My musings

  I was writing on this topic couple of days back and have an unfinished draft which I will work on in the next couple of days. Today, I got notification in Facebook of an older post written there, on the same topic. It spoke what I still believe about, hence sharing that here for now.  The graves are filled with both the very young and the very old. In midst of all the worldly worries constantly in my head, the worry of what will happen to me after I die, when I am laid in the ground, in the tiny space, and then covered with sand, seemingly makes all other worries seem unimportant and irrelevant.  The worry of the life after death, the long period in the grave is  the real worry; where only our good deeds will be of help to us , and not the money we earned , the properties we bought , the posts we held , the family and friends we had. Only our good deeds will come to our rescue in the grave; how much we obeyed Allaah and follow his commands, how much we prayed,...

I have difficulty in discussing about the bad chapters from my past as its something I dont want to remember. Why? Cause the memories hurt. Perhaps I wish to close the chapter and move on, rather than opening up old wounds by remembering them. The learning's from some of the chapters have already been learned even.  Some memories of the past sadden me. They serve as a reminder how things could've been better had I not made certain mistakes/ errors in judgement . Perhaps things would've been much different now, the relationship's intact, chances of getting a better job, more calmness and less regrets. But things sometime don't happen as we plan them to be.  How do I make peace with the past then? Perhaps by remembering the positive aspects of the event than the negative? Perhaps understanding that we meet people for a reason and depart when the purpose is accomplished, that some things are just meant to be,  some things were not in my control, not everything was my...

Every Face tells a story: As I’ve sat in my local masjid so many times (after the prayer of the time of the day ended) and mused  on what was going on in the lives of the other attendees. I've seen faces with their hands up, making dua (prayer) to their Lord Allaah while others have covered their faces with their hands, their heads tilted towards the ground. Perhaps they are crying as they try communicating with their Lord to help them with their issues. Most of these are expatriates, people who have left their home county in search of job here. Left their families behind. Some who have not visited their families in years even. Some may even be jobless. Every face tells a story. There are other groups of people who are more jovial, more happy. Every face tells a story. Yet, they are all here, in the house of their Lord, asking for his help, and seeking his forgiveness, surrounded by their country men. I see the same story in a bus, or a train. Every face tells a story...