my beating heart

on friday, june 16th, 2023 i wrote in my journal, 

i can still hear the crying sounds of a woman grieving over the death of a 5 year old child. it’s juma and they/we just performed the janazah prayer.  how little we think about the days we have left to walk this earth. may i never have to experience the pain of knowing a small coffin. truly, as a human it feels unfair to witness lives lost “too soon”. 

i spend my born-day this year in mourning. a couple months ago i had a dream where i saw a full and radiant moon. i saw the numbers 11.22.23. when i woke up my first thought was “i think i’m pregnant”. what cannot be imagined is how this universe is in sync and what my dreams dare to show me as signs or warnings. indeed that full moon, on that very date i took a test at home and it gave me the news i have always wanted. i was pregnant. 

was. 

on 12.13.23 i went to an appointment with hope and left with a shattered heart. my baby’s heart was no longer beating. what frightened me the most was that the night before i spent tossing and turning fighting the most apocalyptic nightmares, even playing surah Al-Baqarah, the longest in the Quran in order to fall asleep, only to wake up to another nightmare. it was too early for fajr prayer so i decided to read tahajjud instead. it was around 3am. then i played surah Al-Imran and fell back to sleep. the doctor told me the following morning that the heart must have stopped in the last day or two. 

‘i’m so sorry…this can happen sometimes, and we don’t know why…’ she said.

i told her with assurity, ‘i think it was last night, i felt like something was wrong’

‘did you feel physically ill?’ she asked me

‘no, i just felt afraid, very afraid.’ i told her

‘i can tell you believe in God,’ she said to me. ‘i had twins at the age of 42. i can tell you have a desire to be a mother, and that’s a beautiful thing.’ she said to me softly, before going back into doctor mode and listing all my to-do’s that i mentally could no longer comprehend. 

surgery, blood, dates, legalities, insurance costs, more appointments- it’s all a devastating blur.

i wish men could understand why women deserve to be honored beyond imagination with what we endure. i think back to my first period… my first doll, everything hurt. never have i known a pain like this before. and trust me, i’m not a stranger to pain. 

i don’t usually write until i feel healed, but i don’t believe this is something i will ever feel completely healed from. over the last ~3 months i’ve witnessed the atrocities taking place all over the world, especially in Gaza where parents have lost their children in the most horrific ways, and where children have subsequently become orphaned. life and death happens all the time, except this has been by no accident- it’s done via hatred and paid for by american taxes. 

i struggled to not feel guilt as i paid for my doctor's visit with a credit card, i told myself that even bad insurance is still insurance. i felt guilty knowing the machines they used relied on electricity, something so many do not have access to. i struggled before my second appointment that would confirm the loss of pregnancy when they requested i drink 32 ounces of water. i had access to 32 ounces of clean water. how dare i feel grief?  i am one of the lucky ones and i don’t dare let myself forget it. 

and yet… i think of the 5 year old who died in Maryland this past june. i think of the quote i heard years ago after the 2014 bombings of the Gaza strip, “the tiniest coffins are the heaviest” and i felt numb. even crying felt like a privilege, i felt numb. 

Allah, Allah, where are you? i cried on the janamaz. what is the lesson? 

“inna hum ya keedu na kaida, wa a’qee du qaiy-da” / “verily they plan a plan, but I too plan a plan” (chapter 86, surah At-Tariq)

being sad isn’t the same as being ungrateful. i know this too has a reason, however just because one has steadfast belief that we live in a world organized by the Divine, it does not guarantee ease. nor does it guarantee the absence of sadness. 

i know of a man who was known to cry a lot. he existed 1445 years ago and never got the chance to meet his own father. orphaned by the age of 6, Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) experienced the grief of losing his mother Aminah (peace be upon her), and later by losing his wife of 25 years, Khadija (may she be at peace). he even lost his children (yes, plural) throughout different stages of his life. his first born was a tough loss for him, and his own relatives celebrated his loss as if it were proof of his dishonesty and the infliction of punishment. i often find myself relating to these stories and the more i learn, the more i seek solitude. 

after telling a family member about losing this pregnancy i received a phone call today. instead of “happy birthday” she asked me, “were you careless?” 

i fought the sarcasm within myself, i fought wanting to scream. i went back to feeling numb. “no…i’ve been stressed but what can i do about that?” i then reminded her of how much help my sister had during her pregnancies with my mother and i consistently there for her, and then decided to be quiet. after all, anything i say can and will be used to shame me for self-victimizing myself so i’ll just shut myself up. no need to defend myself to people who have their own agenda. relatives ≠ family. knowing the difference is a vital part of growth & healing. 

i later asked my husband if he thought it was a mistake i told them… he said something i want to remember, “you were being genuine when you told them, so i don’t think it was a mistake. what they choose to think or say beyond that is on them, not you.” 

i hate the thought of something being a punishment. it’s part of controlled and cruel oppressiveness. the first time it really bothered me was hearing a financially wealthy individual state confidently that everything they had in life was due to their loyalty to the 5 daily prayers. 

i responded, “nah… i’ve been to refugee camps and i’ve never seen people who pray with more faith than the muslims who live their lives trapped in tiny little shelters with limited access to basic life necessities. you imply that your prayers are heard more than theirs & that’s not right.” 

to think that prayer is affiliated with what we have is something i firmly disagree with. in fact i’ve stopped asking for things when i pray. i pray because i have the ability to pray, it’s a simple command to reconnect with my creator, so why wouldn’t i pause to take a break from the world? i have no more requests, i believe Allah knows best.  i do pray for ease through the hard times. i do pray for peace in my heart. i do pray for guidance.

sometimes what i believe is a test for me is actually more a test of sabr (patience), while often it is a bigger test for those around who witness without action, or worse- witnessing with arrogance or ignorance. similarly, it’s why i don’t believe in neutrality. being in the in-between is nothing more than an invisible safety net for people who seek constant approval from others. code switching to what the popular narrative is rather than using their God-given ability (aka the frontal lobe) to reason, to question, to learn, and to act upon it. (something Prophet Muhammad peace be upon him strongly encouraged). asking questions is what led to women having the right to divorce, remarry, and have free-will, all without being chastised. crazy what modern-day theologists have called devotion is actually conformity and compliance. shame on them.

when people take this idea of reward and punishment, often taught to us by controlling parents, adults, or institutions where standing apart is against the norm, words such as “rebel” “independent” “argumentative” “black sheep” etc. continue to be used in a biased form to encourage people to not question those in authority. my “problems” in life arose when i refused to give up my free will. 

do i believe this loss is a punishment? 

no. 

why not? 

because i believe in the message of Quranic revelation more than what people have to say.

what do i mean? 

“fa inna ma al usri yusra” / “so surely with hardship comes ease” (surah As-Sharh, chapter 94 verse 5)

and i believe nothing is permanent, again encouraged by messages of endless wisdom.  because this too shall pass… 

i must believe, i must stay steadfast. i cannot pray janazah’s and witness the loss so many others experience and think so little of Allah that i would undergo such cruel punishment. no, i don’t believe that. i believe in Divine timing. 

i do feel heartache, because i’m human of course i feel. there’s an old bollywood classic song called “dil se” and one of the lines talks about how pain is proof of the existence of a heart, for without a heart we would not be able to experience pain. the very heart that has continued to beat without my permission for the last 33 years has not given up on me, so how can i give up on the One who created it? being determined allowed me to pick up a book to read after hearing the apathetic comments from relatives only to find a message that felt handpicked by the Almighty specially for me. a text written through the eloquent musings of the ever so inspiring Khalil Gibran (may he be at peace). 

“your children are not your children. 

they are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.

they come through you but not from you, 

and though they are with you yet they belong not to you.” 

- Khalil Gibran, The Prophet (p.17) 

my husband and i decided to give a name to this unborn child. a name that has multiple meanings. in Japan, the name Akira is a cohesive one not set toward any gender that means everything from radiant, to shining light, to rising sun, and so much more. i thought again of my dream of the bright full moon. the same moon that in another dream conveyed to me through whispers of an angel that it dyed my hair to help guide broken souls toward me. i believe i am a gift from God to witness this earth. there is beauty within it along with hardship. moments of sadness and moments of courage. my goal is to seek peace through patience, balance, and moderation.

the arabic term closely related to ‘akira’ caused tears to flow from my eyes when i heard it. one i’ve read and heard many times, except now it pulled my heartstrings tight.

akhirah: the hereafter, ever after, a word that defines life after death. “Al-Akhir”, its root word, is one of the 99 names of God in the arabic language. Al-Akhir is the last, without a penultimate. Al-Akhir is the last without an after; nothing can possibly follow it. 

Al-Akhir is the one fully manifest in time. 

in meditation, Akhir can be discovered at the perfectly still point one experiences briefly at the end of the exhalation of the breath.

Al-Akhir is the final destination of the ultimate return of all things. 

my dearest Akhirah L. Khan, it is to Allah that we belong, and to Allah that we shall return. 

you left me sooner than i would have wanted, and i trust i will understand why another day… with time comes understanding too.

surah Al-Baqarah, chapter 2 verse 156: inna lillahi wa inna illaihi rajioon / we belong to Allah, and to Allah shall we return.

5:55 pm | 12.28.23 | jumada al-thani 15, 1445

crooked love

it’s not that i have not experienced a broken heart. my heart is permanently damaged in some ways. however i look around and think to myself… if this is rock bottom, it’s actually not a bad view. so many people would think i’m crazy, and perhaps with some context i am; but if you call me crazy, while spending thousands of dollars on a flex for social media under the idea of normal, your judgement has little to no effect on me. 

as the unraveling of this journey i’m on takes root i’m most thankful to have gone deaf. not physically deaf, thank Allah i can hear. (tangent topic: did you know there is a brail quran?! imagine learning islam through that?!! subhanAllah). no, i am not literally deaf, but i have muted much of the noise that used to circle around me. i am strict with myself therefore i tend to be strict with the things around me. it has taken that strictness with myself to get me to the place where i can satisfyingly smile and say, “i’m gonna do whatever i want today” and i have zero guilt for it. i don’t write any of this to show off, although… yeah the lifestyle seems cute in my mind’s music video… no no - i’m writing to say that a broken heart can lead the way to many beautiful things! 

to set the record straight from the getgo, although most broken hearts take place through romance, this is not what i am referring to. my broken heart runs much deeper and i’m unsure of whether this story will merge with others or not. who knows, not even me :) 

and that’s the beauty of it. 

i never knew what i was fighting for. but today i look at every little tid bit of me that exists because of the me that sacrificed something. the hope was fuel, the thing nobody was really able to kill. i feel i’ve proven what i need to, and i’ve learned through that, that i never needed to prove myself in the first place. i have no idea what happens tomorrow. a healthy 60 year old cardiologist can drop dead while treating a patient who’s had high cholesterol their entire life. there’s no age life hasn’t been lost at, there’s no time in history people have not simultaneously lived and died. when i once sacrificed my aesthetic for a hijab, i learned i had more control of myself than i thought. when i mustered up the courage to put together a portfolio of work, i was planning this life i live in today. it’s the most brokenly perfectly put together thing i’ve ever witnessed. there are so many stories i want to share, but maybe why i want to share them is more important than what…  
why? because it had to have meant something. all the sacrifice as i see it… it wasn’t just for nothing. all the dreams i have, they must have meaning, otherwise how can i call myself a believer? 

it’s hard to explain, because i’m discussing private matters in a public setting, and that’s not something i really stand behind. i believe matters should be direct, rather than to everyone else. if people speak of me, i’d rather they tell me to my face instead of behind my back. i also would prefer they tend to it kindly, rather than harshly so that i too can learn a softer side of communication- something that has taken a rather lot of work for me. i have no idea where people think i come from, but this language is not my first language. although born in canada, the first words i was ever blessed to hear was the arabic call to prayer, tradition in my muslim upbringing. after that i would learn a combination of urdu and punjabi, the language of my elders. then finally, i would come toward this world of cotton candy and kit kats, called english. “a is for Allah, b is for bismillah…” the code switching between worlds was like how my shampoo and conditioner used to be combined. at the end of the day, everything comes down to the story. how did it happen, and why? but the truth (in my opinion) is that the why will never be known until it reveals itself, and the how is in the past so it’s not really changeable now is it? why did a man redirect a networking conversation with me from “who do you work for?” to “you’re very pretty…” while staring at the ring on my finger. this man was such a loser, i couldn’t help but walk back up to him minutes after and stating the following words:

i’m not sure why you just said that comment about me being pretty, but i want you to know i thought it was creepy and you shouldn’t say that to women, especially at professional events. the blood drained from his face, but oddly the man looked far from pale. a raspberry would be a more accurate representation of the color behind his cheeks. of course the common responses could be heard (oh i didn’t mean/why is that bad/no i think you’re mistaken/my intention wasn’t…blah blah blah), but the difference this time was me. i was unbothered by him, not even angry as i am often told i am. i told the creepy man again, that it’s just simply not a good look… even if he said it, how would he suggest i respond? it’s strange, plain and simple. admit it, asshole. admit to me you’re a creep, and i’ll leave you be… 

today i look around myself and wonder what would be different if arabic had never been spoken to me. if i never learned the language i did. if i didnt have the habits i did. the truth? if i didn’t have any of that, then i wouldn’t have any of this either. and man, this is really beautiful. to some this would look like absolute rock bottom. taking walks with ramen, walking 33,751 steps in a day just because, allowing myself to push my mind, my body, my soul to its toughest limits in the most wild ways. to boomerang back to my Creator every-single-time. as if i will always go back to where i came from. as if i will always go back to where i belong. as if my time here is temporary, and all that’s left will eventually be stories that help answer the how’s and maybe the why’s. the rest is history, that’s what they call it innit?

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sometimes heart’s break in order to heal again differently. maybe it’s not like this for everyone, but for me it is. my heart has always healed, even if it ends up a little crooked, it’s really good. it’s a good crooked heart that still dances to it’s own beat.

dirty little secrets of a messy little perfectionist

worthy of a crown but feeling the need to hold back? why… am i not ready yet?  am i healed enough?  am i sane enough?  will it fit in with expectations?  i didn’t care about the expectations before, but now it’s enough to allow me to use it as a blanket to nap under. i love naps but it’s difficult for me to take them, even when i know my body is in need of restoration. during high school i took naps all the time. that’s a good enough place to begin this story. with the only warning i care to write: this is not edited. this is not drafted or redlined. i am not a robot, and so there will be errors. human errors to be more specific, and honestly, i need there to be. if i catch the error i will likely fix it, otherwise it’s free to live as a mistake that was meant to be. 

the fear of imperfection allowed me to love the idea of ‘purpose’ from afar, but i kept waiting for something to click before acknowledging the chatter constantly resting in my mind. now i come to realize the simple truth is that i need to hit play and prove i truly care not for perfection or recognition, so long as i am focused on searching for answers to all my big life questions.

now back to high school… i took naps because even with an average that would make my father need to control himself, i managed to have my diploma earlier than everyone else. how? not that anyone ever asked, but because i took summer school one time. reflecting back as an adult i realize an important lesson i wasn’t aware enough to understand at that age. i don’t think it was math i loved. i think the teacher who taught it was fair and i often reflect as an adult on the imbalance of power between an adult and child. i held respect for this teacher because he simply never associated his ego with the subject he taught. if a student had a question he would always answer without sigh. without a roll of eyes. without a passive aggressive response about missing an assignment. this teacher wanted to get it right. not all the students got good grades, but most of them tried. the ones who didn’t remained quiet and never disrupted his class. a gem within public school. now i have a few private school rich kid friends, and they often pay 20 thousand dollars (or more) each semester for their kids school expecting their children to receive exactly the type of teachers i described above. 

it was this very idea of realizing from middle school on that in order to get ahead in life one needed to be smart. and being smart was determined through grades in school. and school was determined by adults. and nobody seemed to want to understand what intelligence actually is, because the easier solution has been to throw money at the problem since that would ensure that wealthy children would be quote, unquote smarter than nonwealthy children.  except that that is a lie. money might mask a problem, but surely it does not solve it.

do people even know why sex is taboo? it’s an interesting history that began during pretechnological times of human tribes. the imbalance of nature would cause humans to die. for example, if too many people were born and there was not enough food to hunt, people would fight for food (sometimes by death did they part), or die of starvation due to the lack thereof. eventually, reason allowed a particular tribe leader to determine that if people remained in partnerships there were less children born and that allowed a prosperous community to exist with an equilibrium of human necessities. if you ask me how i know this, i would have to tell you that i can only tell you what i believe, not what i know. for example, i know my mother is my mother because she gave birth to me and i was there for that. but you have to believe that she is my mother because i told you she is. you do not know if she is. (she is.) 

this is all i have for now. there’s no real point is there? it’s kind of more about the storyline that continues to make tangents.  in other words, a mystery…

Dear Men, Me Too

pc by consent of jehanz.b

Last night I began to see the #metoo trend throughout different social media platforms. This morning I woke up to it being the top trending topic. And to be honest, as much as I'm all about collective feminism, I also had the sinking feeling that this was just going to be another wave that gets a round of applause, and then be forgotten in two weeks. That people will say their collective remarks about assault, rape, and consent, but the people who NEED to hear it will still turn a blind eye and not reflect on the actual issue. 

For background, the 'me too' trend started when actor Alyssa Milano tweeted: "Suggested by a friend: If all the women who have been sexually harassed or assaulted wrote "Me too" as a status, we might give people a sense of the magnitude of the problem. If you've been sexually harassed or assaulted write 'me too' as a reply to this tweet"

Needless to say, the response was overwhelming. 

With the number of women contributing to the #metoo trend, I know many men and women felt overwhelmed at the response. I know there are a lot of men who feel stunned that their closest friends, their sisters, cousins, mothers and more have been victims of sexual assault. To be honest, I don't think many women were as shocked. Find me the unicorn out there who hasn't been assaulted, cat called, harassed, groped, or raped. And you know why I didn't want to type "me too" on to my Facebook status? Because I don't think it's going to change a fucking thing. I'm jaded by seeing women constantly fighting this battle and not enough men saying, "I will change".

So instead, I'm writing this.

Since being a young girl, you're taught to have a sixth sense about men. 'Men can be dangerous', 'it's important to be protected', 'be accompanied by a male family member'. 

Dear men, you'll never understand what it's like to be a female walking down the street knowing a stranger's eyes are gazing over your body.

Dear men, you'll never know the magnitude of the gut wrenching feeling one has after a man acts inappropriately towards you. 

Dear men, you won't ever realize that when a female is walking alone, she is aware at all times of men across the street from her, behind her, or in front of her. 

Dear men, I've thought about what I would do if someone grabbed me on the street and threw me into a car. 

Dear men, I can't take a walk outside on a nice night when it's dark because I don't know if I'll be raped.

Dear men, you keep blaming me. 

Stop. 

Since I was young, I heard about how a woman needs to be protected. She needs to protect herself, and her reputation. 'You are a flower, and you don't want anyone to pick the petals off, so be smart'. I have to be the smart one. I have to be the careful one. I have to use that female instinct 24/7, and I'm really tired of it. I'm tired of having get togethers with my girlfriends where we end up sharing different experiences of sexual assault. I'm tired of my guy friends often brushing it off, or worse, offering sympathy but explaining why it's important for me to be careful of my surroundings, to not be out alone late, and to be aware of the men I surround myself with. 

I recently had a conversation with a male friend about sexual assault. He felt sympathetic, and helpless. He tried to tell me that not all guys are like this. He asked me how he could help. My response to this was, "Instead of trying to help me by giving me advice, go talk to your guy friends. Talk to them about how some of their 'jokes' aren't in good fun, and how they are toxic and contribute immense power to fuelling rape culture. Stop trying to fix me, and fix the way that guys think." 

Dear men, when you have children, and you're blessed with a daughter and a son; instead of worrying about your daughter being safe, raise your son to be kind, empathetic, respectful, and to speak up when they see something wrong. If everyone raised their sons better than they raised their daughters, we wouldn't need to be protected. The underlying problem isn't how a female is dressed, or how she acts. The underlying problem is that there are men who don't think they're contributing to rape culture or doing anything wrong. I want to clarify, that just because a guy himself has never physically or verbally assaulted a female, it doesn't mean this his sense of humor, lingering eyes, or snarky comments don't fuel rape culture. 

I wish 'me too' wasn't such a wake up call, because I wish sexual assault didn't exist. I wish that consent was something that men could really understand. So I'm going to try to explain it as clearly as I can, and I'd like to use a woman named Nafisa Ahmed's words to do so. 

"If you ask me for $5, and I'm too drunk to say yes or no, it's not okay to then go take $5 out of my purse... Just because I didn't say no."

"If you put a gun to my head to get me to give you $5, you still stole $5. Even if I physically handed you $5."

"If I let YOU borrow $5, that doesn't give the right for your FRIEND to take $5 out of my purse. "But you gave him some, why can't I?""

"If you steal $5 and I can't prove it in court, that does NOT mean you didn't steal $5."

"Just because I gave you $5 in the past, doesn't mean I have to give you $5 in the future."

Do you understand that? Then why don't you understand the concept of rape? The concept of consent? 

Lastly, there's a reason why the 'me too' trend is so vague. Because sharing the grimy details of assault on the internet ends up getting more abuse than acknowledgement, and that's a mentally dangerous place for a victim of sexual assault to go to. Stop wondering if the person who wrote 'me too' was just cat called or if she was raped. Both things were NOT okay. 

One of the most exhausting things about ALL of this, and about being a victim of sexual assault, is that you know it's not going to stop any time soon... unfortunately it's going to happen again because that's the fucked up world we live in. To the person reading this, I hope you take initiative. I hope you can make a dent in the change this world needs.