Skip to main content

Letter to myself

You may wonder why you are receiving this letter. It is a gift, a reminder of what you already know but sometimes forget: You are here for a reason.

You are a force. You are a created soul. You are important. If you've ever thought, “I'm just one person,” realize that one person is a lot.

Every human who has ever walked this earth was one person, and each of them left a mark. What will yours be?

And no, there is no need to move mountains. There is only a need to nourish hearts.

And your heart is the first one that needs to be watered. By His words. By His remembrance.

Some of the greatest deeds are things that no human can see. They are deeds of the heart, of the mind. Belief. Certainty. Hope. Optimism. Kindness.

Be kind. To yourself first.

Stop complaining. Stop lamenting over your lack of focus, discipline, vision, progress. Life is a whirlwind, a dream that quickly slips away. Find out what's important to you and do a little bit of it every day. It's that simple.

Focus on today. Yesterday cannot be changed, but today can. See the newness of today like a fresh page. As for tomorrow, it can't be changed by worry and fear. It can only be changed by du'aa.

Comfort your heart with the knowledge that what is yours will (inexplicably) be driven your way, and what is not will not. Don't turn away from opportunity because you are afraid; trust in Allah, walk through the door, and see where it leads.

Be kind to others. Be certain that you don't know their hearts, their circumstances. Pray for them, but don't judge.

Don't forget your family. Strangely, those in front of us are the easiest to neglect. Though they may drive you mad, no one loves you more. Cherish them, and tell them.

See. Really see. See what you have, not what you don't. See what's in your hand, not in the hand of your neighbour. Appreciate it before it's gone.

You are a traveller, passing through this land on your way home. Remember your destination, and follow your map so you don't get lost. As for the journey, make the most of it.

(February 2018)

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

To school on a winter morning

I love the walks to school on winter mornings. The crisp weather, the leisurely stride, the friendly banter between my daughters and their cousin. Sometimes they link arms with her—not with each other, to be sure—and sometimes they take quick steps, trying to outpace each other. The puffy black jacket I bought a decade ago on another continent serves me well. Today, grey clouds loom above, but so far there is no rain. (It doesn’t take long for the streets to fill with water when it does rain, and then the walk turns into a delicate crisscrossing dance.) We’re approaching the school gate now. “Anyone want to hug and kiss me in public?” I quip. The girls politely decline, but they do say salam and “I love you.” I stand until they pass through the doors; both of them look at me and wave. I turn back, and soon I’m crossing a one-way road; I live in Egypt, so I look both ways. My way back is contemplative. I study all the greenery on my path—trees and bushes of various shapes and sizes. Som...
Post a Comment
Read more

When I flew away

I flew away, one day, leaving you behind; you were not quite sixteen. There were ten years between us, and we shared a room for many of those years. And because of the age gap, you didn't get under my skin like the others... I remember the day you were born, and the jaundice lights they put you under, and your pitiful newborn cries. I couldn't stand to hear them and ran out of the room. Silly girl. Our oldest brother named you. He wanted you to have a strong name, like the woman who defended the Prophet in battle. And so it was. The little piece of flesh that came home with us from the hospital was called Nusaybah. You were Mom's sixth, and you were our baby as much as hers. Our old albums are peppered with photos of us carrying you, and you screaming your head off. One day, after she'd started you on solids, Mom asked me to put your baby food in a bowl of hot water, so it would be a suitable temperature. I was puzzled by the request, and when I asked for clarification,...
Post a Comment
Read more

Heavy days

I remember it only in snatches, in images that I can bring to mind like screenshots from a movie -- rewind and wallow. They were heavy days, spent mostly at the computer, following closely how many had been shot -- and where -- until the shooting was in our neighbourhood, and we heard of three killed. I remember looking at my husband, our eyes connecting with the same thought. I remember us checking for recent Facebook activity just to know he was still alive. We found nothing. And those three words spoken on the phone, so simple but so shattering. It was the last two weeks of summer vacation, but the days crawled by, and whenever I lay down to sleep I thought of him and of those left behind. Now that new-school-year smell, the waxed floors felt like betrayal like the day my aunt died and I’d baked butter cookies. All who met me that first day expressed their condolences -- kind words and concerned faces -- and then turned to others to discuss their vacations, laughter replacing concer...
2 comments
Read more