Thursday, 5 February 2015


murree - pakistan - 2014
There have been blue skies. There have been days, weeks and months of real happiness, normality and contentment. Contentment. A prayer fulfilled. I found the beauty in the world again, in all the little things. I was a lost wanderer who finally found her way back home, and at first it felt strange and I hesitated at every step. Now I wonder at how I could have ever lived like a stranger in my own body, in my own home. With no realisation of how terribly lost I was. 

One year and one day. Times like this pull me into a gripping, suffocating nostalgia. I am a nostalgic person. I am made up of dates and times and the big moments and little moments, they all matter to me. Deeply. They make up the pattern of my life, the dot-to-dot. They are what have made me the person I am right now, this moment in time. 

The flames that engulfed me are a strangely delicious memory. To feel so much, so terribly. It was excruciating. But from a safe distance, the memory of it can be appreciated as the remarkable beauty of being alive. Of being able to feel the most extraordinary emotions, for the most extraordinary amount of time. 

It has made me deeply empathetic. A broken chest made room for so much light, a capacity to care for others and feel for others. Because once you find yourself crippled at the bottom of a pit of despair, you cannot bear to see others in the same position. I feel my chest clench a little every time I come across someone who is drowning. I remember what it felt like to drown. I am not likely to forget it. For so many years, day in and day out it was utterly unbearable. I thank God. I can never thank God enough. He gave me the courage to take hold of the hand around my throat and sink my teeth into it so hard it finally let go. I could finally breathe again. Every breath since has been easier and easier. 

And today, I laugh at my little low moments, because they are the farthest thing from low. Today, I am healthy. Today, I have nothing more to worry about than essay deadlines and the books I have yet to read for class. Today, like every other day this past year, I fall asleep thinking about how I can better myself. What should I read next? How do I find success doing what I love? What is my next step towards becoming a better Muslim? A better daughter/sister/friend? This past year has been about myself. For the first time in years I am working on myself, for myself, by myself. With the comforting presence of my friends, my family and the Almighty. 

"In the end your wounds will sing."

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