so tired

I've been struggling to articulate exactly how I have been feeling of late. Tired is the first word but it's not really the word I was looking for. I keep seeing everyone and I mean everyone trying to apply their brand or version of Islam on all of us. And I keep thinking, we aren't the same. It's the thing we disparage news outlets for, we aren't all the same type of believer. And my halaal: Haraam ratio might be different to yours, but does that mean we're the same or that we're different? Well to be fair, it's both. We're both sinning, we're just sinning differently. Let me tell you about life, it will beat you down, with health, wealth and mental load. And every beating has made me kinder in many regards but harsher in others. I used to believe that I was put on this earth to help. whether I was thanked or not. (how little did I think of myself?) What utter rubbish!  When I had oodles of time and energy, it didn't matter. But my ti

Virtue Signalling and the right brand of Islam in the Muslim community

Virtue-signalling, for those who have never felt drawn to the term, is the apparently modern crime of trying to be seen doing the right thing. The implication is that the virtue-signaller does not really believe what they are saying but simply wishes to be admired as a good person. It is most often used against celebs who identify with more fashionable or liberal political causes such as feminism, gay rights, racial diversity or concern about climate change. I have yet to see a popular figure in Social Media in South Africa who have used their religion to (and keep up here) to perpetuate their version of Islam and super judginess on other Muslims. Both locally and abroad. You've heard of a humble brag but have you heard of the humble shame?   No? well... This is a new action, and certainly is the weapon of the new modern faithful muslimah hoping to correct another brother/sisters actions, using their version of what's culturally acceptable versus what they'

Hijab - my weakness

So since 2016, I've been mostly in Hijab and its tough. I know why I started wearing it, and it was to be a daily reminder to find better ways of being. Friends and Family, don't always understand. I'm "less progressive now" what they don't know is I will still call you a p03$ in a headscarf. but the point is that I WANT to be better, be more God-conscious. Heres the rub though. Sometimes I get sick and tired of trying to be a better person. It's too damn hard and especially since acceptance came easier outside of wearing hijab.  going out, showing my hair and wearing what I please. regardless of modesty. I miss not giving a fuck! Then I try to do not give a fuck and then I feel miserable. because my stupid ass knows better. I hate it sometimes because this means something different to others than it does to me. but these hijabi barbies will still fucking judge me for not wearing it the "right way" or the "IN the way" and for

Evolution of the self

the more the ship rocks, the more effort you use to find your balance.  I have struggled to maintain balance. I have fallen, I have hurt and I have wailed at my inability to keep up. That's life isn't it? Love, heartbreak, death, struggle, joy anger and disillusionment. I am so disillusioned by my faith, by people, by myself.I just want to draw a line through 2018 and thank God, that even though I am floundering, I still look to God for answers, but I know I am not worthy.

The last 2 years

Two years ago today, I instagram'd the moment I walked into my first retrenchment (I didn't know at the time) Last year today after being told I did an amazing job, I was asked to leave for not being a cultural fit. Hijab wearing muslim working for company who predominantly sold hard liquor, yeah I figured But I took the job because I had no other means of income. Its not lost on me, but I can't tell you what retrenchments does to your psyche, your confidence, your ability to say with certainty. I KNOW HOW TO DO MY JOB Between friends who gave generously of their time: my lawyer friend who helped me negotiate a package,  my social media friend who gave me some part time work to tide me over, to  the friend who gave me a home so I wouldn't have to worry about paying rent.  To the friend and her family who opened their home and fed me  all of you who helped me and helped me maintain a semblance of dignity. for those friends who made me cry and reminded me t

shaking old memories lose

Last week, the ghadat opened a memory box that I had almost forgotten. While its made me pretty sad, I can't help and marvel at how far I have come. The memory box was a little sketchy, in that it plays bits and pieces that overlap and blur and still cut like knives. So poor. When I tell people that I grew up poor and still have that mentality, I don't think they understood. Not that I ever explained it. But after my dad has his toe amputated for gangrene. we didn't have much money. I remember exchanging cool drink bottles for cash for veggies to cook. So poor, that when I was in agony because of teeth issues, the thing I remember was it was cheaper to extract than fix (fix meant multiple visits - that we couldn't afford.) So poor that I cleaned my cousins house for money (she was a year younger than me) look at me, Ms Digital Marketer with her own car, and poor person metality and look at how far you've come. I never want to forget again. I remain

Gadat, Memories and Wishes

Last night was a tough, beautiful night. I am attending ISR2018 International Spiritual Retreat in Macassar Cape Town hosted by the Mahabbah Foundation . And last night marked the start of the retreat itself. And as per tradition, we have a Mass Ratibul Hadad  locally known as a Gadat,which was so beautifully heartchingly recited. I come from Johannesburg, and much to peoples surprise here in Cape Town. I grew up with it, literally, my father had his own Jamaah and there isn't a memory of mine, where gadat didn't feature. Sundays and Thursdays were almost always for gadats, (which when all you wanted to do, was watch some TV and chill) but we did it. The recitation last night was like a kick in the gut. It created such a sense of longing of my father and my mother who have passed away. Using the same lagoo (melody) I closed my eyes and pictured my father and uncles sitting in the lounge facing the congregation and leading us while we jikr'd with rhythm. My chil