Friday, April 23, 2021

Ready for Death - Readiness: A Ramadan Mini Series


All Photo Credit: Ehab Tamimi

It’s a bit of a grim title, I know, but there really has never been a way of sugarcoating the truth. It took me five rounds of editing to put this article together because it’s one of the most important I feel I have to share.

In less than two years, I lost my dad, my grandma, and my grandfather, each about six months apart. For some reason though, death tends to make me think of life more vividly. Mama always taught us that a cemetery exists more so for the living than for the dead. It’s a place for those left behind to visit and reflect on, not just memories, but purpose. While so many of our loved ones are no longer here, we still are, so how do we live?

For as long as I can remember, I never feared death. Maybe I feared dying—how it will happen, if it will hurt—but not death. If you haven’t already guessed, I grew up in quite the nontraditional household. While upholding our religion and culture remain a priority, we never fell victim to the rigid (and often misconstrued) traditions. Whether it was openly talking about sex and sexuality in Islam while preparing lunch together on a Sunday afternoon or discussing how to acknowledge and dismantle toxic masculinity in our families and communities, we talked/talk about it. Death was just another dish on the table; its normalization, its inevitability; its purpose, and that only made my relationship with life all the more sacred.

I was 24 when I got engaged to my now ex-husband. Obviously, it was not a happily ever after, domestic violence can’t be, but the thing is abuse is often times too insidious to be seen early on. Red flags are not visible and the emotional manipulation is so subliminal, a victim becomes overwhelmed with confusion and self doubt. Truly, I could write essays on every single angle of domestic violence to educate, and over the years I’ve been doing so bit by bit, but that’s not the focal point here. The point is that it was during this relationship, for the first and only time in my life, I feared death unequivocally. However, because of the severe abuse and gaslighting, I couldn’t reconcile why. I found absolutely no stability to think clearly or take any inventory of my heart and mind. Something I advise ALL couples in every phase of their relationship is to take some solitary time to gauge and assess on your own. Being constantly in each other’s space (especially if it starts to mirror elements of abuse or toxicity) makes it absolutely impossible to make good judgment calls or understand what you’re experiencing.

It’s an incredibly scary feeling to fear death and I heavily empathize with those who experience this fear chronically. Living becomes an exhausting minefield. Anxiety, depression, and paranoia intensify, and after a certain point it feels impossible to deescalate. I began contemplating suicide, also for the first time in life, and it only added to the pressure because it clashed so painfully with the incrementally growing fear of death. There’s a night I remember so vividly, on the Huntington Beach Pier. We were sitting on a cement bench smack dab in the middle of the pier, right above the blackest ocean I’d ever seen. He was yelling, cursing, gesturing so wildly I wondered when I’d become the bullseye of his hands. I envied the loud waves for being able to drown out his voice when I couldn’t. I looked down at the water, couldn’t see a thing, and considered what leaping would feel like. How long it would take to drown? Would I suffer? Would he hurt me if I dared survive the jump?

There are small cracks of awareness that come and go when you’re under abuse and you see a bit of the light. Once enough light makes its way through, clarity starts becoming tangible. Realizing I had developed such an immense fear of death was the first of many cracks. It bothered me so much that I was no longer ready for death because that meant I was no longer living the right way. The contentment, fulfillment, and happiness I held for my life was stolen, making death a frightening loss I was not yet ready to face.

Allah (swt) tells us in Chapter 2, Verse 30:

“And your Lord said to the Angels, “I will create, upon the earth, a caliph.” They (the angels) said, “Will you create upon it one who will cause corruption within it and bloodshed and we declare your praise and sanctify you? He (Allah) said, “I know that which you do not know.’”

I think of this verse very often, even more so over the last ten years as I’ve watched the corruption and bloodshed all the way from the white supremacy on this American soil to the ongoing turmoil of Syria. Allah obviously has a reason for our existence. After all, He created us with the intent to be caliphs. Yes, caliphs! I know the term was, dare I say, coopted to refer to only a certain group, but when the Quran itself tells me that Allah declared this title for His creations—humans—I take the dare.

The test of life is legitimately to see which of us caliphs takes our mission lightly and which of us manifests the great potential we hold. Bottom line, each of us is on this earth for a reason and a purpose. We all have something significant to offer even if we don’t necessarily see the fruits of our labor. We still plants the seeds. Some we get to see bloom in our lifetimes, others we don’t, but that shouldn’t negate our efforts. That shouldn’t discourage us from putting our best out there and succumbing to the corruption. But when we don’t pursue that purpose, we are no longer going to be ready for death.

Take a look at history or even media and pay attention to who holds on to the fantasy of immortality the most. Dictators, villains, the insecure, the angry, the entitled, the ones who weren’t living the truest mission of life. They were living for ego, desire, money, fame, power, and all the things that don’t serve the greater good. There is also a second group that fears death and it’s those who don’t stand up for themselves, who don’t acknowledge what they want out of life, and who are not living their passions.

Remembering this verse and its interpretation was when it clicked for me. Death and my readiness for it are my moral compass (of sorts). They are what tell me whether or not I am living the right way, the best way. I remember the instant I left my ex’s house and arrived to my family’s home safe and sound, I felt a liberation no amount of poetry has been able to fully express. It wasn’t passive suicidal ideation, but I suddenly no longer felt afraid to die because finally, I was back to being the leader of my own life again, and it was exhilarating. It was like a realignment with my destiny and faith again and I felt whole. No more severe disorientation or chronic disassociation. No more anxiety induced wake up calls. No more loss of self and purpose. It was kind of like the moment I took the bandages off my eyes after laser eye surgery, miraculously seeing things so clearly without needing any lenses. My intuition was breathing a sigh of relief.

So many people don’t recognize whether or not they’re fulfilled and content with themselves and their lives and it yields a fear of death. Why wouldn’t it? Someone who’s confidently lived their life to the best of their ability really has nothing to fear about closing this chapter of their soul. But if they haven’t, it makes absolute sense they fear death. And for those who abide by certain faiths, the readiness for death is a whole other level. It’s the next route for reunification with our Lord, something we are to be striving for as caliphs on the journey of spirituality and human service.

There are too many people out there living for other things or even for other people, which makes for a terribly heavy life. Many—not all—of the mental health struggles develop from this kind of lifestyle, which begins at an early age. Whether it’s child abuse, even the most vague of kinds, or the unrealistic expectations placed on children’s futures, it dislodges one’s connection with their true selves and calling. Therefore, feeling genuinely content about how we live is closely tied with our fear (or lack thereof) of death.


I have held on to these truths close to my heart since my divorce and I remind myself to check in with my intuition often and gauge how I’m feeling to ensure that I haven’t lost my sense of self and purpose. Anytime something begins to threaten my internal security, shaking my readiness for death, as in living how I am destined to, I acknowledge it and take action. None of us deserve to be unprepared for death with an unhappy and unfulfilled life. Take time with yourself, my friends, and listen to your intuition and what it’s calling you to do. Trust me when I say, it’s always speaking to you and always steering you in the best direction. Just listen.

The good news from all this is that as long we are still here, we have the capacity to reconnect with our true selves, and Ramadan is the perfect time to begin. It’s never too late to get ready for death by ensuring that you are living your best, living your truth, and living for Allah. After all, He reminds us, “And I did not create the jinn and humankind except to worship Me” (Chapter 51, Verse 56).

Tuesday, April 13, 2021

Ready for Ramadan - Readiness: A Ramadan Mini Series


In a lecture I gave at a sociology class a few years back, I decided to make a bold statement to a classroom full of freshman students living in the era of social media established self-care rituals and beliefs. In a world that has so successfully taught an entire generation to believe that selfishness and individualistic ideals (masked behind mainstream glamorized posts) are the ways to thrive and make the world a better place, it’s going to be a battle to try and change the narrative. “Sometimes the truest acts of self-care are actually doing those things that really inconvenience the self, are actually getting your to-do lists and tasks at hand done. This over-fixation on the idea of never making yourself uncomfortable in the name of self-care is what is causing the demise of our societies.” A lot of faces stared back at me in disapproval, but I initiated a conversation long overdue in this modern era. Social media based self-care trends have enabled stunted emotional intelligence, empathy, and change by placing personal desires at the focal point of survival instead of personal well-being. To initiate real life change requires a lot of inconveniences, a lot of shifted comfort zones, and a lot of preparedness.


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Is it ironic to be writing the introductory article of my Ramadan mini series on readiness to the tune of Miley Cyrus’s “Wrecking Ball”? Probably not, considering Ramadan has always been a time of picking up the pieces of ourselves demolished by life and gluing them back together. But that process is never an easy one and every year, a part of me genuinely dreads the Ramadanic obligation of facing myself and the year I just finished. For a while, I thought I was the only one who experienced this anticipatory anxiety, until I came across a life changing podcast (which I have mentioned once before here on this blog), The Amreekies Podcast.

Five days of binging every episode and I received so many gifts from the podcast that I am grateful to hold on to as I enter another blessed Ramadan, including the fact that sometimes what God asks us to do will be heavy but manageable no less. To clarify, this isn’t a dislike of the month—come on, y’all know me and passion for faith!—but it’s a vulnerable acknowledgement of the work ahead, and after a year, it builds. It’s like the child who makes a fuss about not wanting to go to camp only to realize how revolutionary and amazing the experience was after all.

I was always that child and Ramadan was always my camp, and every year, I’d cry more leaving the month than coming into it. This year, however, I found myself counting down the days leading up to Ramadan, praying to God that He keeps me alive to witness it. My soul was hungry for it (no pun intended), excitedly anticipating that one month of dedication to soul care and active resolutions, which really are the ultimate forms of self-care: a preparedness to being my best self for society.

Ramadan has a different flavor when you’re eagerly looking forward to it. There’s a powerful wave of relief that hits you when it begins at sunset because you’re spiritually surrendering to no other power than God’s healing. No one can deny how difficult 2020-2021 has been—from physical to emotional to mental to spiritual, we’ve all suffered so much, some of us maybe too much, so this month becomes the threshold to cross into relief.

Now here we are, lavishing in the first day, drawn to the magnetic pull of belief in a coming change. It’s not going to be easy, it never is, but it’ll be worthy, and I love that every Muslim I know understands exactly what I’m talking about. Understands there will be nights of heavy crying, nights of repentance, nights of vivid recollections and self analysis, and that those are all necessary components to savoring as much of this month as possible.

I don’t know why that child throws a fuss about camp, just like I don’t really know why my anxiety kicks in the days before Ramadan, maybe it’s fear of the unknown or fear of what I know I will have to inconveniently let go of, but what a different experience it was to view the horizon of this month through a different lens. That’s when I knew that this year, my Ramadan Reflections Series will be dedicated entirely to the concept of readiness. Each week, I’ll be sharing an article on readiness within a different subject, in the hopes of inspiring readers to live with even more purpose. Sometimes our relationship with “being ready” is so misunderstood, so almost stereotypical, that we’re not aware of how and when we are ready and what that actually means. So I begin the series here, with a smile and an open heart, surrendering to the gift that God gave me of finally experiencing readiness for Ramadan before the month began versus after it began, Alhamdulilah.

As we watch the first day end, reminded of how quickly this month always flies by, I encourage us all to set daily small intentions the night before for the coming day. Write them down by hand. Cross them off as you finish them. Reflect on the list before breaking your fast. In my home each year, mama asks us to set a main prayer we want to make for the year. Last year, we dedicated it to praying for my dad and asking God to reunite us with him in the hereafter, and asking God to bless him for the incredible gifts he left behind to support us. Set your duaa for the month (which, by the way, doesn’t mean no other things can be prayed for) and remember it throughout the day. Face ugly truths you kept marginalizing since the last Ramadan and be honest with yourself about how you will try to tackle them differently this coming year. Acknowledge your humanness and shortcomings. Embrace all of that in this month of exceptional Mercy, but then remember that this Mercy exists even when the month is over. It exists in Allah, but it also exists when we keep close the teachings of how to be merciful to ourselves and our communities too.

Getting ready is not an overnight task. It also isn’t neat and easy to compartmentalize. Sometimes it takes us the first week of Ramadan to get ready for Ramadan. But all I can say for sure is it takes all of Ramadan to get ready for the year ahead, so may this month give humanity all the readiness it needs to thrive!