I'm blogging, although I've decided many years ago that I was scared of the internet and I should just stay away just in case it might get me into trouble. I'm not somebody of consequence who must leave a mark as proof of existence but the thought of leaving some mark have crossed my mind. What if I die tomorrow, misunderstood and totally in vain or lost my precious mind and all trace of my self worth? Surely my life has been worthwhile. Really I'm nobody important who would want to be heard nor remembered for anything. But these questions about clarifying my own doubts about myself or getting oneself understood or exposed under scrutiny have haunted me eversince I started penning my diary entries at 13. Even back then I toyed with the idea that my entries would be read someday, and even if by me alone, I'd like to read something nice to reassure myself for having lived a decent life. But that was a tangible pen and paper thing. It was like entering into awareness, an assertion of my identity as a living person. Sadly through many years of mishandling and effects of more than 30 years, my precious book is all brittle and decaying. This, however was not the main reason for the pupose of a blog entry. No matter how private, obscure and detached I am, I cannot ignore my strong passion for expression. So many intimate thoughts but no one but Allah and me to know. It is a paradox of sorts when you think you are sure of yourself yet who is this person you think you knew? On the other hand with the satisfaction of owning your thoughts and believing that Allah also does, why should you want to share them with people and not keep them to yourself? Will keeping secrets other than the scandalous sorts, do any good or harm? Does being a tale teller mean that person is indulging in frivolity? What if one has a message like the one sent out to space as a note on our existence. Does that count for meaningfulness? It took lots of courage to be honest especially in writing or stepping out into public existence as in a journal. Every written line had to be stringently checked and rechecked for errors and especially hints of unpleasantness on my part. I'd make sure I was not a bad person and if I find myself having been so, I'd make analyses of why I said or did something and what I could have done better. My self correcting habits ensured that I became a judgemental person mostly harsh towards myself, although sometimes others too. Again with self correction, one was bound to find fault in finding fault with others. So the hatred slowly progressed to forgiveness or acceptance, thankfully. I guess in writing your thoughts, you have no other choice but to attempt to be honest, sincere, open-minded and forgiving or face the consequences. I don't know whether keeping a diary is meant to be so but it was that way for me. And in so doing, i wonder whether I've truly lost myself along the way and turned out to be one pretentious person keeping up fronts? I'm not even sure who the real me is. But for sure, this blog was prompted by internet discussion groups where yesterday I found myself or my bits of writing plagiarised. I thought that got extinct with transparency and accountability in the real and virtual world. I was neither flattered nor angered. Just puzzled. Why in the world would anybody want to steal thoughts for their blog entries? Maybe he wasn't aware of the ethics and implied self-denigration and I was curious to know why. Whatever his intention, I felt puzzled that there is a stranger who purposely wanted to delete my existence. That called out to my own self worth and so I had to register as a blogger to make contact with him possible. He has to know that I know and maybe he could just learn to acknowledge authenticity by using references in future. This is such a basic Islamic habit I took for granted everybody practised it. Maybe I've been so lost and forgotten that it's time for me to make a little noise at least for myself to hear and be pacified with it. This sounds so vain and unnecessary to me that I'm back at being unsure.
One thing for sure I've reached this far on since my first diary entry at 13. Got a degree, a husband and 3 boys and having my life sit prettily just the way I wanted it to. I've done the travelling , done the paper and career chase, done the spiritual enrichment, a little suffering and sprinkle of hardship here and there, but nothing to compare with the great dramas and tragedies of the real world. I'm so grateful. I'm so contented. I'm so without want. Except maybe wanting so much to be of servitude to some cause that appeals to me. But I'm tied to my role as wife and mother and nothing more than an occasional teacher, chocolate pound cake and steamed fruit cake maker, dabbler in tailoring almost anything required with a little success, a wannabe dutiful daughter and daughter in-law. Nothing more than a cowardly dreamer thinking that the world could use any part of me to win just causes. Well for starters, I have a charity event this Friday which is the only one marked in my week besides family routines and obligations. I could start there. But I doubt I'm even useful there. Quilting blankets for charity? My only claim to quilting is owning a lovely old quilt bought at a discount probably crafted in a sweat shop somewhere in China many years ago. Or maybe the little applique projects for my boys I threw away, incomplete. Always down sewing headscarves and burqas, pillows and crotcheing trimmings, and others. Never enough courage, time nor discipline to do much else.
Except reading. at the moment it's Paul Grieve's Islam: faith, history and politics. A complete introduction. Never have I come across something so thorough, so perfectly close to what I have been trying to accomplish but can never even hope to accomplish due to my many disabilities. And thankfully now there is no need. There has been this void all my searching life for a defence on my faith. a defence that is encumbent on at least one muslim, and yet the burden has been seemingly lifted by a non-muslim. However much he claims, his neutrality is suspect. In any case, May Allah reward him for at least this monumental effort which greatly covers o many things I needed to understand about Islam.
