fresh.

"For your young age, Fairuz, do you know what love is?" 

I kept silent. From the look at him, I knew it wasn't a question I was supposed to answer.

"Love is when you look at the person and that person knows what you want. Knows your needs. And feels what you feel, even when you haven't felt it." 

And as he handed me the six stacks of notes, I left the shop questioning how I myself love.