Simply Aasia

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

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