That is how much of my energy is solely mine: inside of me, in my aura, in my energy field.
Just freaking eight per cent.
That means 92 per cent is my parents, my religious upbringing, school and everyone else's. Sigh. Other people raised their vibrations to 40 and 50 per cent after doing the releasing exercises. Pas moi.
I went to an introductory evening for Art Giser's Energetic NLP work last Thursday (that where we did all the kooky, visualisation stuff - I'll post it on my O Healer blog soon). It was fruitful. I felt that I had finally stepped into the world I was born to be part of, into the way of living that is attuned to mine: that I had finally "arrived".
I was where I belonged. I made sense. I was on the right path. Finally.
It was a full moon night as well, which I love! I couldn't have planned it better, to be honest.
Lots of stuff happened, I learnt quite a bit: some of which I don't think I should have learned - only because it increases my expectations so much. Which, when they are dashed, make me feel sad and useless. And some truths were so painful, I'm still trying to figure out how to release the pain and shame and self-hate as a result.
And accept what happened and what is.
~~~
Your fortune cookie today reads: A scholar's ink lasts longer than a martyr's blood.
~~~
Oh, my prayers are finally answered. Dearest Allah, I love You so much and thank you.
My dad is finally booked to go to Dar-e-Salaam and Zanzibar on the 31st of March. For three entire weeks! w00t! He thinks I've agreed to stay at his cousin's house for the entire time. It's a lie to get them all off my back. I'll stay only on the days I want to.
My mum wants me to go to Karachi at the same time. She said she'd pay. My dad has even said he'd pay for my flights.
I keep saying "no" because of these petrifying fears.
I don't see the point, I'll just face more negativity in my khala. Replacing one shit situation with another. (pardonnez mon français, I'm obviously not in positivity mode today...)
I'm shit scared that if I leave London and go back there, something will stop me from returning and I'll be stuck there for another awfully long period.
I just don't feel like travelling to Karachi. I'm so grateful to Allah that he has removed from me the deep sadness and loss I used to feel when I was away from my mum.
And... well... whatever.
I'll go when I'm meant to. Happily. It will be an amazing trip. I might even attend Tazeen's wedding. And I'll come back. And not be under the cloud of the dread of being locked out of the house.
Today is yet another low day. I had a good weekend, though. Met lots of people. I'll just ignore the fact that almost all of them were Khojas. Argh. I still can't adequately protect myself psychically for the onslaught of stale, outmoded beliefs that end up invading my aura and crowding "me" out.
Even when I'm at the mosque, I just end up being stuck amongst highly gorgeous, preening, affluent and superficial females instead of near the wise and enlightened scholars (of course, there are only a few of those who actually are allowed to sit up high on the pulpit, the dude there on Sunday was one of them). Or any sensible, spiritual, high vibrating, loving people. The old Khoja aunties stare loads. And, now, I coolly stare back at them.
I now know that I will NEVER inbreed into the Khoja community.
It is not happening in this lifetime.
NOPES.
I tried to be accepting, and not judge or limit myself when it came to Imran, but he was the much needed Khoja smack-in-the-face and kick-up-the-bum.
No other Khoja man-boy will ever smoothly navigate his way into such intimate, unknown parts of my heart and soul. I was actually willing to cook for him and I had begun to consider having his babies. But that's just something I was willing to do for Imran.
BUT NEVER AGAIN.
Even though Sidra told me on Thursday to be open to things because she senses somebody new coming on the horizon, I know he just cannot be a Khoja. A Khoja will not be able to handle all who I am and all who I am meant to become.
My man-boy will be a highly spiritual, open and communicative Shi'ite Muslim. With an amazing, frequent smile, kind and loving eyes and a sense of humour that is just about as awesomely dry and witty as mine. That I know. Those are the minimal criteria Allah knows I cannot compromise on.
But I had my Khoja experience. Imran was it.
Le fin.
I just feel like slowly peeling my skin off when I hear certain Gujarati words like "nondh" (which is an engagement announcement done in the mosque) - my distant male cousin's was on Sunday, which is why I had to haul my ass down there.
And then, when it gets too much, I just get up, get out of the main hall and go upstairs to where the children's section is. Thankfully, there was no one there, so I had the space all to myself. And laugh at the mistakes the announcer made: announced someone's nikah instead of engagement. Then he rolled his eyes at the camera. Bahahaha!
J'ai rencontré une parisienne qui s'apelle Shabnam. Une nouvelle amie qui est francophone! You can imagine how happy that made me! Je n'ai pas encore oublié le français! On a discuté notre communauté et j'ai décrit tout mes pleindres. Elle m'a dit que je dois être joigné.
That's not going to be an option, not when I still feel psychically attacked by so many people's energies swirling around. They aren't always directed at me, but I absorb them like a sponge.
Freaking 8%? That's IT? That's all there is of me right now?
Who am I, then? Where am I, then?
I'm going to find an Arab mosque nearby, the nearest I know of is in Queen's Park. Maybe there's one in Clapham. But they are all so far. Maybe try the Paki mosque in Tooting. But their lectures are always in Urdu, and the quality of the speakers is, by my own experience, not as great as that of Sheikh Arif or Mehdi Hassan. Sigh.
I need a house of worship in which I feel at peace. I don't feel at peace at the Khoja mosques. Never have.
So, on Saturday, had to go to my cousins' house for the death anniversary of their dadi. Her nani (I didn't know at the time that she was related to me) asked me in Gujarati "tuu kayi ni chhokri chho?" (Who's daughter are you?)
I felt like being cheeky, so I replied "huun maari maa ni chhokri chhhuun!" (I'm my mother's daughter!")
Bahahaha! I can get away with this now because my family isn't here and, well, I'm done playing any of the roles "they" want me to play. It does not make me happy.
I was playing roles with Imran, too. I need to keep reminding myself of that.
I recently read that the power of assumption, thought and expectation is so great that if you've ever noticed how sometimes you have behaved with someone in a manner so differently from how you would usually act, or how you expected or intended to act, it could be because their expectations of your behaviour influence how you behave.
Come on, peeps... this makes sense, doesn't it? Makes so much frigging sense to me.
Release it all. Be you. Please. When you become your own beautiful self... all are happy. The Universe is in balance.
Of course, I need to do it.
Shit.
(Not the most flowing post, but I had to write something somewhere. Still haven't found a new journal to write in.)
Dear Allah, please can I PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE have a PERFECT, face-to-face session with Sidra. Or give me someone else to help me raise my vibrations. I need freaking support...
Such a down day...
"Can I get a amen, amen, amen... does anybody know what I mean?" Outlandish ~ Amen
Just freaking eight per cent.
That means 92 per cent is my parents, my religious upbringing, school and everyone else's. Sigh. Other people raised their vibrations to 40 and 50 per cent after doing the releasing exercises. Pas moi.
I went to an introductory evening for Art Giser's Energetic NLP work last Thursday (that where we did all the kooky, visualisation stuff - I'll post it on my O Healer blog soon). It was fruitful. I felt that I had finally stepped into the world I was born to be part of, into the way of living that is attuned to mine: that I had finally "arrived".
I was where I belonged. I made sense. I was on the right path. Finally.
It was a full moon night as well, which I love! I couldn't have planned it better, to be honest.
Lots of stuff happened, I learnt quite a bit: some of which I don't think I should have learned - only because it increases my expectations so much. Which, when they are dashed, make me feel sad and useless. And some truths were so painful, I'm still trying to figure out how to release the pain and shame and self-hate as a result.
And accept what happened and what is.
~~~
Your fortune cookie today reads: A scholar's ink lasts longer than a martyr's blood.
~~~
Oh, my prayers are finally answered. Dearest Allah, I love You so much and thank you.
My dad is finally booked to go to Dar-e-Salaam and Zanzibar on the 31st of March. For three entire weeks! w00t! He thinks I've agreed to stay at his cousin's house for the entire time. It's a lie to get them all off my back. I'll stay only on the days I want to.
My mum wants me to go to Karachi at the same time. She said she'd pay. My dad has even said he'd pay for my flights.
I keep saying "no" because of these petrifying fears.
I don't see the point, I'll just face more negativity in my khala. Replacing one shit situation with another. (pardonnez mon français, I'm obviously not in positivity mode today...)
I'm shit scared that if I leave London and go back there, something will stop me from returning and I'll be stuck there for another awfully long period.
I just don't feel like travelling to Karachi. I'm so grateful to Allah that he has removed from me the deep sadness and loss I used to feel when I was away from my mum.
And... well... whatever.
I'll go when I'm meant to. Happily. It will be an amazing trip. I might even attend Tazeen's wedding. And I'll come back. And not be under the cloud of the dread of being locked out of the house.
Today is yet another low day. I had a good weekend, though. Met lots of people. I'll just ignore the fact that almost all of them were Khojas. Argh. I still can't adequately protect myself psychically for the onslaught of stale, outmoded beliefs that end up invading my aura and crowding "me" out.
Even when I'm at the mosque, I just end up being stuck amongst highly gorgeous, preening, affluent and superficial females instead of near the wise and enlightened scholars (of course, there are only a few of those who actually are allowed to sit up high on the pulpit, the dude there on Sunday was one of them). Or any sensible, spiritual, high vibrating, loving people. The old Khoja aunties stare loads. And, now, I coolly stare back at them.
I now know that I will NEVER inbreed into the Khoja community.
It is not happening in this lifetime.
NOPES.
I tried to be accepting, and not judge or limit myself when it came to Imran, but he was the much needed Khoja smack-in-the-face and kick-up-the-bum.
No other Khoja man-boy will ever smoothly navigate his way into such intimate, unknown parts of my heart and soul. I was actually willing to cook for him and I had begun to consider having his babies. But that's just something I was willing to do for Imran.
BUT NEVER AGAIN.
Even though Sidra told me on Thursday to be open to things because she senses somebody new coming on the horizon, I know he just cannot be a Khoja. A Khoja will not be able to handle all who I am and all who I am meant to become.
My man-boy will be a highly spiritual, open and communicative Shi'ite Muslim. With an amazing, frequent smile, kind and loving eyes and a sense of humour that is just about as awesomely dry and witty as mine. That I know. Those are the minimal criteria Allah knows I cannot compromise on.
But I had my Khoja experience. Imran was it.
Le fin.
I just feel like slowly peeling my skin off when I hear certain Gujarati words like "nondh" (which is an engagement announcement done in the mosque) - my distant male cousin's was on Sunday, which is why I had to haul my ass down there.
And then, when it gets too much, I just get up, get out of the main hall and go upstairs to where the children's section is. Thankfully, there was no one there, so I had the space all to myself. And laugh at the mistakes the announcer made: announced someone's nikah instead of engagement. Then he rolled his eyes at the camera. Bahahaha!
J'ai rencontré une parisienne qui s'apelle Shabnam. Une nouvelle amie qui est francophone! You can imagine how happy that made me! Je n'ai pas encore oublié le français! On a discuté notre communauté et j'ai décrit tout mes pleindres. Elle m'a dit que je dois être joigné.
That's not going to be an option, not when I still feel psychically attacked by so many people's energies swirling around. They aren't always directed at me, but I absorb them like a sponge.
Freaking 8%? That's IT? That's all there is of me right now?
Who am I, then? Where am I, then?
I'm going to find an Arab mosque nearby, the nearest I know of is in Queen's Park. Maybe there's one in Clapham. But they are all so far. Maybe try the Paki mosque in Tooting. But their lectures are always in Urdu, and the quality of the speakers is, by my own experience, not as great as that of Sheikh Arif or Mehdi Hassan. Sigh.
I need a house of worship in which I feel at peace. I don't feel at peace at the Khoja mosques. Never have.
So, on Saturday, had to go to my cousins' house for the death anniversary of their dadi. Her nani (I didn't know at the time that she was related to me) asked me in Gujarati "tuu kayi ni chhokri chho?" (Who's daughter are you?)
I felt like being cheeky, so I replied "huun maari maa ni chhokri chhhuun!" (I'm my mother's daughter!")
Bahahaha! I can get away with this now because my family isn't here and, well, I'm done playing any of the roles "they" want me to play. It does not make me happy.
I was playing roles with Imran, too. I need to keep reminding myself of that.
I recently read that the power of assumption, thought and expectation is so great that if you've ever noticed how sometimes you have behaved with someone in a manner so differently from how you would usually act, or how you expected or intended to act, it could be because their expectations of your behaviour influence how you behave.
Come on, peeps... this makes sense, doesn't it? Makes so much frigging sense to me.
Release it all. Be you. Please. When you become your own beautiful self... all are happy. The Universe is in balance.
Of course, I need to do it.
Shit.
(Not the most flowing post, but I had to write something somewhere. Still haven't found a new journal to write in.)
Dear Allah, please can I PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE have a PERFECT, face-to-face session with Sidra. Or give me someone else to help me raise my vibrations. I need freaking support...
Such a down day...
"Can I get a amen, amen, amen... does anybody know what I mean?" Outlandish ~ Amen
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