These bloody dreams just won't let me sleep. I hate them because they make no bloody sense. So my flight has been booked for the second week of February.
Just before he left today, my dad said, 'I am missing you already'. How I hate these ambiguities. These pushes and pulls. Isn't it just simpler to feel pure hatred rather than understanding or love and abhorrence?
I am beginning to feel that I hate him so much because he is my shadow. An INFP's shadow is an ESTJ. So, rather than continuing to hate myself and become suicidal, rather than introjecting or whatever, I have turned to projection. So everything I hate about myself is embodied in my father.
He said, 'I've failed, haven't I?'
I said, 'No, you haven't. This is just how things are meant to be. How long did you expect me to live away from my mum?'
Even though I can't see any sane woman wanting to get married to him, I really do hope he does get married. He needs someone. It breaks my heart to see him live by himself. And I just can't be the one who lives with him. I just CAN'T live with him.
He expects me to be my mother and I expect him to be my father. And as such, this shall never happen. I am too young and stupid and selfish. He is too old and selfish and authoritarian.
Just two days ago, he goes on again about teacher's college and how I should have gone for that and I will regret it later. 'Not now, but later. You missed an opportunity.' And this is after he has seen me weep uncontrollably when I got the offer. After I keep reiterating that I can't see myself as a teacher because it's an extroverted type of occupation.
Is he blind?
Sheikh Usama was talking about the importance of marriage yesterday. I am wondering if it is respectful to talk about marriage in Muharram. You have 10 months in the year to bang on about it; does one really have to talk about it in Muharram? And that too, on Hadhrat Abbas's night. But my God, his latmiyyah was beautiful. I so must learn Arabic latmiyyahs.
I ask because of course it makes the more romantic of us obsess about that and nothing else. As shameful as it is to admit, I was once again on Shiamatch yesterday. Not actively searching but just because I couldn't bring myself to do anything else, something more pious.
But of course there really is no justification. I screwed up my Ramadhan and it seems that my Muharram is going to the dogs as well.
I haven't felt the inclination to go to the mosque once. And Ashura is on Saturday. Today is Thursday, the night of Dua e Kumayl. Ya Hadhrat Abbas - you know I turn to you automatically, before turning to the others and after. Please pray for me that I go today. And I control my tongue. And iron those shirts. And pray.
I am the lowest of the low. And now my poor mum is going to have to deal with me.
Oh God. You love me, n'est-ce pas? S'il Te plait. Je suis complètement perdue. En cherchant la vérité, mais le Shaytan et mon 'nafs' sont les victoires. Tu m'Aimes, n'est-ce pas? Aide-moi. J'ai personne, sauf que Toi.
I want to stand in front of You and I want You to be proud of me.
Instead I abuse and continue to abuse my father. No wonder I like Dua-e-Mashlool so much.
Please forgive me. How could I do this? How can I bear to have any hope after having done this?
No kindness to parents. The complete opposite, in fact. How could I have become this?
Just before he left today, my dad said, 'I am missing you already'. How I hate these ambiguities. These pushes and pulls. Isn't it just simpler to feel pure hatred rather than understanding or love and abhorrence?
I am beginning to feel that I hate him so much because he is my shadow. An INFP's shadow is an ESTJ. So, rather than continuing to hate myself and become suicidal, rather than introjecting or whatever, I have turned to projection. So everything I hate about myself is embodied in my father.
He said, 'I've failed, haven't I?'
I said, 'No, you haven't. This is just how things are meant to be. How long did you expect me to live away from my mum?'
Even though I can't see any sane woman wanting to get married to him, I really do hope he does get married. He needs someone. It breaks my heart to see him live by himself. And I just can't be the one who lives with him. I just CAN'T live with him.
He expects me to be my mother and I expect him to be my father. And as such, this shall never happen. I am too young and stupid and selfish. He is too old and selfish and authoritarian.
Just two days ago, he goes on again about teacher's college and how I should have gone for that and I will regret it later. 'Not now, but later. You missed an opportunity.' And this is after he has seen me weep uncontrollably when I got the offer. After I keep reiterating that I can't see myself as a teacher because it's an extroverted type of occupation.
Is he blind?
Sheikh Usama was talking about the importance of marriage yesterday. I am wondering if it is respectful to talk about marriage in Muharram. You have 10 months in the year to bang on about it; does one really have to talk about it in Muharram? And that too, on Hadhrat Abbas's night. But my God, his latmiyyah was beautiful. I so must learn Arabic latmiyyahs.
I ask because of course it makes the more romantic of us obsess about that and nothing else. As shameful as it is to admit, I was once again on Shiamatch yesterday. Not actively searching but just because I couldn't bring myself to do anything else, something more pious.
But of course there really is no justification. I screwed up my Ramadhan and it seems that my Muharram is going to the dogs as well.
I haven't felt the inclination to go to the mosque once. And Ashura is on Saturday. Today is Thursday, the night of Dua e Kumayl. Ya Hadhrat Abbas - you know I turn to you automatically, before turning to the others and after. Please pray for me that I go today. And I control my tongue. And iron those shirts. And pray.
I am the lowest of the low. And now my poor mum is going to have to deal with me.
Oh God. You love me, n'est-ce pas? S'il Te plait. Je suis complètement perdue. En cherchant la vérité, mais le Shaytan et mon 'nafs' sont les victoires. Tu m'Aimes, n'est-ce pas? Aide-moi. J'ai personne, sauf que Toi.
I want to stand in front of You and I want You to be proud of me.
Instead I abuse and continue to abuse my father. No wonder I like Dua-e-Mashlool so much.
Please forgive me. How could I do this? How can I bear to have any hope after having done this?
No kindness to parents. The complete opposite, in fact. How could I have become this?