''When a believer passes away''

Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un  إِنَّا لِلّهِ وَإِنَّـا إِلَيْهِ رَاجِعونَ‎

My grandad. 

On Wednesday the 30th of July I posted a piece about him below. I'm reading it back to myself now and it's just reminding me once again what an amazing man he really was. 

Results day. I get a call from him. ''Assalamu'alaikum Fiyalu'' he says loud and full of joy. Whenever I've called him he's always greeted me with such happiness in his voice, but from there his voice quietens, his energy goes, he can't get the rest of his words out. This was different... 

He congratulates me, saying how proud he is. This is the happiest I've heard him in so long. ''This is the happiest news I've heard in so long'' he says. 

''Mashallah, I am so proud of you''

Little did I know, these would be one of his last words to me. 

I tell him I'm praying for him, praying for god to ease his pain. He's is so much pain. That's his last request. ''Fiyalu, pray for Allah to ease me pain, I'm in so much pain''. 

Friday 15th August: We get a call from my grandma that he's stopped eating, drinking, talking. We make the 3 hour journey and immediately visit him at the nursing home. I approach the door, not sure who I'd see lying on the bed. He's there. A bag of bones. A shell of the man he was. I greet him, hold his hand, I don't let go. I don't want to let go. I try to talk of good things, memories, Kenya. He can't talk but I know he's listening. He is listening. 

My dad, grandma, aunt, mother are all with me. All quiet. Not knowing what to say. He's tired. We leave. 

Sunday 17th August: it's around 10pm, my mum and grandma have gone to visit him, they've gone to recite qur'an. My dad get's a call from them, leaving immediately, he's 'taken a turn for the worst'. They kept saying this: 'a turn for the worst' - what does that even mean? 

It's a waiting game. 

I'm at my grandma's, looking after my cousins whilst the adults read qur'an and surah Yaseen at the nursing home. 3am. They come home. ''He's passed away''. What? ''He's gone''.

Monday 18th August. Their 46th wedding anniversary. My dad  crumbles right infront of me. ''He passed away in my arms, my dad passed away in my arms''. Never have I seen my dad breakdown with so much emotion, and sadness. I don't know what to do. The whole family are here. My grandma. He left her, on their 46th wedding anniversary. She was with him since she was 19. She knows nothing else. 

The rest of the day is blur, a mess, tears, prayers, his face. Never have I had someone close to me pass away. This is my first. For it to be my granddad, is something else. All his children are here. All his grandchildren too. One thing that touched me was how much love we all had for him. He loved each and every one of his kids and grand kids so much, made such a huge impact on each of our lives. We pray, we read, we pray, we read. You can see the amount of noor on his face, subhanallah, he has so much noor on his face, a reflection of his countless nights of prayer, his dedication to the quran and its recitation, his dedication to teach, his love for islam. They take him away. He's gone. 

Tuesday 19th August. His 71st birthday. He didn't make it. He passed away day before his 71st birthday. 

Wednesday 20th August: My grandad loved to write. He had beautiful writing and one thing I know I will miss forever is his birthday cards. Each year he'd write the most beautiful messages in everyone's birthday cards. It was the one thing we all looked forward to. We knew it was our birthday when we'd got that card, received that call, it was his mark. As I was staying in his room, I'd seen he'd kept all our birthday cards to him, dating back to the 2000's. I don't think I've ever cried so much in my life. I don't even know why that made me cry as much as it did, I guess at that moment it just hit me. He's gone. 

My grandad loved to write. Infact, he'd write these little chapters of Islamic knowledge, his writing beautifully displayed across the page, delicately encompassing the words of the quran. He wrote a piece titled ''when a believer passes away'':

''Death is the biggest reality of the universe, and it can approach us at any time''. Those were his words. His way of telling us. He went on to talk about the angel of death, the impact of the quran and how the family should approach it. 

His own way of telling us. Alhamdullilah. 

My grandad. I ask, if anyone reads this, to pray for him, make dua, I pray constantly Allah grants him jannat ul firdous, he was the most pious man with the most unshakable eeman.

 He was my granddad, and I am so lucky to have been his granddaughter. 

Results day.

It's here. 10 hours from now I'll be leaving my house and making that last walk up to my sixth form to collect my results. How do I feel? I'm not sure. These past two years have been a wild rush of emotions, filled with happiness, rejection, acceptance, triumph and constant WORRY. 

One thing I am happy about is how hard I've tried. I genuinely feel like I gave it my ALL. No more preparation, no additional late nights, no extra practice N O T H I N G would have given me that extra edge. Obviously I feel like I could have done more DURING the actual exams, but in terms of preparation I really gave it my all. The thing is, the exam does not for any instance reflect how hard you've worked, how much passion you've had, how much effort you've put in for that subject. Not at all. I know people who have barely tried throughout the two years, yet aced their exams. On the other hand, I know people who have stressed, worried, worked, burdened themselves, yet still not achieved what they deserve. It's subjective. How your exam goes is affected by so many other factors. Maybe the broken sleep you had before will hinder you, or maybe where you sit in the exam hall may put you off. Preparation, although incredibly important, is only a factor. Of course you can do things to increase odds, however that day you sit your exam really does rely on a perfect balance of harmony between you and the questions asked before you.

In my case, I feel my exams generally went well. Better than last year for a fact. The last one in particular, was beautiful, everything I'd wished for. But who knows? I leave it to Gods hands now, I've learnt the moment I firmly believe that he has preordained all matters, it is then, and only then, where I will be at ease.

Tomorrow.

Bring it.

My Plan.

Planning. My whole life has been a plan. Carefully organised, goal oriented and very, highly motivated. I've always been working towards something. It's surprising to myself, now at 18 years, that I've not never stopped. Not even momentarily, I've been so invested in preparing for my future that I've never took the time to appreciate the present. At times, I feel like I need to remind myself I am only 18. I don't NEED to have it all together, and I think last years rejections were a blessing in disguise. I hope this year out gives me that chance, to stop, pause, evaluate and most importantly ENJOY.

What's one year in the grand scheme of things?

I finished school *officially* just over a month ago. What have I done with this time I hear you ask? WELL.

Planning.

Old habits die hard, right? Or so I'm told. I've planned everything down to my potential personal statement for next year, I've read up as much as I can on my course (chemistry) and I've enrolled myself in a YINI scheme in which I HOPE I get a placement for this year.

Come August 14th (results day - slightly panicking as I write) I hope I'll have it together. I'll just relax and take it as it is.

A girl can hope right?

Let's see how this turns out...

Release.

I'm a private person when it comes to my personal life to the extent that I hardly ever reveal my problems to anyone. I find it's better not to speak about it as I don't want to burden anyone with my issues, after all everyone has their own problems to deal with, right? But I need a release. I need to talk about it. This, for me, is the perfect place to do so.

My grandad. The strongest father figure in my life, besides my own father. A teacher of life, of humanities & of Islam. An advocate for education, status of women and importance of family. My grandad, the most loving man I've ever been blessed to know.

September 2013, diagnosed with liver cancer. Our family had never dealt with serious illess before, and so no one really knew how to react. He was the strong one. Convincing everyone it was ok, trying as hard as he could to remain as active as possible. My grandad, the most lively 70 year old I know. I remember speaking to him before he got diagnosed, I asked him to tell me about his life. For some reason I wanted to know specifically about his youth, and how he handled the '72 exile from Uganda. I wanted to know everything. Every detail. Slowly, after various phone calls he revealed everything, and I was hooked. Hooked on his story. His youth had been so anarchic, filled with so many memorable moments both good and bad. I remember thinking how little comparison my life has had to his, how much he celebrated the world and how little I did, how much he made of opportunities no matter how little or seemingly insignificant. My grandad, forever inspiring.

February 2014, terminal. The cancer had spread to his spine and robbed him of his mobility, leaving him paralysed and unable to walk again. This broke me. Seeing someone who LOVED and craved the outdoors bedridden and never again able to walk made me so sad and angry and forever questioning the unfairness of life, but at the same time thankful that he eas still here. More time. Thank god. All we needed was a little more time.

May 2013. The weekend before my first, A2 exam. He'd been rushed for surgery, which left him not only more physically constricted but also put him in a delusional state. He was completely stripped of his physical and emotional capabilities. Vulnerable. He lived 4 hours away, but I knew if this was it and I'd never gone to see him I'd regret it for the rest of my life. The last time I saw him was back in February. Cancer spreading, but happy and smiling. My grandad, the most hopeful man with unshakeable eeman.

I remember everything about this day. My auntie had just come over from Kenya to see him, because of the same reason. Everyone was convinced this was it. We went together completely clueless about who we would see lying in that hospital bed. There he was. Lying there. A bag of bones. My grandad. I hugged him and I didn't want to let go. He felt so different. Anyone who knows me, knows how awkward I am with affection. Not with my grandad. I was an extremely shy little girl living in Nairobi, but whenver I'd see him I'd run to greet him with a hug, regardless of who was watching. They were so warm and comforting, and that never changed. He recognised me, of course, how silly was I to think he wouldn't recognise me. But, I hardly recognised him. He'd lost so much weight, and his legs looked liked pencils buckled to the end of the bed, stiff and lifeless. He said he needed to pray, he didn't want to delay his Salat. I watched as he struggled to get out of the bed. He'd forgotten he'd lost all mobility in his legs. I watched. Holding back tears, I tried to explain that he couldn't get out and it was best for him to stay in bed. He said to me ''I've been thinking, when I'm well enough I'd like to take the whole family to mount Kilimanjaro''. His mind was still in Kenya. He thought he was in Kenya. He didn't know where he was. My grandma pulled me aside and told me they'd been going along with his stories, saying 'yes' to whatever he proposed, they needed to keep his mood up, they needed to keep him happy.

My grandma. The strongest woman I know, besides my mother. I looked at her, face sullen, sunken posture, but she was the one keeping it together. Behind every great man is a great woman. Together, they had survived the exile of Asians in Uganda 1972 by president Idi Amin. They had survived coming to Kenya, with nothing. They had survived building a business and a home from scratch. They had survived rasing a family of 8. They had survived Kenya for 29ish years, and God had blessed them. Made everything work in their favour for those 29 years of Kenyan comfort. Then they came to the UK and started it all over again.

July 2014, care home. Waiting. This has been the most emotionally draining month I have ever experienced. "There's nothing more we can do". Palliative care. Everyone has made peace with it now. No one can bear to see him in the state he's in. The strongest man I have never known, reduced to a bag of bones in under a year. Tell me. Have you ever seen someone disintegrate so quickly? Tell me, if you have, how do you emotionally process this? Tell me. Tell me.

Ramadan was a blessed month, and I used so much of it praying for him. Making dua that he's put out of his misery.  Because it's not fair. Allah tests the one he loves, and my grandad has been through so many trials in his life I can't even begin to explain, I just pray constantly he passes this final trial.

He taught me my first Surah. He taught me how to pray. He encouraged me to recite the quran. My grandad. Without him, I really do doubt I'd have a strong eeman and for that I am forever greatful.

My grandad.

Burnt Shadows - my thoughts.

I'm not sure if my personal connection to the events in this book are clouding my judgement, but I really do think this may have been one of the best books I have ever read. I'm quite sceptical to literature as being a former A-level Lit student I've become prone to critiquing writers and their techniques, but I've found if I don't immediately click with the book, then there is no chance I will fall in love with it.

 I've always felt the need to contextually read up on the book, the author, the events etc beforehand, but with Burnt Shadows this just wasn't the case. Shamsie's writing does this for you. The broad canvas on which the backdrop the novel is propelled against, paralleled to the intimate scenes between the characters and the two families, Ashraf-Tinoko and Weiss-Burton prove for deeply contrasting scenes that you wouldn't expect to work, but they do. Death is inevitable for this book. It's everywhere, unavoidable, embedded deep in the core. For some reason or the other, despite my great attachment to the characters their deaths just didn't seem to affect me. I suppose this is become of the constant reinforcement that life is not rigid, you are not constrained to a box, but instead there is an air of fluidity that dominates the characters as Shamsie ebbs and flows from different countries, to different time periods, stressing the idea that home is not a place, rather an idea, a comfort.

I felt the initial periods, Nagasaki and the period overulling the end of the British Raj the most compelling. There was just an untouchable beauty to the way Shamsie narrated these time periods. I suppose it was the idea of youth that too captured me the most, the air of recklessness in both Hiroko and Sajjad enchanted me and momentarily let me escape from the deep foreboding cloud of destruction that loomed above.

Whilst the latter part of the novel, Afghanistan and New York, still remained compelling I felt as if the intimacy of the characters loosened and rightly so as so much loss had occurred it just didn't feel quite the same.

My one disappointment for this book has got to be the ending. There just wasn't much of one to speak about, and I felt that after all the devastation, the  heartache, the love, the affection, the characters deserved a better ending, especially Hiroko.

Throughout all this, it remains Shamsie's writing style that encapsulated me in this bubble of a world she had created, if you read this book read it not for the historical context it brings, but for the language, for the language will not disappoint. I promise.

Burnt Shadows - Kamila Shamsie

This book has gripped me and refused to let me go.

Admittedly, the first few chapters didn't quite hit it off with me as it appeared too wordy and too descriptive for my liking. It seemed to me that Shamsie adored stringing together as many adjectives as fittingly possible to coin a strong enough and vivid enough description to present to the reader. I'm a strong believer that simplicity is key, words are undeniably powerful, yet force to many together and they lose their beauty, ultimately failing to portray that powerful imagery the author yearns for you to see.

After a few chapters I fell in love with the characters Hiroko, Sajjad, and even the cruelly portrayed Elizabeth Burton. Their world enticed me, the fusion of culture, a Japanese women, an Indian muslim man and a German-British couple coming together as a result of that one country, yes, India. The book opened with the Nagasaki atomic bomb, I do admit I knew little about this horrific event and felt slightly guilty of this fact as the book unravelled the devastating consequences it had on the victims, something which still of course hasn't left this world. Shamsie's description of the immediate consequences remained a blur to me, I just couldn't picture it for myself at first, yet as the book progressed and the long lasting consequences had seeped themselves onto Hiroko's skin in particular, it then, for me, all became very real.

Sajjad's character is one that has appeared to me as cliché, the Indian poet, lover of the world, and lover of his Dilli. However, his love for Hiroko and thirst to enrich their relationship had me cheering for the poetic audactiy Shamsie had presented. I'd expected Hiroko to fall head over heels in love with this perfectly presented man, a man any women would be proud to be with. But no, she challenged his romance, she questioned his impulse and she refused to give in to his socially constricted norms. This is what drew me to Hiroko. The focal of this novel, she acts as the glue the holds the cultures together, her love and talent for language had me awe-struck as she flowed in and out of German to Urdu and then back to Japanese. This is a character like no other. I've never bonded with a fictional character as much as I have Hiroko. She was the definition of an immigrant, a women pushed out of her home, losing a soul part of her but refusing to give up her identity for anyone, anyone but perhaps her most beloved, her son.The fierce braveness of her character had me cheering for her triumph against social classes as she married a man merely one rung above the place of a servant. Yet she doesn't become this man, he doesn't define her, she defines herself. As much she loves him, she doesn't need him, and he knows this. Just as she up and left her Nagasaki home, she can just as easily up and leave him and that's what I love about her. She doesn't let men define her. She doesn't let women define her. She defines herself.

I still have some chapters left to go and as much as I'm trying to pace myself through the book I'm too deeply involved to take a break from it.

I'll update my thoughts on the ending...

Take Two.

GAP YEAR. Two words that were inevitable. I'd always known I'd end up here, as pessimistic as it sounds, but what I didn't know is I'd lose the passion and the drive I had for something I'd worked so hard for, and dreamt so hard about for the last two years. I had clung on to the dream so fiercely and with such determination, I had refused to let anyone or anything obstruct my view of the end goal. In my mind, I had already become. First mistake - nothing is ever guaranteed. I admit now, last year I was too invested in my dream to even acknowledge the overwhelming reality of rejection that loomed above me, was it naivety? I like to think of myself as a dreamer, a creative, a lover of this world, but at the same time I'm a realist, an organiser, constantly calculating the steps of my future with care and thought. The products of my investment, that's what the future is, right? An investment birthed from the calculated decisions I make now.

Balancing my impulsive side with the cautious has been a challenge. And this year alike, will prove challenge. However, I refuse to accept failure, I owe to it to myself to set myself on a new journey, a better journey, one that is both realistic yet also fulfils the requirements of Fiyal the dreamer. I'm excited for this year, I'm excited for change and I'm excited for potential.

The journey begins - take two.