The Preceptions of a 3-year old

The other day, my daughter turns to me while I am doing a mundane task like laundry, and says, "Mommy, if you get dead, then I won't have a mommy anymore." I nearly dropped what I was doing, and just turned to her and asked her to repeat herself. So she said it again. So I asked her, "Who told you that?" And she said, "I made it up myself." And I thought to myself, "Well, its a pretty accurate statement."

What do you do in situations like this? I don't want to lie to her, and tell her I'll always be around. While that is my hope and prayer - to watch her grow up, and be a part of her life always - we all know that at the end of the day, that decision only lies in the hands of Allah.

Its amazing how children are often the ones to remind us of who we belong to and how we only have limited control. We usually are so caught up in planning our lives for the future, working toward our careers, planning our families, etc, that we tend not to think about the possibility of our plan being different from Allah's. But more often than not, our plan is different than Allah's. Or rather, how certain circumstances turn out may not have been at all how we imagined it would be. And its how we respond to that plan that is the test. When His plan for us is even better than we could have imagined, being grateful is key. When His plan is different than what we planned, and outwardly may seem horrifying, remembering that there is a wisdom in it is essential. Finding that wisdom is often beyond our human understanding, but believing that it is there may be all we need to do.

Marriage, Fertility, and Patience

So there's been a lot on my mind this summer, and I've been meaning to write about it, but didn't know where to start.

I feel like in our parents' generation, particularly in the Desi culture, but probably also in the Arab culture, there is this perpetual obsession with marriage and fertility. For the first twenty-some years of a girl's life, her parents are obsessed with getting her married. And, if it doesn't happen on their expected timeline, they become more obsessed, more depressed, more psycho about it. Finally when the time does come, perhaps the girl breathes a sigh of relief that its finally time and her parents will back off. Only she will quickly learn that the silence will only be temporary, as their new obsession with her reproducing will now be the focus of their discussions with her. And if that doesn't happen on their expected timeline, discussions of infertility will surface. Isn't it interesting, this obsession with marriage and fertility? I really do feel like its specific to Desi (probably Arab too) parents. I feel like non-desi or non-Arab cultures aren't as obsessed with it. The attitude in America is so laid back about marriage. You're not considered "old" after you turn 25 if you're still single. Its so much more acceptable to be single. Or married without children. Or married without children for 10 years.

In the past few months, its something I've thought a lot about. At the end of the day, we all know that it is written for us, that no matter how hard we try, no matter what we do, when we get married or when we reproduce is entirely in Allah's hands. So why is that so hard for parents, and even us, to accept? Truly, this "waiting game" is a test of trust, but more importantly, a test of patience. I know a lot of single girls playing this waiting game - meeting prospectives every so often, maybe even getting their hopes up, only to be disappointed when it doesn't work out. Only to move on to the next prospective, but still finding faults in themselves for why they are not married. To complicate their lives further, their mothers and aunts and older relatives criticize their every move as well. "It's the fact that you're not lady-like. It turns boys off." "You're too aggressive, be passive in front of him." "You're too educated. It's intimidating." This constant obsession, and continual discussion in the home will drive any girl crazy and increase the pressure she is already feeling. And to say that it just wasn't meant to be, that Allah didn't will it, is just not a satisfactory explanation enough for them. Indeed, this is a test of patience. A test of whether or not you don't lose faith that there is someone out there. That you don't start wondering at the hundredth bridal shower you are invited to, "Why not me?"

Then there's the fertility issue. I know so many couples trying to conceive. Or who have just conceived after years of trying. Or who conceived when not even actively trying. Or who conceived and didn't want to conceive. Or who haven't conceived because they just want to live a child-free life for a bit longer. When I see some couples who want children so bad, and don't have them, my heart goes out to them. I can only imagine what every month must be like, waiting to see if your pregnancy test is positive. And what it must feel like to be disappointed. It doesn't help that most pregnancy symptoms are also PMS symptoms, so it is not too inconceivable that a woman wanting to get pregnant would get her hopes up every month when she feels bloated, or nauseated, or breast tenderness. And it also doesn't help that the elders keep reminding you of your non-pregnant status. "You should have all your kids close together. So that they grow up together." "Oh doesn't that baby look precious in your arms. Won't it be so sweet if you had one of your own?" "You know, so and so went to such ans such doctor for fertility treatment and it worked beautifully. Maybe you should try it too." This too, is a test of patience. Of struggling to be content with God's decision as you watch another month of trying to conceive pass you by. Of keeping your cool when someone gives you free advice about when, where and how you should conceive. Or asks you when you are going to start a family. Or expand your family. Of not feeling envious when you see yet another pregnant woman or a newborn infant.

Subhanallah these are matters that you have no control over. I know of one woman who tried for years, decades even, to have a baby with her husband. After several failed attempts of in-vitro fertilization, and fertility drug after fertility drug, they gave up. Only to discover that they conceived naturally after she was above 40. Now, mashallah they have a 7 year old son. Subhanllah, I hear that story and I feel so happy that they were granted this gift, but when I think of the emotional (forget the financial) trauma they must have gone through for the majority of their marriage, I have no words to describe how I feel. Its a very bittersweet feeling. There is another woman who tried for years to conceive and didn't so instead adopted. Only to find herself pregnant half-way through the adoption process. There are so many stories like this. They only prove that no matter how much you try, at the end of the day, the power lies with Him.

Its very easy for me to say that we all must trust Allah and be patient with what has been decreed for us, but I know it is one of the hardest struggles we experience as human beings. All trials that we are faced with have an underlying test of patience - whether you've been diagnosed with an illness and you're waiting to recover, or you've experienced a death in the family and you're waiting to move on, or you're waiting to find that one right person or waiting to see the pregnancy test line go positive - you're always waiting. And the true test is how we respond to the waiting game.

Contentment and Gratitude

I've been thinking a lot about contentment these days. What is contentment? What can one do to achieve contentment? Achieving contentment is one of the daily challenges Allah has presented us with. Is it just a problem specific to women, or both genders? In talking with all my girl friends, cousins, female relatives, I often think discontentment is a woman's curse. We're just never satisfied. Something good happens in our life and we're content for a short time, and then its time to improve it, to perfect it, to want more.

Allah has told us, ask me, and I will give it to you. Can this be abused? Let's say, for example, a couple wants to have their first child. So they pray, Oh Allah, if it is good for us, let us get pregnant. Then, when they get pregnant, their prayer is for a healthy, uncomplicated pregnancy. Then when its delivery time, their prayer is for a healthy baby. Then when the baby is born, their prayer is for a happy healthy child who lives a long successful righteous life. Then, when that baby is a few years old, their prayer is for a second child. And the cycle begins all over again. Can you ask for too much? Is this continuous cycle of asking being ungrateful for all the blessings you have already been given? Sometimes, I find myself praying to Allah, with my long list of duas, and I feel ashamed that I keep asking and that I can never ever ever be grateful enough for all the blessings I already have. I shouldn't feel ashamed, because He is the only one I can ask and He has promised to take care of us, but, at the same time, I feel like continuously asking for more and more and more is a form of ingratitude. Is this a form of ingratitude? Discontentment with the status quo? Am I reading into it wrong?

And then every so often, as a reminder, you meet someone in a worse situation than you, someone who has next to nothing, who is sick all the time, has no family, and experiences difficulty every day of their life, but that one person is more content than anyone else you know. More grateful for every day than you could ever be. And yet, we are made to forget these reminders as quickly as they come, so that we go back to our ungrateful selves.

And then there's the whole contentment with the self thing. My mother is a perfectionist. And perfection is never achieved in her eyes. So no matter what it was, it was always, you can do better next time, it's important to keep improving one self, etc. So if you do want to improve yourself, does that indicate that you are not content with yourself? And if you don't want to improve yourself, then you are content with yourself, but is that a good place to be Islamically? Islamically, aren't you supposed to be in a continuous self-improving process?

Just some things that have been on my mind for the past few days...comments would be appreciated.

The Call to Prayer

Every so often, while I'm eating lunch, or watching the sun set, if I'm lucky enough, I am able to hear the adhaan being called from the masjid by my house. The masjid is built so the call to prayer can be heard on the streets just as it is in a Muslim country. I say if I am lucky because the masjid doesn't turn on the loudspeaker every prayer, they only do it every so often. Last Friday I was lucky.

Subhanallah there is something about hearing the call to prayer outside of a masjid that is so calming. It's different if you're at the masjid already and the time for prayer comes in and the adhaan is called. Or if you're at home and you have one of the electronic adhaan reciters. But if you're just doing your own thing, at home, like eating lunch, or at the store, or wherever, and all of a sudden, you hear the adhaan being called from the local masjid - I can't even find the words to describe it. Perhaps I appreciate it so much because it reminds me of my experiences in the various Muslim countries I have visited, where that is part of the normal routine every day, every prayer. Or perhaps it is special because I realize that even ten years ago, hearing the adhaan like that would be unimaginable. Or perhaps its just hearing the call to prayer outside of a masjid - perhaps its just supposed to have that effect on you - where you stop what you're doing and just reflect on the words being recited.

I remember the first time I heard the adhaan in my house. We had just moved in a few months back, and one of the things I loved about my house was that I could see the masjid everyday from my windows. It was this perfect, unobstructed view from our window. It was Ramadan, and we were both up for sahoor, and it was getting close to Fajr time. We would try to make it to Fajr everyday at the masjid. One day, we were running a little late, and were in the last stages of making wudu. While I was waiting for Tariq, I started to hear something very familiar, and then strained very hard. Finally, I just opened the window, even though it was very cold. And there, so crystal clear, was the adhaan being called. I was blown away. I mean, to think, it was Fajr time, which means it was very early, like 5am, in Hyde Park, a diverse Chicago neighborhood, but not at all majority Muslim, to think that the adhaan is being called so clearly, enough that people even 4 blocks away can hear. I was amazed. But also late for Fajr at the mosque! Sometimes, though being late is a blessing, as in this case, where I discovered that the adhaan was not just heard in the masjid, but its call emitted outside as well.

Hold each other as you'd hold the Prophet's hands

The Prophet’s hands, silken smooth and soft to touch,
sometimes they need those hands so much,
to feel them clasp their own, let them know they’re not alone.
The Prophet’s hands, can bind husband and wife,
remind them why they share a life,
clasp them both upon his heart, gently help them make a start
to hold each other as they’d hold the Prophet’s hands.
- The Prophet's Hands, Dawud Wharsnby Ali

I think the above verse applies to our relationships with all our close loved ones, not just husband and wife, though I do think that is the relationship that is often taken the most for granted. In our relationships with our close loved ones, I think we often forget what a great blessing it is to be able to be in their company, to benefit from their good qualities and wisdom, and to be able to love them, and be loved by them.

If we could keep the beautiful words of Dawud Wharnsby Ali close to our hearts every time we interact with our loved ones, if we could learn "to hold each other as [we'd] hold the Prophet's hands" wouldn't our relationships be so much more meaningful, so much more spiritual? I feel like we often get so absorbed in fulfilling our daily obligations - work, school, homework, housework - that the stress we feel completing those obligations is transferred into our attitude toward our loved ones. So instead of being grateful, spending time, doing something meaningful together, we postpone that for another day and talk to each other curtly and in my case, sarcastically. Not as if this person is a gift from Allah that can be taken away in a moment. Most importantly, I've noticed that we tend to have more mercy when dealing with strangers, or acquaintances, and less mercy when dealing with our own family members. And treating our loved ones with love, respect, and most importantly, mercy is a duty that is much higher than any duty at work, or school, or household chore.

Something to think about, huh? May Allah reward Dawud Wharnsby Ali and all artists for reminding us of such a simple, yet easily forgettable duty.

On the passing of Dr. Umar's mother

I missed Dr. Umar terribly tonight. Tariq, Iman and I went to a Webb Foundation event. It was a fantastic event, a mawlid with Dawud Wharnsby Ali leading the songs. Mashallah he has a beautiful voice. But Dr. Umar's absence was always on the back of my mind. He left for Kansas on Wednesday to be with his mother during her last days. I've been thinking of him ever since he left, but his absence today was very hard for me. I know how much he would have enjoyed hearing and singing with Dawud Wharnsby Ali. Heck, he loves singing with Tariq and Saqib, and they are nothing compared to DWA.

And then, during the break, I nearly cried when Mazen announced that Dr. Umar's mother passed away an hour ago...I only met her once, and didn't have much of a relationship with her, but something in me made me feel so sad, so empty that the woman who raised such a beautiful man has returned to Allah. That my beloved teacher, my dear friend, my spiritual father, has lost a part of him, a part of him that left the world when she left.

I missed him so much tonight. Just thinking about what he is going through right now, having lost his mother - and not just any mother, but a mother he was super close to - makes me feel so empty. I want so much to be there for him, yet, I know I will not know what to say when I actually do see him. What do you say to a man who is so much wiser than you, so much stronger than you, so much more patient than you, so much more content than you with God's will? What words can you possibly impart that can serve as any comfort?

I pray for him and his family to have strength during this time and for his mother's comfort in the hereafter. I pray that Allah forgives her for her shortcomings, and rewards her with Junnah for all the good that she has done in her life, and I pray that she is rewarded for all of Dr. Umar's good deeds as well, by virtue of being his mother. And I pray for Dr. Umar and his family, that they are all granted long, healthy, happy, and successful lives and that they are rewarded for all the good that they do. Ameen.

Dr. Umar's absence today reminded me of what a blessing it is to have him here with us, yet scared me at the same time because I know our time together in this world is limited. There are no words to describe how important and essential his presence is in our lives, how valuable his friendship is. Alhamdulillah. I only pray that Tariq, Iman and I continue to benefit from the barakah of having him be so close to us, and that we do not take for granted even one minute that we have with him.

Fleeting Romance, Searching for love

Pyar toh hain magan, pyar toh hain junoon
Sirf milne se milta nahin hai sukoon....
- Junoon, Pyar Bina

Soul needs beauty for a soul mate...
What the soul wants, the soul waits.
I could never take a chance
Of losing love to find romance
In the mysterious distance of a man and a woman
- U2, A Man and a Woman

Alhamdullilah I've been married for six and a half years now. To some, that may seem short. To others, that may seem like forever. As for myself, I go back and forth. Sometimes I think my marriage is still very young and I feel like it happened only yesterday, and other times, I can't remember what life was like before I was married.

I do know that before I got married, and even probably a good two or three years into my marriage, I was a super hopeless romantic and believed in this fairy tale notion of love, romance, and soul mates. Its funny that I did, because thats not at all how it happened for me. I mean, don't get me wrong, my husband did his share of trying to be romantic but fell into a huge cheese trap instead most of the time. But, I appreciate his efforts. But if you asked me how I wanted it to be before I got married, I would have related a long and dramatic Bollywood type love story and proposal. Even after I got married, I would watch all the cheesy romantic movies, and wasn't able to see past the flowers, small gifts, and surprises as romance. My husband, much like most other typical guys, is not really into the whole flower and surprise thing, so it didn't happen very often.

As my marriage matured, I learned more about life, and through my various conversations with married people, single people, divorced people, I learned that reality is closer to how its described above by Junoon and U2. Love is not this fairytale story where you are constantly showered with gifts and romantic whisperings. There is no ONE person out there that is your soul mate and only he can connect with you. Sometimes I feel like we all believe in the existence of this one person, and in our search for that one person, we pass up opportunities that could have been our happiness. Whether that opportunity is passing up a proposal that just didn't fit your criteria, or whether that opportunity is not giving your all or feeling "it" in a marriage that you have been blessed with. We think that only a certain type of person will make us happy, but really, there's no formula. I wish there was, it would make every thing so much easier.

Romance is not how many times a month you get flowers or surprises, its actually the tiny little displays of mercy you show your spouse every day. Yet I was (and sometimes still am) guilty of searching for the fairytale romance, when all the time, I had something much more valuable, much more substantive in front of me all along - a meaningful relationship and love. I don't mean to sound all cheesy so don't take this the wrong way. I remember when I heard the chorus to U2's A Man and a Woman for the first time, 'I could never take a chance, of losing love to find romance' and realized how true this really was. Many hear this and think its too bittersweet, that it's a verse full of hopelessness - that its talking about settling, and accepting a routine, safe, life. But really, your soul mate is a person you share love with, thats what makes him your soulmate. Not romance. And by saying, 'I could never take a chance of losing love to find romance,' its appreciating that strength and spirituality that such a relationship brings into your life and admits that romance is fleeting while love is constant.

But is love constant? What makes people fall out of love? Or stop loving each other? Or stop loving each other the way they used to? I know enough people who are unhappy in their marriages to know that theres a truth to Junoon's 'sirf milne se milta nahin hain sukoon.' So many people I know marry their "soulmate" or their dream spouse, only to find themselves lost three or five or ten years down the road. You can't just find love and expect everything to be as peaches and cream as it is for the first 6 months of your relationship. It's not just about finding love and expecting everything else to just fall into place. It's about working together to make the relationship meaningful, and about loving each other's hearts, along with all the flaws associated with that heart. Its about finding the good in an imperfect person, and making them to be perfect in your eyes. No spouse or marriage is perfect from the day you marry them, and they never become perfect throughout your marriage, but its those imperfections and your ability to love them what makes them perfect for you. That's where the sukoon comes from.

The Future of Race

In one of my classes we are discussing the concept of race - is it what we see or what is inside of us - in other words, is it a social construct or biology? Perhaps its both.

I am not sure which side I'm on - I can see it being all about social and cultural identity, but then, I can't deny how there are many physical features that are common for people of a certain race. I consider myself American but can't deny my south asian roots. It's easy for me to relate to that part of my identity because its so close to home - my parents are immigrants, and we visit Pakistan frequently, still speak the language, eat the food, watch the tv.

What will it be like for my daughter? For my grandchildren? For my great-grandchildren? Will the "face" of my family 4 or 5 generations from now be completely different - with no sign of south asian-ness at all? As a child of immigrant parents, I want to make sure my children don't feel "foreign" to this country as I did. I want them to feel American from the very beginning, not when they become adults and realize that there is no difference between them and their white peers. But at the same tie, I value certain traditions from the desi culture, that I already see fading away in my generation, and especially in my daughter's generation.

Is it time to let go of our asian identity and fully embrace our american identity? Can there be a healthy fusion between the two? Already, we have limited wearing desi clothes to weddings and big parties, we only speak Urdu to our grandparents, and so of us even have grandparents who are fluent in English.

Don't get me wrong, I am not one for not assimilating into the culture of one's country. I am so proud of being American and look forward to living the rest of my life here. And I am excited at the prospect of inter-racial marriages and that eventually, it will be impossible to categorize people into distinct races, at least in this country, since everyone will be a little bit of everything.

That's the beauty of America. It exciting to imagine a world with the possibility of the concept of "race" being inapplicable and no longer "useful."

10 years ago....

It was 1997. Wow. 1997 feels like it was yesterday. Really. In 1997 I was a sophomore in highschool. 2 years away from graduation. From getting engaged. From starting college at U of C. 3 years away from getting married. Where has the time gone?

Time is interesting. Because on the one hand, 1997 seems so long ago that I can' remember much about it except that I turned 16 that year - and that too, because I did the math. But on the other hand, when someone says 10 years ago it was 1997 - its like - whoa - that was THAT long ago?

How quickly time passes by - and how quickly we let it pass by. How quickly we forget the daily lessons we learn or the experiences that especially impact us....just thinking of all I have experienced in the past three years - graduation, pregnancy, childbirth, motherhood, grad school, Hajj - I know these experiences will fade into the background and 10 years from now, in 2017, I will be wondering where the time went and what it was I actually did in those 10 years.

In 1997 I used to look up to my older cousins and other older friends in the community who were 25, 26 years old and used to not be able to imagine where I'd be when I would be 25. I'm 25 now, almost 26 - are 16 year olds looking to me now and wondering the same thing? Do they see my life, my experiences, and wonder what their life will be like when they're my age?

Sometimes I forget I'm 25. I find myself looking up to "older" people and realizing that these people are now my peers, my equals, or maybe even younger than me. Sometimes I am surprised to hear that some people are as young as they are.

A Struggle to the Journey

So its been about 3 weeks since I have returned from Hajj (well maybe two and a half) and I keep having dreams - either about the people we went with, or the places we visited, or just traveling in general. It seems so blurry now - like a really long dream.

I am still trying to understand everything and Dr. Umar had warned me it will take time. Subhanallah its amazing how my duas are being answered. One of the duas I made most often was for Iman, who I had left behind with my parents and in laws. I kept praying to God to keep her safe, healthy, and happy while we were gone, but more importantly, to let her return to her normal self when we returned and not be traumatized by our leaving her for three weeks. Alhamdullilah, my prayers were answered. It is as if we never left.

Leaving her was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. Last year, there was the possibility of Nawawi going to Hajj. When it didn't work out, they said they would definitely try for 2006. So Tariq told me, I want to go. I was the one, however, who didn't feel comfortable. I couldn't leave my daughter behind. Especially for two weeks. Looking back now, I realize that me not wanting to leave her behind was more for me, not for her. Kids are resilient, they grow up and adjust whether their parents are there or not. Throughout the year, the idea of going to Hajj kept coming into our conversations. We didn't travel as we usually do in the summer so that we could save our money just in case we decided to go to Hajj. It was something that Tariq and I didn't see eye to eye - I didn't understand why he was so cool about leaving her behind and he didn't understand why I was so nervous about leaving her behind. I told him to start considering the prospect of going alone and taking me later. Yet there was always something in my heart that made me feel like I shouldn't pass up the opportunity either.

As Hajj came closer, I started to become more open to the idea, and then when Nawawi announced its intention to go, my struggle began. Is it selfish of me to leave my child behind just so I can go on Hajj with Dr. Umar? Or is it selfish of me to want to stay with my child and not go to find God? I kept struggling with these questions until a friend put it all in perspective. She told me, "You know Nadiah, we could never love our kids enough, but at the same time, we love them so much, that they often take the place in our hearts that should only be for Allah and His Messenger." Wow. Is this the case with me? Am I so involved with my child that I have lost perspective of who she really belongs to? Of who we all really belong to? Is the fact that I don't want to leave her behind just a control issue? That I don't want to give "control" to someone else? By staying with her, and not going to Hajj, am I indicating that I don't have trust in Allah to take care of her while I am away, and if I should pass while I'm there, to take care of her for her entire life?

I kept struggling with all these questions as I continued to make istikhaara about leaving Iman. I kept asking Allah to give me a clear sign, to make it so the decision was already made. The situation had gotten a little bit more complicated since Nawawi had recently announced that the trip was actually going to be 3 weeks long instead of 2. I can't leave Iman for 3 weeks can I? But then again, its only 1 more week than 2. By now, Tariq had also started struggling with the idea of leaving her behind for so long.

Dr. Umar called me to discuss something I was working on for him, and then, the Hajj trip was brought up. I explained to him our dilemma, that we were really undecided because we didn't know if we should leave Iman behind. And his response was so simple, but in that moment, my decision was made that we had to go. He said to me, "In any case, I can't make this decision for you - you know your daughter better than anyone else and what is best for her. What I do know, though, is when you make the Hajj - that is a woman's jihad - and in fulfilling that obligation, Allah opens doors that you never even imagined."

I called Tariq right away and said that we couldn't walk away from this opportunity anymore. We had to just say Bismillah and trust God that He would make everything right. Alhamdulillah He did. The morning we left, Iman was so happy. More than usual. She smiled so sweetly as we said goodbye, so happily. I can never be grateful enough for all the blessings of this journey, that started from that morning. Not only did He take care of our daughter, His gift to us, but He let us experience such a beautiful journey in the greatest of company. A few days after I returned, Iman and I were alone in the house, and we had just finished lunch, and all of a sudden, she said to me, "Thank you Mommy." I asked her, "Thank you for what Baby?" And she so sweetly, genuinely, said, "Thank you for going to Hajj Mommy."

Continuous Reminders Amongst Chaos

I just returned a week ago from Hajj. I went for three weeks with the Nawawi Foundation. Many of my friends and acquaintances went so it was a memorable journey for many reasons.
Subhanallah it was a beautiful trip, and for many reasons I can't even articulate. I think I should share my thoughts on the trip, mostly for myself - as writing my thoughts down helps me reflect on my experiences better.

Dr. Umar told us before we left that this is a journey we will never forget. He was right in so many different ways. I will never forget this journey because going and leaving my two and a half year old daughter behind was one of the hardest things I have had to do. I will never forget this journey because of all the beautiful people I met, became friends with, shared my experiences with, ate my meals with, shared a tent with, and most importantly, have become bound forever spiritually by making this journey with. I will never forget this journey because I had the esteemed honor of traveling with my close friend and teacher, Dr. Umar. Finally, I will never forget this trip because of all the small reminders Allah sent me throughout the day, every day that I was there. Here is one of them.

Escalators....
There are all types of people on Hajj. What is most amazing about it all is that even though all of us have different circumstances and we all prepare for the journey in different ways - for some it is literally their life's journey, for others it just means taking two weeks off of work - at the end of the day we all are there for the same purpose. Subhanallah though, just being aware of your surroundings and seeing all the different people is a constant reminder to you about all the blessings you have in your life - and all the good things you can learn from others. Something as ordinary as riding on an escalator is something that I have never even thought twice until I saw that it is actually an experience some fear. I saw two women holding each other with death grips while riding on an escalator, and then later that same day, I saw another who couldn't even get on. This was a common occurence in the three weeks I was there.

Of course I always knew that there are people in this world who have never seen an escalator, yet for some reason it never really hit me until that moment. For me, its not the experience of having ridden on an escalator that is important - its what the escalator represents. It represents so much - on a broader level, just technology, electricity, etc. But it also represents more intrinsic things, like the comforts and ease we have in our lives and that I am "rich" enough to actually have seen and ridden on an escalator before. It also opened my eyes to what a sheltered life I have lived this whole time - that I hardly think of the other, of my brothers and sisters around the world who don't have all the same comforts of life as I do.

It was small happenings like this that reminded me constantly of the blessings that I have in my life, the blessings I have living in America. That I was born an American Muslim, and have lived a privileged life, and not from a small village in the third world where I have to work like crazy for every crumb of bread.

I tried really hard every moment I was there to understand it all around me. To appreciate the greatness of being there, of doing Hajj, of being amongst the three million plus guests of Allah. And I usually came out disturbed that I couldn't. Perhaps I am not meant to. Perhaps its not supposed to be that easy. On some level it really is true: true appreciation of the journey I have just made will not surface until the Day of Judgment.

I pray that the lessons I learned - we all learned - on this journey and everything I saw will remain as vivid to me as it was when I was there, as it is right now sitting a week after returning. I also pray that I am able to return as I grow older, so that I can continue to increase my appreciation and understanding of this great journey.