A Few Spare Dreams

When i was a child, Spring was a season i knew only for its liminality. I viewed it as the waiting room between the magical nights of winter and the warm memories of summer... Now that i'm an adult, i've fallen deeply in love with the very season i once overlooked. 

I'm in love with the way lightning fills the sky as rainstorms sweep across town and drench the verdant grasses, the way flowers exhale and stretch their delicate petals as if awakening from slumber, the way the soil kisses my skin as i press seeds into the cradle of the sunwarmed earth, the way every creature seems acutely aware that the season of renewal has arrived.

Isn't it strange how so much of our growth in life is marked by our ability to look at familiar realities through new eyes?

Someday when time allows, i'll come back and write about the magic of May... What a beautiful, dreamy month aH :)

Love always,

My childhood friend F’s dad passed away on Saturday… it was an extremely heavy, indescribably bittersweet day. If you read this, please recite a Fatiha for our beloved Taqi uncle 🙏🏻

What i remember about him most is how infectiously jolly he was; always joyful, always kind, always armed with a dad joke and a smile.

When we were growing up, me, F, and our brothers used to have a legendary sleepover at their house every Eid; us kids would look forward to it all year. We’d stay up all night watching movies, playing hide n seek in the dark, inventing new snacks, telling scary stories, attempting to watch horror movies that would inevitably keep us up at night, etc. We’d have endless adventures in the depths of their big, beautiful, slightly eerie childhood home. Sometimes, our other childhood friend N would join us, and she’d have us laughing for hours- to this day, no one makes me laugh the way she does :) At the end of the night, we’d cover the entire floor of their media room with a long line of comforters, pillows, and blankets, and we’d fall asleep one by one.

When we were teens, i introduced F to my other best friends, and my brothers introduced her brothers to their extended friend group, and we’d all get together like one big happy, chaotic family and spend every summer hanging out… Thinking back to how foolish we were, it’s genuinely a wonder we all made it out alive. One time, i was playing on an exercise machine and F’s brother M hopped on behind me, then jumped off without warning; the machine jerked forward and skinned my right leg so badly, i had a scar for years. But i remember looking at that scar with so much fondness years later, because it represented such a warm, carefree time in our lives.

Those summers feel like such a blur now. F moved away many years ago- i hadn’t seen her since her brother Z’s valima, but i’d been missing her so much lately… i had no idea our reunion would happen under such painful circumstances. I didn’t sleep a wink the night before her dad passed, and i had such a severe migraine all night and all morning, i didn’t think i’d be able to function. But by the time of the funeral, my crippling migraine somehow went from a 9 to a 3 in terms of pain, which has never happened before- i think God knew i really needed to be there for my friend.

At the funeral, it was so heartwarming yet bittersweet seeing everyone together again… there was so much love centered around so much sadness. I rode to the burial with my best friend, and we did what we always do at times like this: mused about the most painful, profound realities of life while making each other shake with laughter. We have a pact where neither of us is allowed to die until the other learns how to do ghusl e mayyat properly (the gag is that we’ll probably never fully remember all the ahkam, and will thus have no choice but to live forever… though in all seriousness, i think even a small slice of forever on this earth would be too much for me; i’d get too homesick to be with my Beloved again).

As we were heading to the cemetery, we took a wrong turn and ended up getting there as the burial was nearly done. The finality is always the hardest part, especially watching the final mound of dirt being smoothed over the grave. I held F as she wept and tried my hardest to keep it together… i wished so badly i could ease every hint of her pain. One of the paradoxes that always astonishes me about God is how infinite His rahma is, and yet- an expression of that very rahma is the depth of pain He gives us the capacity to feel.

As the burial was being carried out, i noticed something that i now realize i’ve experienced at the burial of every believer i’ve ever attended: a sudden beautiful breeze that was so blissfully peaceful and otherworldly, it emptied my mind of all thought and evoked the tranquility of Jannah for a moment.

After F and her mom departed, i wandered in search of my best friend and gave her a call- she was already waiting for me at my brother’s grave, along with his best friends. As we sat together, i quietly recited one of the duas that had brought my heart back to life after he passed away, and it struck me for the millionth time how utterly illusory time feels… ten years can feel like ten seconds in the language of grief.

We then recited a Fatiha at our friend N’s mom’s grave, then went to my other bestie S’s baby’s grave- her husband was there alone, and the sight broke my heart. They’re due to have a baby boy in August inshAllah, and i’ve been praying with all my heart for him to come into this world healthy and safe. I can’t put into words how much i already love him… i light up with joy every time i see S’s bump; may Allah (swt) bless and protect her always. I recited at a ladies’ majlis a few weeks ago, and she said he woke up and started moving around excitedly as i was reciting, then fell back asleep as soon as i was done- my little pumpkin knows his khala’s voice already 🥺

On the way home, my best friend and i reflected on our lives as we drove past her old neighborhood and all the places we used to play when we were younger. We happened to be starving, so we stopped at my favorite gas station for some cheese taquitos and coke (this blog is not a safe space for culinary snobs 🙈), then ate and chatted before heading home.

Later that evening, i felt so moved by the strange beauty of the day, but the grief i’d been bottling up eventually surfaced, and i cried for quite a while as i processed my friend’s grief. I was telling my best friend in the car that i still find it harder to witness another person’s grief than to experience my own… but i’ve learned that being present for someone else’s pain without being able to fix it teaches us submission and humility in its own right; it reminds us that no one truly has the power to heal anyone other than Allah (swt).

I used to be a mess at every funeral- the moment i saw someone crying, i would burst into tears too, often taking their pain home with me. I’ve gotten a little better at keeping my composure in public, but i think funerals will always be hard. My best friend has repeatedly promised to be extremely, comically dramatic at mine (she’s supposed to act like a bereaved widow whose world is ending, and i’m going to come back to haunt her if her performance isn’t Oscar-worthy)… so maybe that’ll be the one funeral i can finally enjoy :) As beautiful as life is, that’s one of my biggest hopes… to live in a way that pleases God so much, the day i leave this world is a day of celebration, not mourning.

May Allah (swt) forgive us and our loved ones & fill our graves with the light of His most beloved ones. May He elevate Taqi uncle’s soul, grant him the most blissful afterlife, and grant beautiful patience to his family and loved ones ❤️