Existence & Love

Existence is like love. Where in life we suffer, enduring pain and misery, we do the same in love. Love is heartache and perfect thirst, but we would never trade a moment of it for anything in this world. Why? Because even if we do not obtain the object of our love, there is something hidden within the treasure of love that we do not understand but only feel; it out-smarts the intellect but not the heart. It is the pursuit of the beloved that entangles us, it is hope that our beloved gives us a glance. It is a new life and adventure each day in search for our beloved. It is the submission to the beloved that we enjoy serving her in every way. So too is the treasure of life, for although it entails grief and hardships, it is much better than not having existed at all. This is so because we fall in love with what life has to offer. But how much better is it to love the Everlasting, and not the fleeting? Afterall, everything lovable in life is only a mere shadow of God. Therefore, in life we must submit to our Beloved (swt), otherwise life has no love, and love has no life. Who does not love what his beloved loves? How else did Qays become Majnun? By loving God, you will love what He loves, and who loves more than God? It is better to have met the beloved and fallen in love with all the sickness of longing, than never having met her at all. And so they say, "it is better to have loved than to have never loved at all," and I say it is better to have existed than never having existed at all. It is better to have seen God than never having seen Him at all. Because life IS love, and out of love He created life.

May 17th, 2004

1 Litre of Tears - Chapter 2

Chapter 2
15 years Old (1977-78) - Illness Creeping Up

Signs of Something

Recently, I seem to be getting skinnier. I wonder if it's because I've been skipping meals to do all my homework and independent research? Even when I think of doing something I can't carry it out, and that gets me into trouble. I blame myself, but I can't make any progress. I'm just wasting energy. I want to put on a bit of weight. I'll try to take action starting tomorrow so that my plans won't be ruined.

It was drizzling. "I hate going to school holding an umbrella as well as carrying my heavy schoolbag and another bag." Just as I was thinking this, my knees suddenly seemed to collapse and I fell over on a narrow graveled road. I was only about 100 metres away from home.I banged my chin hard. I touched it gently and found my fingers were covered with blood. I picked up my bags and umbrella that were scattered on the road and retraced my steps back home.

"Have you forgotten something?" Mom called as she came out into the entrance hall. "You'd better hurry up or you'll be late! . . . Oh dear, what happened?"
All I did was cry. I couldn't say anything. Mom quickly wiped my blood face with a towel. There was some grit in the cut.
"I think this is a job for the doctor," said Mom. She quickly helped change out my wet clothes and firmly applied a plaster to the cut. Then we jumped into the car.

I had two stitches without any anesthesia. It was all a result of my clumsiness, so I tried to bear the pain with my teeth clenched. But, more important, I'm sorry, Mom-because of me you had to take a day off work.

Looking at my painful chin in the mirror, I wondered why I didn't put my arms forward to break my fall. Was it because my athletic ability is poor? I was pleased, however, that the cut was at the back of my chin. (If I had a scar in some more visible place, that future would be a closed book for me in terms of marriage.)

My physical education scores so far:
First grade at junior high-3
Second grade-2
Third grade-1

How disappointing! Lack of effort? I was hoping to gain a bit more strength with the circuit training during the summer holiday. But I failed. I didn't do it long enough. So I suppose it's not surprising. (Of course it isn't! = The mystery voice of my other self.)

This morning, the sunlight and a pleasant breeze were coming in through the yellow lace curtains on the kitchen window. I was crying.
"I wonder why it's only me that's so poor in athletic ability?"
In fact, we had a balance beam test today.
"But you're good at other subjects, so it's all right, isn't it?" Mom said, looking down. "In the future, you can make the most of your ability in your favorite subject. You're very good at English. So why don't you try and thoroughly master that? It's the international language, so I'm sure it'll be useful in the future. It doesn't matter if your score for PE is only 1 . . ."
I stopped crying. Mom made me realize that I still have some hope.

I'm becoming more and more weepy. And my body won't move the way I want it to. Am I getting a fluster because I'm lazy about doing my homework, which I could only finish if I spent five hours a day on it? No. Something inside my body seems to be going wrong.
I'm scared!
I have a feeling that tightens my heart.
I want to get more exercise.
I want to run with all my might.
I want to study.
I want to write neatly.

I think Paul Mauriat's Toccata is really nice. I've grown very fond of it. When I play it while I'm eating meals, the food tastes so good, it's like a dream.

Now, about Ako, one of my sisters. Up to now, I've only noticed the ill-natured of her character. But now I can see that she's actually very kind. Why do I think that? Well, I'm very slow when we walk to school in the morning, but she always stays with me. My brothers just walk on ahead and leave me behind. But when we were crossing a pedestrian bridge, Ako took my schoolbag off me and said, "Aya you'd better hold the handrail while you go up."

I'm pretty well out of the summer holiday mood now.
As I was going upstairs after clearing up the dinner things, Mom said, "Aya, can you come and sit down for a moment?" She looked very serious. I became tense, wondering what she was going to tell me off about.
"Aya," she said, "you seem to be walking with your upper body leaning forward and you're rolling to the right and left. Have you noticed that yourself? I've noticed you've been doing that for a while, and it's beginning to worry me. Shall we go to the hospital for a checkup?"
". . . Which hospital?" I asked after a pause.
"I'll find one that can give you a thorough examination. Leave it up to me. All right?"
My tears flowed nonstop. I really wanted to say, "Thank you, Mom. I'm sorry for causing you such anxiety." But I was stuck for words.

Since Mom has suggested I should go to a hospital, I've been wondering if there really is something wrong with me.
Is it because my athletic ability is so poor?
Is it because I stay up late?
Is it because I eat irregularly?
I couldn't help crying as I was asking myself those questions. I cried so much, my eyes hurt.

From 1 Litre of Tears

Dear Old Friend

By Ruhudeen Ali
April 29th, 2004

I clenched my fist in hope that I would defend,
the honor I thought I'd never bend.
Now you see I only pretend.
It is time to make amends
all faults, I ask you to transcend.
You & I, on each other we used to depend,
to each other's needs we would attend.
We used to seek Paradise that together we may ascend,
but times have changed resulting in an unclear blend.
you ask me "have I changed?" I say "it depends,"
even if I say so, could you comprehend?
You didn't know a thing,
all you saw was the act of being innocent,
and how could you know, my dear friend?
That your friend was climbing out of Hell from its deep-end.
Would that I had asked for a rope in those days, perhaps you would lend?
What else can a slave do but repent?
But you didn't know I was below you because I lied,
living a life of suicide.
Didn't care what moment brought what,
humans can be lower than mutts.
Along with all the people I smiled.
It was only a mask that beguiled,
fooling the rest of you into thinking
I was anything more than a weakling.
But now I'm different and yet,
still the same old regret.
For the past is a shame,
to dwell on it, lame.
But the future is still in the air
for me to be bold and prepare
my new life away from despair.
The grief I've been through I will not share.
With mere words how can I declare
the pain that which few can compare.
So dear friend, remember me and do not forget
that special day when we met.
So if you are in need of a friend, remember that person,
do not look to this perversion.