Do you ever wonder what your parents were like when they were younger? What they did in their spare time? Who they hung out with? If they actually did walk for 10 miles to get to school from home? I’m kidding, this was actually a stark reality for many of our parents. You could sit there and ask them to tell you what their childhood was like, but for many, they’d pick and choose the parts they felt were good enough to share. Or some even might’ve felt that certain things were just better left unsaid. Yet, I can’t help but wonder, what was my mother like?
I remember a couple of years back, it was after Maghrib and both my brother and I were sitting on a park bench squished in between my mother. There was a tree right above us and its branches were hanging low and I felt so afraid. The only thing that kept running through my mind at the time was “Oh my goodness, doesn’t the devil come out to play near trees during Maghrib?”. I was freaking out and felt so jittery. My attention wasn’t on my mother at all but I suddenly became alert when she started reminiscing on her childhood. This was where my interest started to peak. I wanted to know everything. I was thirsty to absorb every single detail of her experiences. I yearned to understand what she looked like at my age and if her personality was any different. I wanted to know it all.
All of her words hit home for me, and I’ll save bits of her stories in between blog posts, but subhanAllah I was so happy. In that moment, I felt so connected to her. I finally had a sense of what her past was like. For some reason though, there was a part of me that felt like I still didn’t know enough. When my mother passed away, Allah Yerhamha, she left a part of her that I’m so lucky to be able to reflect on. Her beloved journal that poured out her thoughts and feelings. Her poetry, tafseer of the Quran, and so much more.
I believe that Allah Azwajjal took away my mother, Allah Yerhamha, at a time where He felt it was best. I am beyond blessed that He’s given me a piece of her in this dunya through her writing. Her journal sat on top of my drawer for many months. I’d open it every now and then and just stare at the still, arabic words, unable to comprehend what she’d written. What was she saying? What was she pouring her heart about? What did the structured flow of her writings mean? I’ve been so desperate to get people to translate and Alhamdulillah many people came forward.
Shout out to my beautiful friends, Reema, Afrah and Lina for helping me to translate bits and pieces of her journal. For my blog, I’ll be picking and choosing some the entries that I know she would’ve loved to share herself if she’d been alive Allah Yerhamha. They are pieces of her. This is a way of me showing to you how beautiful of a person she was. How her words can hit home for many of us.
The above photo is a poem of hers called Qalb [The Heart]. This is the translation:
What are you thinking about and who are you thinking about?
Without a doubt you are not thinking about the present
but rather you are lost, hundreds of miles away from me,
and the fruit of the affectionate heart,
that is where the mind and heart do not unite.
And know that the winds come with what the sailors do not desire
and know that all of what I own for you is my heart,
full of love and affection.
I loved life because I lived it with you.
I don’t know how to express how beautiful that piece is, but I’m more than sure that you all can attest to it yourselves. I can’t wait to share more stories and personal experiences about my mother, Allah Yerhamha. In future blog posts, I’m hoping to keep A Journey to Mama’s Journal as a series of her entries. With that I’ll end this off with a small prayer.
May Allah Azwajjal bless my mother and all of our mothers. May He widen her grave and fill it with noor. May He bless her and grant her peace. May Allah Azwajjal only accept her good deeds. May all of the pain she went through in this dunya be a source of light for her on the Day of Judgement. Allahuma Ameen.