Category Archives: Rockstar and Crescent

Surah Yaseen days

Glorious mundanity, Loss and laments and letting go, Rockstar and Crescent

I know you probably have a “Surah Ya-Seen day” once in a while, too. You may call it something else, but I bet it’s still comparable to mine. Perhaps yours is known as “The Day from Hell” instead. I’ve always called mine “Surah Ya-Seen days” simply because it makes me feel less pissed off that way.

Surah Ya-Seen days usually occur the day after an all-nighter. The level of stress and annoyance varies, depending on whether I have a paper due that day, or a midterm or final exam to take.

Yesterday was a great example of a Surah Ya-Seen day: I was up the night before, skimming through three cultural anthro books in preparation for a seven-page paper due yesterday (which, incidentally, I hadn’t started at the time), and racking my brain for the perfect thesis sentence. I had great quotes, a reference sheet in progress, a slick intro, and a very nice conclusion to boot, but did I have a thesis? Of course not. Come seven a.m., I tried to eat breakfast, and discovered that chewing took far too much effort. Sat there in exhaustion and stared at the sister and our ummy for a bit, before deciding I had better get a move on. Running late, needed gas, and thus gave myself an annoyed lecture for not stopping to fill up my tank the night before, when I had had plenty of time. (I talk to myself a lot, in case you didn’t know. No, I don’t move my lips.) And still no thesis.

Once in the car, I listened to two tracks of my favorite mix CD, then impatiently stabbed at the “on” button for the radio. Listening to Michelle Branch scream out, “Are You Happy Now?” irritated me yet further, because I had already pretty much figured out I wasn’t happy at the moment, thank you very much. And I generally like cloudy days in September. But not on Surah Ya-Seen days, which is why I narrowed my eyes up at the sky in my best impression of a “Don’t you dare” look. I was actually talking to the sky, but God ultimately took pity on me and decided rain wasn’t a good idea that day after all. And I realized that my latest favorite juice (strawberry-raspberry) tastes like medicine if you drink it right after brushing your teeth. Wonderful. And everyone and their momma was driving much too slowly for my taste.

So yeah, music never works for me on Surah Ya-Seen days. Instead, I scrabbled around and came up with my favorite Surah Ya-Seen tape (recited by Shaykh Ali Abdur-Rahman Al-Hudhaify—masha’Allah, the most beautiful recitation I’ve heard so far), and turned it up real loud. I turned it down real quick though, as soon as I remembered I still needed to brainstorm a thesis sentence. But it was good background sound while I struggled to concentrate and mentally string together the perfect set of words.

The computer labs on campus were already full, but I finally found myself a computer. My finger raced to type up the sentences I dimly remembered from my drive. I was abrupt and visibly impatient with the guy from my anthro class who asked to borrow my mini-stapler. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he was printing out his anthro paper while I was still barely had a thesis. Plus, he almost stole my reference sheet, which printed out at the same time as his paper. “Hey, that’s mine,” I said, while he backed up a step and stared at me warily. Somehow, I’m always mean to people on Surah Ya-Seen days. I should wear a bright “Stay Clear” warning sign, no?

I rushed to my first class, only to find that we were watching a video (something about the relationship between advertising and personhood) instead of having a lecture. Shoulda just stayed in the computer lab, dammit, I muttered (mentally), and settled down to writing transition sentences for each paragraph of my paper while the video played. (Did you know that “we value humans less if we’re surrounded by objective representations of them”? Yes, well, now you know.)

Rushed to another computer lab after class. Stood in line for almost fifteen minutes, wondering impatiently why everyone and their momma always seems to have papers due right about the same time I do. Finally, I was at the head of the line, and the girl behind me asked, “Do you want that computer over there?”, gesturing vaguely. I thought she was pointing at a Mac, so I declined. Only after she passed by me did I realize I had just turned down a PC. Thus followed yet another mental lecture, which was enough to keep me busy while I waited ten more minutes for a free computer. After typing up four pages, I had to switch labs, so I wandered all the way across campus. Logged into the computer, busted out with my disk, and realized I hadn’t saved my paper and related files onto the disk. I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing for a second. I stared at the screen in horror, then put my head down in my hands, scrubbed at my face, and mumbled, “What the hell is wrong with you?” (Only, I didn’t use “hell,” but a much more profane—and less profound—word. So much for that no-cussing rule I started last Ramadan. I was doing so well, too. Sort of.) So I had to run all the way across campus, figure out which computer I had been using, walk up to the girl there, and say, “Excuse me, I’m sorry, but…” She gave me a weird look (probably thinking, “What’s up with this freak?”), but let me take over her computer for a sec. And, yes, thank goodness, all my files were still there on the hard drive. Good one, genius. Ran back across campus. Skipped my second class and worked on the damn paper some more.

I was majorly hungry throughout the day, but I had to ignore that. I missed lunch with friends at the best sandwich place in the whole entire world (no, I’m serious. It’s that good).

What’s even sadder, I missed a chance to see Dennis again. (I hear he’s been asking about me.)

Emailed my paper out to the TA at exactly 4:50 p.m.

Then I stopped by a convenience store to pick up some juice before hitting the freeway to head home. On my way to the register, I found out that Pringles now come in colors like “Ragin’ Red” and “Electric Blue.” Not the canisters; the chips themselves. I stared. I blinked a few times. I stood in the aisle, and laughed and laughed. The owner/manager dude worriedly asked me if I was alright. “Yes, thank you,” I said, and grinned all the way up to the register.

I smirked all the way home. And even though I found out, halfway through my drive, that the screws on my favorite (and only) pair of sunglasses—yes, the little, rectangular, yellow-orange gradient ones—are loose, rendering them unfit to wear until I fix the problem, and even though that meant I had to drive the remaining thirty miles with the sun in my face, it was okay. Because I was listening to Surah Ya-Seen again, and laughing about those Pringles that somehow managed to make up for the whole jacked-up day.

Es ist die Wahrheit: Pringles rocken das Haus. And alhamdulillah for all the things that make us laugh, no matter how silly—especially on Surah Ya-Seen days.

beautiful day Last Friday morning, while the Ba…

Rockstar and Crescent

beautiful day

Last Friday morning, while the Bay Area weather was still cool and breezy and traffic was negligible, my (and Shereen‘s :)) halaqa group drove up to meet at my house. We packed our picnic lunches and endless snacks, made sure to grab plenty of water bottles, waved fi aman’Allah to my ummy, and set off for Muir Woods, known as the “only surviving primordial redwood forest in the San Francisco Bay Area.” It had been an almost spur-of-the-moment decision, brought up, discussed, and arranged in a mere five minutes at our halaqa the weekend before. Because most of our group had deserted us for summer-long vacations across the country or overseas, the little bunch of us left behind (seven in all) were a bit baffled as to what halaqa-related recreational activities and academic pursuits to engage in during the others’ absence. We decided to cover the recreational aspect first. Someone suggested a picnic (who can say no to food?). Someone else suggested a halaqa conducted in a natural setting, somewhere outdoors rather than at the Islamic center. And some genius finally put it all together by bringing up the idea of Muir Woods, which the rest of us, sad to say, had never heard of, even given that it’s only about 40 miles away, located near the town of Mill Valley, only a few miles north of San Francisco.

The whole thing started out perfectly. We actually left my house on time (all together now, Whoaaa), and made it to Mill Valley without any mishaps. But once there, instead of continuing down the highway and around the corner and up the hill to the woods, the sister whose car I was following made an unexpected turn into a parking lot. Confused, I followed suit. Turned out her car had overheated. When we lifted the hood, we saw the coolant had somehow leaked out and sprayed all over the radiator and coolant container and engine. Joy to the world. Actually, mass worry was more like it. Even my “professional commuter extraordinaire skillz” weren’t much help. Then it started getting hot. Wayy hot. And each of us was wearing at least one black item of clothing (what is it with us hijabis and the color black?). Great for attracting unwanted rays, so someone busted out with the sunscreen, which we all applied liberally. At the end, we couldn’t help but laugh at the circle of overly-shiny faces.

We spent nearly two hours walking back-and-forth to and from the mechanic shop across the street, unsuccessfully scrounging around for ice cream at Walgreen’s (the national grocery chain whose parking lot we were melting in), munching on some of the picnic food, worrying about this sudden shift in plans, and negotiating with a tow truck driver to take the car back to the East Bay once he showed up and mournfully shook his head upon viewing all that technical stuff under the car’s hood. Amazingly enough, though, we remained pretty upbeat. The food and the freezing coldddd water bottles definitely helped, not to mention our self-deprecating humor as we viewed people’s confused reactions to the seven laughing hijabis chilllin on the curb in front of an overheated car. To their credit, many shoppers stopped by to ask if they could help. Good stuff.

Anywayz, the other sister’s car was a lost cause (in terms of our trip, at least). So what did we do, cancel it? Heck no, yo. We just piled into mine, and continued on our merry way. Seven girls crammed into a car meant for five. Wasn’t too bad though. Then again, I was chillin in the driver’s seat, so obviously I didn’t have anything to complain about. :D

So we finally made it to Muir Woods, and what can I say? It was definitely well worth it, and then some. So green and shady and tranquil. After wandering on the main boardwalk trail for about a mile, we walked uphill to where the path curved along the canyon edge, and then doubled back around a side stream, making our way back to the forest entrance. The easy, dirt path was an awesomely high vantage point from which to view the forest. And, subhan’Allah, what a view, yo. Most of these redwood trees are several hundred years old, hence the reason it’s known as a “primordial forest.” It was soo mind-boggling and humbling to stare up at these trees and realize how small and insignificant our own lives are in comparison. Many of the trees were gnarled with age, but most still stood straight and soo tall. It was interesting to note how age (and erosion?) had hollowed out the bottom portion of many of the redwood tree trunks, forming a niche strikingly similar to the mihrab, the masjid alcove facing qiblah where the imaan stands to conduct salah.

Little things, but they added up to nice big things: Makeshift mihrabs formed by hollow tree trunks. And the shady, enclosed area where we performed salah and conducted an impromptu halaqa and quiet dhikr session. And the fact that, for the rest of the day, all our trivial, worldly concerns just drifted away, so that we concentrated only on enjoying the moment, remembering Allah (SWT), giving thanks for our many blessings, and putting things into prespective. Halfway through our wanderings, one of the sisters groaned at the thought of taking a further step, professing great weariness. I smiled. “Think of Rasul’Allah and his companions, and the gazillions of miles they travelled across the desert during the hijrah,” I offered. “We can soo do this.” She grinned back, and straightened her shoulders. And kept walking with newfound energy. It continued that way throughout the day: ahadith, silent dhikr, Qur’anic ayaat, stories from the lives of the Prophets (peace be upon them)…anything and everything, and together it served to keep us in a constant state of remembrance of Allah (SWT) for the rest of the day. Because, you know, there are reminders and signs all around us, if we only choose to look for and acknowledge them.

In late afternoon, we drove down to the Muir Beach. Walking along the dusty path from the car to the beach itself, I looked down and grimaced distastefully at my dirty sneakers and pants. The aforementioned sister glanced over and smiled crookedly. “From dust we’re created, and to dust we shall return,” she remarked. My turn to be reminded.

A little boy, dressed in swimming trunks and no more than four years old, stopped by to show off his handful of jellyfish. He grinned, displaying his adorable dimples while carefully opening his hands to show us the jellyfish nestled inside. We asked him his name. “Aaday!” he announced, his little chest puffing up with pride. “It’s an African name!” Later, his brother, about six years old, cupped his palms and urged us to Look!, and we peered in wonder at the tiny crabs held fast in his hands. His name was Kumasi, he informed us with the same grave pride. Masha’Allah, such beautiful children. They just walked right up to us and shared their simple joys, brightening our day even further with their enthusiasm.

We dawdled as long as we could, finally leaving the beach and returning to the car in the early evening. Driving back up the hillside, we glanced over the edge. Miles out from the cliff, the clear bay met the unclouded sky, and it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

It was one of those days when everything just clicks into place. I don’t know how to describe it any more than that, and so I won’t even attempt to do so, because it’ll only end up sounding trite and clichéd. So forget that.

But treat yourself to a beautiful day sometime soon. Your soul will thank you.

I was doing some reading for my religious studies …

Rockstar and Crescent

I was doing some reading for my religious studies class (Islamic Scriptures) and came across this passage from a commentary by Neal Robinson, called Discovering the Qur’an: A Contemporary Approach to a Veiled Text.

Subhan’Allah this is sooo beautiful. I hope y’all enjoy it too, and maybe juxtapose it with your personal experience as a means of perfecting your own approach to the Qur’an:

What I have said about the respect which ordinary Muslims show for the Qur’an, and about the dynamic appearance of the written text, is epitomized by this extract from a meditation by Hasan Aksari. He was moved to write it when a young friend of his told him about his mother. The mother had never been taught how to read, yet before dawn she would rise and kindle a lamp, unfurl her prayer mat and remove her Qur’an from its green silk wrapping.

For a long time she would allow her eyes to rest on the two open pages before her. The letters in green ink from right to left, row beneath row, each shape mysteriously captivating, each dot above or below a letter an epitome of the entire scripture, each assembly of letters a group of dervishes raising their hands in zikr, each gap between two enigmatic shapes a leap from this world into the next, and each ending the advent of the day of Resurrection.

She would thus see a thousand images in the procession of that script and would move from vision to vision.

After spending much time in just looking at the open book, she would then, with strange light glowing on her face, lift her right hand and with the right finger start touching the letters of each line, then another line, to the end of the page. What transpired between the book and that touch, and what knowledge passed, without any mediation of conscious thought, directly into her soul, only the Qur’an and the strange reciter could know. The entire world stood still at this amazing recital without words, without meaning, without knowledge. With that touch a unity was established between her and the Qur’an. At that moment she had passed into a state of total identity with the word of God. Her inability to read the scripture was her ability to hear once again: Read! Read, in the name of thy Lord.