YAY
Labels:
South Africa,
World cup 2010
My story - where it all started (part 1)
Over the weekend, while sitting on my couch, in a beautiful city called Doha (located in Qatar) some 3363 nautical miles away from home (Johannesburg, South Africa), I recalled some incidents of my life that brought me to this point in my life. This thought, actually started a week ago when a friend played a song that I bought myself – a song I used to play often in my car when I arrived in Qatar, 2 years ago. I never knew my friend back then neither did I know the real meaning of the song, (an Arabic song, “MeshA’aref atghayar”), but I knew it was a sad song and it was so fitting at the time, as I had just arrived in Qatar, alone without my family and little emotional of my life. My thoughts left unattended that day found its way back to me over the weekend. In an effort to uncover them, I have decided to write it on my blog exactly the way it is in my head – I’ll be sharing my life, the sad and the good, then I’ll bring you back to Qatar where I will tell you more about this amazing place that brought peace to my soul.
Being a South African and pushing against the politics of a western nation as a Muslim left me often feeling cheated. I was a 4th generation Muslim female growing up in a country that had a turbulent history in terms of race and freedom and as if that was not hard enough, I often felt life dealt me an odd set of cards because of life as a young person.
My story seemed to have begun with my mother becoming a revert to Islam - it seemed like the most treacherous sin ever, even bigger than killing someone perhaps that she reverted to Islam - how dare a revert from the Indian community seek solace in the circle of the Muslim community? As strange as it sounds, that was the reaction my mother endured for most of her Muslim life. The tiring burdening cultural differences of the country seemed lesser of a issue as my mother’s quest to be accepted seemed to have been a self induced war because of her love for my father.
My mother married my dad (a Muslim) and embraced Islam for him but that reason soon became a misery that passed on to us, her children - we were never really "Muslim" according to people. I remember the day when I was about 5, my mother dressed me up in a red short sleeved t-shirt and a knee length pants but was told by the Muslim elders, that it was not permissible. So instead of opting for summer fashion, I lived winter all my life. While they were correct, what was not, was imposing that behaviour on a 5 year old whose mother was just letting her be a child. What became a norm to me was seen as bizarre to others but nonetheless my mother was destined not to be shot down so easily. It was like a boxing match and in my mother’s corner; there were a few people, good people, who assisted with her reversion into Islam and while I don’t know all of them, I do make dua, they will be amply rewarded for the good they bestowed upon my mother and indirectly us, her children.[Inshallah].
Instead of giving up, she enforced a reverse approach in an effort almost to prove a point. I remember the days when my family was conveniently not invited to weddings or sitting alone with my mother through some Eids while my dad and brothers went to pray or opened shop as a means of passing-time.
Our parents tried their hardest in the midst of their own battles to give us a good life; money was little but so well spent and appreciated. Sundays was our pleasure day, a trip to “Games”, the store to get our weekly share of chocolates and other smallies that made our weekend glow. I loved going for drives in the car, often stopping at the side fruit grocer to pick the fruit of the season or those really cool stick bubble gums that came with the world flag series stickers. Those were the days when stamps were cool and lime milkshake was the treat of the week. My brothers were darlings (I had no sisters) so I was typically the tomboy – either hiding out in our secret valley (a bush that seemed to shelter some shade and privacy from the rest of the world) or building tents – it always fell over though. We had some chickens and cats too – my eldest brother was tasked with taking care of the rooster and chickens while the cats seemed to have found a home with us. I wonder what happened to those chickens…the rooster used to be my eldest brothers friend. We used to race to the door, when we knew the milk was delivered. Clover Milk - yummy, in glass and creamy as ever. In front of our house, we had a piece of open land, my mother and brother homed some corn, herbs, wrinkled lemon, guava, mango and avocado trees…Somewhere in there too was the home of the chickens and at the back of the “garden”, was a tree filled with black berries. The sky used to be the prettiest blue with the clouds, all low hung and as bouncy and cuddly as they come.
I love the taste of fresh lemons and often ate them off the tree.
When we young, we used to take many trips to the South coast, two places of note are, “Port Shepstone and “Margate” – it was resort city, ideal break away with horse riding, windy palm breezes, sandy shores, picnic time, shell hunting, boat rides and games… it was mini paradise.
My eldest brother, often now perceived as “stubborn” is actually a sweetheart but filled with a heart of emotion possibly even greater than mines as he leads with 4 years gap over me. Now he often laughs when his son, says something to him, and while we all try to spoil the little guy like there is no tomorrow,in lieu of our past, we are trying equally hard to make sure that as the head of the next generation (in our family), he has strong values and is a true Muslim. Filtering the western out from him is more difficult than our times though, considering he gives us a run for our money – he never quits on a hearty debate especially when it’s a question of animals or dvd’s! My little politician (and national geographic fan) and I often used to sit in my bed on Sunday afternoons watching movies, while he would engross me in discussions over whales (pronounced way hools) and sharks. They were apparently the best he’d known until now that is – its dragons right now, namely one in particular, “Toothless”.
My often dubbed “twin” is second brother who is younger than me by a year, we spent a lot of time being naughty and getting big brother into trouble because of our naughtiness. None the less we did all put in building the Saturday afternoon lunch tent, even if it was a failure from the start :D. Mind you now he has 3 little gremlins of his own and his boy, the only one, is the naughtiest fellow, even more so that his self pro-claimed princess sisters. Strangely enough his first and second are a year apart too:)
7 years on, came the youngest, a great disappointment for me at first as I was expecting a sister and got another brother *pfft*…all in all he turned out to be cute pumpkin of a baby whom we loved and fought to carry. In a few months, he borders on new territory, as he gets ready to tie the knot, Inshallah. So that leaves me officially as the only unmarried one – my mother prefers to call me the only baby in the house *how cute*.
My dad, a very reserved person, often till this day, does not talk much. He is retired now, enjoying life and works just to fill his time. Back when were young, he spent tiring days in the business to see us through school and university with the help of my mother, they accomplished well-appreciated life together
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Labels:
Blue Pearl,
family,
Islam
No one ever claimed that happiness is sweet
I could never find a single reason why I should be unhappy considering I had a colossal energy draining few months. The incidents in the those months however could not be the reason for my unhappiness because even prior to their existence, I had felt a blank space in me. It was like I was an alien in my own life and so questioning myself made me realise that I am not unhappy. The next obvious question, then, is "Why do I worry so much?". As if the worries and the blatant inability to down nutrition had lost me and prompted me to question this more, I could not help but realise the power of my mind or the gift of communication.
You see many people spend years trying to find happiness yet it has always been there. For example, I could decide that, to be happy, I have got to eat an ice cream and in doing so, it does present that happiness however shortly thereafter the feeling is gone and yet another is needed to satisfy me. That need for happiness will constantly come up until I can tender to it no more and depression sets in. For goodness sake, how many ice creams can I possibly eat in a day. Following on, even though my marker was set on ice creams it did not secure happiness in its entirety but certainly presented two known points, "temporary happiness" and "my amazing mind". Yes that’s right, the latter is the genius! So if I tricked my mind well enough, I could make it believe things it would never ordinarily believe but how do I do this without allowing the thought of what I was conjuring up, to play my conscious like a cheat.
And so I found the prolonged art of the mind that requires you to let go, be patient and be persistent. It meant that I would have to believe in what I wanted and just let go, let go in order to calm myself, be patient and create a sanctuary up in my very own mind. My conscious will always play games but belief always screws that challenge right back to where it came from. That would mean letting go of my hates, letting go of my "normal human behaviour", letting go of my follower attitude, letting go of my old habits, letting go of the past and just be a different person.
And so I decided to put my theory to the test...It’s a challenge to let go and resistance in letting go was an even bigger problem. As my friends went about their normal lifestyles stacking up on couture, fine luxury, chaotic lifestyles, weighty arguments, irrational venting sessions and their need to steal the corporate limelight, I was trying to move away from it all. Irrevocably the question did come up, "Am I doing the right thing?".
Time certainly answered that question. Over the months, as I watched all this staging around me, I un-noticeably was becoming a lot more acceptable of my different approach to life - seeing my friends delight in their modern day entertainment whilst my pleasure contained meditation time (with God) and separation from peer pressure, I found myself absorbed in nature, its beauty and the amazing creatures in my garden that I almost forgot about. An ant in my path was a friend and no longer an enemy. I had seen birds in my garden that I never saw before and flowers, their scents and beauty encapsulating me like a Sunday afternoon fling.
But I could not hide out in the garden all my life nor in the comforts of my room, I had to have discussions with others, I had to be a person, I had to live within the laws of this world. And so I acquired this challenge working on communication and talking about the present, the past, emotions and disparities. In my conversations with God, it seems so easy and that’s because it’s always one way traffic. That was the marvel technique that, "one way traffic" that got me started on my next journey. Communicating – it involved listening and giving feedback and in arguments, a silent patient approach and a heart of a rock. As I uncovered, we all vent in different ways and so I should leave the person to say what’s on their mind. The flip side of conversations is that they can go bad and often it becomes pointed and normally when it is pointed, it pushes you into a defensive spot. You see the trick was to ignore the normal human behaviour for a start. In acquiring the patience though it was not easy and the only way I secured this patience, was through prayer. My belief in God and his destiny for me (on a daily basis) forces me to be patient and know that everything happens for a reason. This point even holds firm in the things that happen in our lives.
Today I can tell you, in tears still, I can be patient. Regardless of where and how, conversations can be good or bad. In the good, I need to listen and talk about my life in meaningful ways. If I have no meaningful words or good advice, I should not speak. I can share an experience and I can make someone smile or laugh but I should always conduct myself in a positive manner; and in the bad, the ability to defend my point of view is a given but I reversed that action and adopted a silent approach to curing that case forcing the future. I never want to squabble but being human, these things stumble on you and in its appearance, holding patience showed its beauty. Of course it takes masses amounts of persistency because not everyone reacts the way you hope but the persistency is key to bringing back calm. In the relevance of our state of happiness, we don’t all need to be the same, we don’t need everything, we don’t need much actually and we don’t all have the same thoughts and opinions - we just need to be happy in our own world, to delight in what we have.
No one said happiness would come without some tears but even in tears we have some delight of the past or the future.
I have created a monster in my head that is destined to be happy no matter the circumstance. God gave us beautiful gifts in nature all inclusive of ourselves and yet often we neglect our biology’s - the very key to our self-accomplished fame. No one ever said happiness was sweet but rather a state of contentment that only we ourselves can give ourselves. It is also a thought, that everything we hear is not what we want to hear but rather a lesson that, those words are the echo of another’s happiness and acceptance of their happiness is a beauty in its own regard…
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