She said, 'Well, Sukaina, you know that things happen for a reason.'
He said, 'I can't live with you and I can't live without you.'
Then he said, 'No, the earlier you leave, the better...I'll pay for the taxi.'
And now he pinches my cheek and says, 'Matata wey'.
I thought I wouldn't need to write another blog at least until after Imam's Ziyaarat majlis. I thought I'd be able to be less self-absorbed.
Remember when I told you last year as we were walking up the path to Glendon, that I felt nothing. Last year, at least, I felt guilty about feeling nothing. Now I justify my nothingness.
He also said, 'I'll be glad when you're gone. At least I can plan my cooking, my gardening.'
I think I am going to retain my date of suicide. There won't be a police inquiry in a place like Karachi. Or, if I'm lucky enough, I'll be killed by a stray bullet or shrapnel from a suicide bomb and not be taken to task by God.
I've been thinking about AS quite a lot this past week. At least twice. Once when it was raining and I just thought of him. And secondly was just now. How I would have adored to have spoken to him and to have learnt just something from him. Mustn't he have known that much, at least? And yet, he never said a word to me. When all I wanted was to talk and to absorb as much light from him as I could possibly. And then I had the strange notion that he'd come to me in my dreams. Why on Earth would he do that? The last thing he wanted for his family, and I denied it him. But I just couldn't. And look at me now and look at your family now.
All I wanted was knowledge from you about the secrets of life. The ones that I'd be able to handle. And I wasn't allowed to even have that.
Now whom do I learn from? Sheikh Arif? That means going to Brum.
May Allah curse the killers and tormentors of Hussain (AS) and of his beloved family. May Allah bless Hussain, Ali ibne Hussain, the children of Hussain and the friends of Hussain. Ameen.
He said, 'I can't live with you and I can't live without you.'
Then he said, 'No, the earlier you leave, the better...I'll pay for the taxi.'
And now he pinches my cheek and says, 'Matata wey'.
I thought I wouldn't need to write another blog at least until after Imam's Ziyaarat majlis. I thought I'd be able to be less self-absorbed.
Remember when I told you last year as we were walking up the path to Glendon, that I felt nothing. Last year, at least, I felt guilty about feeling nothing. Now I justify my nothingness.
He also said, 'I'll be glad when you're gone. At least I can plan my cooking, my gardening.'
I think I am going to retain my date of suicide. There won't be a police inquiry in a place like Karachi. Or, if I'm lucky enough, I'll be killed by a stray bullet or shrapnel from a suicide bomb and not be taken to task by God.
I've been thinking about AS quite a lot this past week. At least twice. Once when it was raining and I just thought of him. And secondly was just now. How I would have adored to have spoken to him and to have learnt just something from him. Mustn't he have known that much, at least? And yet, he never said a word to me. When all I wanted was to talk and to absorb as much light from him as I could possibly. And then I had the strange notion that he'd come to me in my dreams. Why on Earth would he do that? The last thing he wanted for his family, and I denied it him. But I just couldn't. And look at me now and look at your family now.
All I wanted was knowledge from you about the secrets of life. The ones that I'd be able to handle. And I wasn't allowed to even have that.
Now whom do I learn from? Sheikh Arif? That means going to Brum.
May Allah curse the killers and tormentors of Hussain (AS) and of his beloved family. May Allah bless Hussain, Ali ibne Hussain, the children of Hussain and the friends of Hussain. Ameen.