Eight

Four more papers. Two more days. C’mon Deeyanah, you can do this.

Tired would be an understatement to what I’m feeling. The heat made it difficult to sleep last night. I woke up this morning feeling no motivation to get out of bed and ended up just laying there, for a good 15 minutes, my mind and heart at war.

It’s all about mindset, they say. It’s all about being positive, they say. But can someone please explain to me where motivational speakers get their motivation from because I just cannot understand how they stay positive, inspired and motivated all the time.

I eventually get out of bed and have a longer shower than normal. Whilst drinking my morning mug of coffee, I scroll through my twitter timeline. A tweet by @soitiz catches my eye.

” Ahmed’s interrogation ‘symbolic’ of the oppression of Palestinian children |  “

Since I had been following the story of 13-year-old Ahmed Manasra from the start, I opened the attached link and read through the article. It once again reminded me of how lucky we are to live in a country free of war yet we are still ungrateful.

I drink up my coffee and put the dirty mug into the dishwasher. Amaani isn’t down yet. Her alarm has stopped ringing which means she should be awake. I run upstairs and enter her room. The sound of running water from the bathroom tells me she is still in the shower. Uncle Ismaeel should be here in about 5 minutes!

“Amaani!” I shout, as I bang on the bathroom door. “Hurry up, you’re going to be late!”

“What’s the time?” she calls back.

“Six forty-nine,” I reply, quickly glancing at my watch.

“Hurry up,” I repeat.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” she says.

We make it to school in time and that results in Amaani complaining to me about how she could have showered for five more minutes. I roll my eyes, not bothering to argue with her, knowing well that had she showered that five more minutes, we wouldn’t have made it in time. What difference was five minutes going to make anyway?!

One hour into the exam and the friction of my pen, on the skin between my index finger and thumb, was causing last nights mosquito bite to become aggravated. Why do mosquitoes choose to bite you in the worst places? Like, is the blood under my feet and between my fingers sweeter or what? The more I willed it to stop, the more it itched! Oh how I hate mosquito bites!

I somehow made it through the exam session which mostly consisted of me thinking, scratching at my itchy mosquito bite, writing, thinking, getting annoyed at mosquitoes, forgetting what I was supposed to write and then getting annoyed at mosquitoes again because had one not bitten me, I would have at least been able to concentrate better!


 

*The story of Ahmed Manasra is true. You can read more about it here: http://www.alaraby.co.uk/english/blog/2015/11/11/ahmeds-interrogation-symbolic-of-the-oppression-of-palestinian-children

Remember to keep the children of Palestine, and the rest of the Ummah, in your duaas.

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