Two days ago I turned 37. At the stroke of midnight on August 1st, my best friend and I were in a room, watching a silly YouTube series we both enjoyed, trying not to get sugar on the bed as we chewed on some candy she surprised me with. We spent the hours before that having Dolly Dim Sum and shopping for books and cute socks at Tsutaya; both her treats. I thought it was enough of a perfect, quiet night to celebrate 37 years of my life. More than enough to be grateful for.
The next morning after Fajr prayers, another surprise. Between clothes, she had hidden a booklet containing a short biography of my life, with pictures from literal decades ago taken from my Instagram churned into illustrations. As I read it, strong emotions welled in my heart and spilled onto my cheeks. For a good number of years now I’ve felt like my life has become a dead-end; that all that is good has come to past and that the golden years are over, that the amazing years that I’ve lived were somehow just a dream. I found myself detached from that person that was “Fadhilah Wahid”, thinking the real me is what exists today… an empty, sad, directionless person.
But the book she wrote forced me to relive that life again; to see that the same Fadhilah who went through a “tough love” childhood and begged for love in all sorts of places from all sorts of people who did not deserve it and got her heart broken in a million places a million times, is the same Fadhilah who uprooted her life and gave everything to start anew and succeeded in so many million ways. It is also the same Fadhilah who got her dreams broken and gave it up when her mom fell sick, but used the situation in the best of ways to write not one but two best-sellers sold worldwide, read by tens of thousands of people, and hopefully helping at least 10% of them. It is also the same Fadhilah who lives and breathes today, hidden deep in the bowels of the best bookstore in the world, packing books and answering enquiries and pushing pixels day in and day out. It is all me. The highs and lows, the fails and wins, the struggles and successes. This entire life… is me. It is not some amazing dream of another person’s awesome life. It is all… my life. Me. Somehow, seeing the entire story in a physical book that I hold in my hand, it made it all more concrete, more real, something I could no longer deny. I went through all of that. And I somehow managed to take all that pain and heartbreak and turn it into something beautiful, by the grace of God. Why have I allowed myself to think that my life will end with the pain and heartbreak I feel in recent years? Why have I stopped choosing to see beauty and to create beauty? Why have I traded hope for despair? Why have I decided to let go (of myself) but not even let God?
I sobbed in her arms.
When the tears finally subsided, I asked, curious, “Hey, why did you choose the title to be The Colours of Ilah’s World? Why Ilah? Why not Fadhilah, or Faddy or FW?”
“Because,” she smiled as held my hand, “That is the name your family has been calling you since you’re born into this world. If I had used “FW”, it would only remind you of your life post-UIA, pre-Tarim. But you’re more than that. You are also all the lives you lived before, and all the lives you have yet to live.”
I am more than “FW”, the person doing khidmah, AO’s best friend. I am more than “Fadhilah Wahid”, the published author. I am more than “Faddy”, the funny/moody person my friends know. I am, really, Ilah, this person whom went through so many different phases in life, whose family has really witnessed and stuck with through thick and thin, good and bad. And who will be the ones who witness my future, whatever it may be. It is all, from beginning to end, me.
Another round of tears accompanied this revelation.
I spent most of today reading and completing the book Tiny Experiments, a book I asked Chief Bookseller to bring in. As I poured through the chapters (made possible by blocking my Instagram account, of course, as addicts needed), I resonated so much with what the author wrote.
That, for example, life is made of cycles of being lost and finding ourselves again, and accepting this will open the door to curiosity (which is what Shaykh Etsko says in his book Millennium Discourses as well). Or that the walls we put up for “protection” actually block our opportunities for growth, self-discovery and what makes life exciting. Or that to avoid recycling old stories, we need to break free from the old scripts we write ourselves. Or that procrastination is not a moral failure, but a listening failure. Or that when we tie our self-esteem to our accomplishments (perhaps remnants of our upbringing), we gift ourselves to despair because we will always feel like nothing is good enough; we are never good enough. Whereas imperfection is universal –except with God–and we should embrace this by allowing ourselves more compassion.
In other words, accept that life is am ever-changing cycle–good and bad, joyful and sad, fun and challenging– and embrace alllllll the imperfections you have to offer it with compassion and curiosity. And for what purpose? Not legacy, but generativity ie. using your personal growth to positively impact the world around you; not by scale, but with depth. This is how life’s meaning is discovered: by focusing on one’s daily actions, rather than the content of your future eulogy.
(Ya’ni… everything the Prophet ﷺ has told us).
Of course, Anne-Laure does include some guides on how we can practically put the above mindset into actions; basically, tiny experiments. I’m rereading the book again and will take the time I need to figure out what I would like to do.
But first, before and beyond all of that, I would like to thank my best friend, not just for seeing me as who I am and accepting me in all of my entirety, but also for truly really seeing everyone around her and doing all the things to bring a positive impact in their life, in all ways big and small.
Tiq, You have the most amazing heart mashaAllah, and I am immensely grateful to God for your continued presence in my life, despite the challenges we face. I can only pray that He rewards you from His Treasures beyond count, both in this world and the next, ameen. No gift has been better for me but your companionship. We have so much to seek forgiveness for and to learn, but I pray that He always places His Mercy upon you and I, and take us away from heedlessness into His Loving Presence, fi khayrin wa lutfin wa afiah. Love you fillah, AO.
And to you, Ilah, Happy Birthday. May today be the first day you are born once more.
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