A peek into the past – Rameez:
I breathe deeply, trying to calm my thundering heart and still my trembling hands.
“Hey, you alright there?”
I look up at the sound of a young feminine voice.
Midnight-black eyes, framed with long lashes, peer down at me in concern.
“Yeah,” I manage to say, hastily wiping my teary eyes.
Dad rushes to my side, distinct worry visible in his tired eyes.
“I- I’m fi- ne,” I say shakily.
“What happened?” he questions.
“I don’t- t kno- w,” I mumble.
“You had a panic attack.”
I look over at the girl as she speaks again, studying her properly this time.
Round face.. chubby cheeks.. big, black eyes.. plump lips.. thick eyebrows.. long hair..
My word, she’s beautiful..
Suddenly hyperaware of my own appearance, I stand up slowly, running a hand through my hair in an attempt to neaten it.
“I’m okay, really,” I say, a little more steadier this time.
“Great! Just give a shout if you’ll need anything,” she says, seeing mum walking up towards us.
“Hey!” I call, as she turns around. “I didn’t catch your name.”
She pauses for a couple of seconds before facing me again.
She smiles then, a dazzling smile that displays her gleaming teeth.. and for a fleeting moment, I forget all the unpleasant emotions within me.
“Nabeela,” she says.
“Thanks, Nabeela,” I respond.
“You’re welcome, Rameez.”
For a millisecond, we simply stand there, smiling at each other..
And then, she turns on her heel, and walks off.
“I’m fine now, mum. I promise,” I say, sipping the glass of water she places in front of me just to make her happy.
We’re at home now, sitting altogether in the lounge.
The abruptly cut-off conversation we’d been having at the psychologist is now resuming.
“They told me they had you,” says dad, looking at me.
“And that.. that they’d.. killed you..” he continues, pulling mummy closer to his side.
“They did have me,” I say quietly.
“I know,” replies dad.
It’s silent for a moment, and I realize that it’s my turn.
My turn to talk, to confess, to admit.
My turn to remember, to revisit, to relive.
As the silence in the room prolongs, I know that it’s my turn.. my turn to let go.
Taking a deep breath, I begin narrating every detail of the past couple weeks.
I leave out nothing, despite how cruelly it hurts us all. Despite mum’s sobs and dad’s sighs. Despite the threat of my emotions consuming me entirely again, I leave out nothing.
Every moment of blinding rage, every moment of crippling pain, every moment of utter weakness, every moment of lost hope, every moment of prickling guilt..
Every tear, every sigh, every breath, and every high..
Fury, agony, and grief course through my blood. The distress of my entire being contorts into physical, mental, and emotional pain.
As my parents listen in stunned silence, I hurt like never before.
And then I heal.
“Rameez!” calls dad. “Are you ready?”
“On my way down,” I call back, pulling a kurta (Males’ Islamic garb) over my clothes.
“I’m waiting in the car,” says dad.
Slipping my feet into sandals, I race down the stairs, through the kitchen and into the garage.
Shutting the car door, I click my seat belt into place as the engine roars to life.
We drive to the masjid (Muslims’ place of prayer) in comfortable silence, the windows slightly down.
It’s quiet, calm, and my heart is at ease; almost.
But as I step out into the cool early evening air, a feeling of uncertainty surfaces inside me..
What about all the wrong you’ve done??
A brief image of a beautiful young girl flashes in my mind.
‘Nabeela’, she had said..
Sighing heavily as the whirlpool of turmoil continues swirling within me, I place my shoes onto the rack and stand to pray.
“Brothers, just a quick announcement. There will be drug awareness program tomorrow in Benoni. The poster with the venue, time, etc has been hung on the masjid board, and there is a stack of flyers at the masjid entrance as well. Make an intention to attend for the pleasure of Allah, and to educate ourselves, lest we fall into such a terrible trap. JazakAllah Khair.”
I grab a flyer on my way out, briefly reading through it while I wait for dad.
Addiction to drugs and substance abuse is having a devastating impact on our society. Drugs have become a menace and a destroyer of lives in the modern world. The harmful effects of drugs are seen on our youth, the family, the society and most important, on our Imaan.
The sound of the car unlocking diverts my attention.
Jumping in, I continue reading the flyer.
Due to the dire situation we are facing, Darul Ihsan has launched a ‘Drugs Awareness Drive’ (DAD) through which we intend to help and educate our society on the impact of this societal scourge. Education and awareness is one of the most effective ways in which our generations could be saved. The objective is to highlight the seriousness of drug abuse in our community and to adopt the adage ‘Prevention is better than cure’.
Hey. Hi. Hello. Salaam. Bonjour. Salut. Ciao. Ahoj. Bog. Marhaba. Ola.
Hope Monday is treating you all well!
I’m terribly sorry the post took so long. Time is just not on my side. 😭 I feel like I should give you’ll a rundown of what my usual day is like, so you’ll know that my reason is valid. But I also have to keep up my cool and mysterious persona, yanno what I mean. 😌😎
Kidding!! 😆 I’m actually just keeping my shield up against internet trolls. (But I do have to stay unknown too… so if you know who I am, ZIP YOUR MOUTH! 👀)
Aaaanywayy, since there’s only one more post of Season 3, I’m thinking of just stopping one time after Season 3, and coming back after Ramadhaan (hopefully). Otherwise Season 4 will just start (I say just a lot, don’t I? 🤔😂) and because I don’t want to blog in Ramadhaan, I’ll have to pause again. So, thoughts? Opinions? Please. Yay or nay? What should I do? Bear in mind, that if I do start Season 4, I’m guessing I’ll only manage 2/3 posts before Ramadhaan.
Alright, that’s all. Sorry for rambling. 🙈😂
Troubled Illusioner. ❤