I still remember the first time I heard this song. Kuwait. I must’ve been about 8 or 9. My mom and I were hovered over our old, slow computer and I was reading the latest Somali news to her. My parents are both literate and know 3 languages each, but in order for them to teach me about my origins, language, and country, they forced me to read the news to them all the time, to practice my reading skills. I used to love it, mostly because I got to drive the mouse (anyone who knows me well knows I love to control the mouse).

On this particular day, things started off the same but were about to change. My mother and I first watched a short documentary about a Somali girl who shared her story of how she was raped during the war and consequently contracted HIV. It was quite heavy and my mom and I were sad. One of the links on the side was titled “Maryan Mursal – Somali Udiida Ceeb,” meaning ‘Somalia- Don’t Allow Shame for it’ (that’s how I interpret it, at least. Most websites show a slightly different interpretation that somewhat annoys me). My mom asked me to click on it, and we watched. It started off with a young girl, about my age at the time, running with a large Somali flag. The picture eventually shatters and the singing begins. I didn’t understand much at the time, but I remember seeing a tear roll down my mom’s cheek, which prompted me to ask her to break it down for me, line by line. I never knew too much about what Somalia was prior to the war era, all I knew about was the chaos I read in the news on a daily basis, most of which I never understood. My idea of Somali history was misconstrued. But my mother informed me of how things used to be, how it’s changed now, how the song speaks of just that, and urges Somalis to not allow shame for Somalia. Somewhere over the next few minutes, something stirred inside me and I started crying too. I didn’t know why, but I did. I think that’s when I started to fall in love with Somalia, and Maryan Mursal became my favourite artist.

Here’s the original video we watched. I will translate the song, line by line sometime soon, insha’Allah.

Studying for my physiology midterm, and this line really stuck out:

“The strength of the stimulus is coded into the frequency of the action potentials that are generated and not in their amplitude.”

Therefore, just because you took it that extra mile, once, isn’t enough. Consistency is key.

The number of back-and-forths with this despicable airline company, Wizz Air, have been draining. After all those letters, they have the nerve to come at me with this nonsense. Who in their right mind prepares their luggage for it to be lost? They really think they’re being cute when they ask me to provide video evidence of the contents of my bag at the time of check-in, like it’s perfectly normal to be carrying a video camera when flying. But it’s not over, oh no, the fight shall go on!

They’re so horrible that it took them TWO WEEKS to respond to the message I sent them as soon as I landed on February 24th (after I noticed that their staff at the airport were completely useless, unhelpful, no-customer-service-skills-having, lazy and rude, good-for-nothing people). Notice the initial response on March 10th.

(Yes, this is the start of my smear campaign).

AND they charge per kg for their baggage. Who does that? Wizz Air, that’s who. So not only did I lose my luggage, I also had to pay a fee for them to go ahead and make that loss possible. That’s like the icing on the cake.

It’s so easy to slip off. So easy. And you don’t even realize you’re slipping off. Or you completely distract yourself until you get that moment of complete silence where you can no longer avoid your soul, and you realize that your soul is in a comatose. That feeling of emptiness, guilt – it’s all caused by lack of remembrance. How often do we remember our Lord, and sincerely mean our words and actions? How many times do we forget its meaning and allow our 5-a-day turn into a series of robotic movements?

Have you ever had a sincere conversation with Allah? It always works, and sitting down and voicing your thoughts and feelings is so relieving. We get that spiritual high… and (in some cases) we’re gone with the wind again. One thing I really dislike is running to Allah only when I need Him. Like calling an old friend, only when you need something from said friend. It’s an abusive relationship that God definitely doesn’t deserve. Any healthy relationship is based on give and take. Establishing that give and take relationship with Allah is key to a successful and peaceful life, here on Earth, and in the Hereafter, and we should all work towards that. Starting with myself.

And so, following my mother’s advice, may Allah be pleased with her, I’m starting off by making dhikr an essential part of my daily living. I’m making little post it notes and posting them in appropriate spots in my apartment insha’Allah. To remind me incase I forget. It kinda irks me that I have to run to my copy of Fortress of the Muslim for duas I should’ve memorized light years ago. You should try it too.

5:00AM ramblings. Maybe I can sleep now.

Abu Hurairah (May Allah be pleased with him) reported: Messenger of Allah (P.B.U.H) said, “Allah says: `I am just as My slave thinks of Me when he remembers Me.’ By Allah! Allah is more pleased with the repentance of His slave than one of you who unexpectedly finds in the desert his lost camel. `He who comes closer to Me one span, I come closer to him a cubit; and he who comes closer to Me a cubit, I come closer to him a fathom; and if he comes to Me walking, I come to him running.’”

[Al-Bukhari and Muslim]

i’ve spent my weekend indoors catching up with the world around me. i watched this documentary twice and cried the whole way through. they would like for us to succumb to their occupations, but it’s not over. this resistance shall continue.

Documentary: The 4th World War

“There’s no point in having a plan B, because it only distracts from plan A.” – Will Smith

She came out of nowhere, and my first instinct was to grab my purse that I had left on the floor lest she run off with it. She just sat at the neighbouring bench quietly and watched my friends and I laugh and enjoy our last night out of the year together. This was the second time I saw her at the same place, and she couldn’t have been more than 5.

Every few minutes or so, a giggle would escape from her and I felt my heart break. This child had her childhood robbed from her, being brought into this harsh world and left alone to live a life of poverty and begging. I invited her to join us, and she willingly accepted, and she played and jumped and laughed so hard it made my heart heavy. I just kept thinking about where her mother would be, and I felt so guilty for making her feel like a criminal when she first approached us. She just wanted to be a child.

Live. Laugh. Love.

Tuesday started out beautiful. I woke up feeling fresh, showered, made a big breakfast, took my sweet time getting ready and went to my 9AM class in high spirits.

Somewhere over the next 6 hours or so, I started getting very hungry irritable. My roommate and I decided to go out for lunch with a classmate. Now something very annoying about Romania is that they don’t believe in splitting bills. You eat lunch with your friends, you get one nice fat bill at the end, and everyone starts calculating how much they owe (the life of broke students), who needs to pay whom how much, and all this unnecessary nonsense that wouldn’t happen if they simply just brought everyone their own bill!

Anyway…

So we’re done eating, and I ask the waitress to bring us three separate bills (I’ve had this request fulfilled twice in the past), and she declined. I explained to her that the last few times I asked for it, I got it, and she said OK.

She came back with the little book, and we opened it to find one receipt. Instantly I was extremely annoyed. Is she really too lazy to print two more receipts? She really wants us to go scavenging the little convenience stores for change to pay each other back?

There goes her tip!

Wait, that’s not sweet enough of a revenge.

I owed about 15 RON, equivalent to about $5 (yea, food is nice and cheap here!). After examining my wallet’s contents, I decided I was gonna have a little bit of fun be evil. I got out a 5 LEI bill, 1 LEI, and closed my wallet. I opened my penny pouch, emptied it clean, leaving behind a few loonies and toonies for when I next visit Canada. I suggested my friends do the same. At the end, the table looked a little something like this, except they were Romanian coins:

Lazy waitress came back and said, “Nu! Nu!”

“I don’t speak Romanian, sorry, this is all we have.”

“Nu, Nu (insert a whole lot of Romanian I didn’t understand).”

“I don’t understand you, sorry. I asked you to bring us separate receipts. Why aren’t you speaking english anymore?”

Yea, another thing: whenever you’re protesting something, they magically don’t speak English anymore.

More Romanian.

“I don’t understand.”

“Nu! Tu inteleg, tu inteleg!” Translation: “No! You do understand! You Understand!”

“I don’t inteleg actually, but I asked you to bring us separate receipts, it would’ve been so much easier than this.”

Leave it to Amal to rub things in in an ex-communist country where she is all alone.

She was talking angrily a mile a minute and I didn’t understand what she was saying but I got the gist of it, and basically what I think she said was, “Oh, so since I didn’t bring you your receipts you leave me all these coins?!”

“Da! Multumesc!” (Yes! Thank You!)

We got up, walked out, and I felt like I destroyed the woman. For the next half hour, as I walked off the smell of food and looked around random little shops, I kept thinking about how that woman must feel, and it made me feel powerful after weeks of being oppressed by rules that don’t make sense. Then I would feel a little guilty and think maybe I shouldn’t have done that. Then I would remember how she didn’t care about having us walk into shop after shop looking for change to break our money, and I would reassure myself that she deserved it. It was a back and forth battle between the voices in my head.

I told my brother about it later and he reassured me that sometimes stupid people need to be dealt with in stupid ways for them to understand the level of their sheer stupidity. I still kinda feel guilty here and there, but really, WHO CARES?!……

…..(Right?)