Born Confused

I will miss my youngest sisters attempt to copy me and make wudu.
I’ll miss how they stood next to me in prayer—head on my elbow.
I’ll miss holding my small sisters when they cry and seeing them laugh and squeal as I roar and chase them in the backyard.
I’ll miss listening to my brother’s confessions—just trying to get certain things he was ashamed of off his chest and feeling so honored he choose to tell me.
I’ll miss talking about hope, future and boys in a closet with my sister until the wee hours of the morning and perhaps will miss even the time where she tried to coach me in how to make sexy faces in a mirror—it took 10 minutes of trying not to laugh.
I’ll miss singing and holding my sisters; stroking them and holding them close and once in the dark I can feel one’s eyes widen and her voice full with awe; “Your amazing”.
I’ll miss playfully fighting with brothers, laughing, challenges, boasting and putting them in their place—for the meanwhile.
I’ll miss running in the grass; barefoot, without a hijab—totally wild and free in the dark—as I and the kids made faces at our uncles in the dining room as they sipped chai with Baba.
I’ll miss hugging my biggest brother and then conspiring with the kids to attack and tackle him: yes, we went through with it but we were unsuccessful.
I’ll miss a brother’s sweetness—I’ll miss tickling another until he laughed like a maniac and sitting on him—oh yes, and I’ll miss throwing pillows at all of them.
I’ll miss the wind, I’ll miss the blue sky which was so vivid in contrast to the tall trees.
I’ll miss a sister’s quiet strength; another, her smile; another her recklessness—putting Indiana Jones to shame.
I’ll miss one of the tiniest sisters asking me to put on the hijab.
I’ll miss hearing “I love you” and even “I aann a princess! You ugly” hahaha.
I’ll miss how all my brothers and sisters gathered; asking about deen, fiqh, tasweer—questioning, questioning, questioning…

And yes, I’ll even miss pinching my father’s cheeks, and when I am delighted or I kiss him—seeing his whole face brighten up. Yeah, it’s a sight to behold.

Jazakullahkhair Oh Allah for letting me miss.

My heart is so small, it’s almost invisible. How can You place such big sorrows in it? “Look,” He answered, “your eyes are even smaller, yet they behold the world.”

“‘In the woods, we return to reason and faith,’ and become ‘part and parcel of God’”. –Emerson. Before MYNA camp I looked at this quote and knew it was the truth, theoretically. However; it was only after MYNA camp that the depth of this truth fully resounded through every bone in my body. After all, truth is realized not told.

The first Leadership Retreat hosted by MYNA National was teeming with a buzz of excitement and possibilities. And somehow, through the grace of the Almighty, this MYNA retreat was even better than the first.

This is coming from a person who before going to her first MYNA National Leadership Retreat thought MYNA was the younger wannabe MSA child. This is coming from an EC member who, despite loving the first retreat, forced herself to get on that plane going to the second retreat with a “bismillah” walking into camp arrogantly thinking ‘been there, done that; I just need to do my job’ and was, at first glance, disappointed by the facilities that seemed inferior to those of the first retreat’s campground and bracing herself for a week of no privacy and discomfort. Basically, I was being a spoiled, shallow and judgmental creature.

Then, slowly, the beauty of the Lake Huron crept into my heart. The sound of Huron, inhaling and exhaling on the sandy skin of the beach echoed and became distinct and alive. It was there, as we prayed in the grass, breathing in the odor of where we were from and soon go back to; it was there as we put out our fire on the beach and turned our heads upward to the sky breathless - almost expecting to fall into it–as a voice sang Surat Al Najam – it was there as the sun rose with petals of color and the heart had to grow expansive to contain the nooriful scene, it was there I saw Allah’s signs and became overwhelmed with them.

And with this as our backdrop the lightest feather-breath of a rain touched our faces as we whispered dthikr together and a rainbow appeared rewarding our hearts with a wondrous sight. Throughout the week I participated in workshops that made me laugh, then cry, I stayed awake all night with a friend and prayed tahajud while a rain storm wailed outside. I gained an appreciation and respect for nature and learned to live with the spider that lived above my bunk. It was there first. I pray the lessons I learned and helped to teach others through my participation will never leave me. The activist, humanitarian and Muslim in my heart grew that week. And, most importantly, I was able to share it with others.
And I want it for you dear reader. I want your Iman to soar, your mind to leap forward and be empowered with the knowledge that people may call us the leaders of tomorrow but I say NO–You are the leaders of today. Shake off that doubt, sense of unworthiness, timidity and fear. Step forward. Your the best we have and it’s upon you the opportunities you wasted or the vast and great potential you fulfilled– certainly a beauty to behold.

Sincerely,
a deeply honored Executive Committee Member
PR
MYNA National
Ilana Alazzeh

assalamlaaykumwarathmatullhbaraktuhu
I read an aching poignant post.
It moved me and caused me to write this: Bismillah

A loss of love. A moment of despair. This hurt becomes a shivering numb–churning in the stomach, pang in the heart, weightlessness, silent cries, a lump in the throat–something dies. Realization’s heavy hand and stronger acceptance becomes maturity’s land.

A truely pure exquisite love, where you hurt so much and remain utterly thankful to the One above.

Wallah, jazakullahkhair.

“We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence.”

- Joseph Roux

Your body’s been abused– raped, your deen and heart confused. My dear sister, Allah is with you all the way. My love, for you dear sister, increases day by day. I feel the sorrow and dispear but I know the darkness makes the light so white. A weird calmness takes over,for overwhelmed with thoughts, emotions and forced to go through the motions. The Qur’an a light we share to comfort and ease the soul of a hurtful blight. We listen together, sister and sister, separated by distance but united fisabilah. And listen to Surah Rahman, reciting in a voice that sooths, comforts, and eases like warm slippery waves and breezes; it’s brings out humanity and despite the evil, I feel this kinship, this care, a beauty of sisterhood in the midst of a scare as our love and emotion brings out sanity of dear old flawed, beautiful humanity.