We’ve gotten to that point in the month where I lose track of everything.
Where I’m supposed to be in the Qur’an and my 99 Names book. I’m approximately halfway through the Qur’an, but I haven’t actually reached the middle which means I’m behind. And I really don’t know where I am in the 99 Names. I should be around #53, but the names aren’t numbered in my book so that doesn’t really help.
Then there is the state of my room. Papers and clothes and random craft tools from unfinished projects are strewn everywhere. Fun fact about me: if I my room is a mess, my mind is a mess. I feel like I can’t breathe or think when I can barely walk around my room without stepping on something.
Even my plans for the week. I accidentally set iftar plans with someone on a night I had planned to attend my precious second lecture of the month. I guess when you have Facebook constantly reminding you about every single event you don’t care about, you end up forgetting the ones you actually want to go to. Whoops.
Even though my mind should have been on catching up on my reading and cleaning my room and figuring out a solid plan for the rest of Ramadan, I found myself lingering in the past this week. I have been thinking about my Grandma a lot these past couple of days. The whole tasbeeh project that I was doing was actually started by her. She used to be the designated tasbeeh-maker, so when she passed away three years ago I adopted the tradition. Then I was asked to speak about an organization that she helped start at an event last night, another one that I joined once she was gone. Finally, and totally by coincidence, during a therapy session at work we were talking about lessons we learned from our elders and I had the constant mantra in my head of Grandma saying “God never gives you a test that you can’t pass” as she battled leukemia during her final months.
I somehow turned this blog into a place where I bring you these deep insights I’ve made, but this time there is no profound realization I have to share. I just miss her. I miss her hugs and her rice and her presents on Eid and her random sewing tips that I never understood and her many trinkets in her room. The vulnerability that the hunger brings threw all of these emotions at me and now I’m left to remember just how much I miss her. I know a huge part of my so called maturity is partially a result of me being forced to do things without her, but I still wish she could be here experiencing these things with me.
In these days of wasting time and lingering in the past, I read a very appropriate name today: Allah’s name of “Al-Haseeb” or “The One Who Takes Account.” My quote for today:
“Know that every minute that passes without benefit – every hour you are not working for Allah’s sake… – is a loss. You have no hope to ever regain that loss; you cannot buy back yesterday, even if you spend the rest of your life. Know the value of your life. Don’t squander it in laziness, in heedlessness and in dreams. Make your calculations now before you have to present your accounting to Allah al-Hasib.”
If that isn’t a wake-up call, I don’t know what is.