slip-sliding away…..

The best 10 days of the year are upon us, and with this year’s Hujjaaj posting future memories on social media each day, I’m reminded of my own journey to Hajj six years ago.

Faded memories

Exactly six years back, at this precise moment, we were spending our final night in Makkah. It was a Thursday night, with the 1st of Dhul Hijjah to follow the next day. That would be our final Jumuah at the haram, because we’d spend the following Jumuah on Mina for the first day of Hajj.

As was our ritual, we planned a tawaaf for that night. We slept a bit after Esha, then got up at 12.30AM to go down to the haram. It was crazy – given that Jumuah was just hours away, and after that we’d face the chaos of moving to Aziziah when hordes of others were doing the same.

Logic dictated that we should just rest and sleep as much as we could. But logic doesn’t hold enough power at moments like these. We might never have stayed a night in Makkah after that. We couldn’t lose the chance.

We fought. I fought. I fought those feelings of practicality – to get up and go.

The mataaf was too full – even at 1AM – so we went to the roof level. That took much longer, but it was much better. It was more peaceful up there. I was able to make many, many duas, and even read Surah Mulk (which, somewhat magically, stuck in my memory not long after Hajj – even though I never made a conscious effort to memorise it).

During the tawwaf, we walked by a man in prostration. He was sobbing uncontrollably. I thought of how maybe he, and others like him, are so humbled by being here. Perhaps they’ve done such tremendous wrongs in their lives, and now they come here – begging their Maker – for forgiveness and a fresh start. Witnessing that kind of emotion, as I did in Madinah (and other times in Makkah too), was immense, because it’s something I didn’t witness much at home (if ever).

That level of intensity pulls my heart – because it’s our common bond. A bond that I have with people in that vulnerable state. We are all just powerless, error-prone humans that live our lives heedless of Allah, transgressing and making mistakes. Trying to rectify ourselves…but failing, or falling back into error, again…and again…and again.

Bearing witness to the tears and pleading of grown men strikes deep within me. It always reminds me of how real that need is: how much we need our Creator. Similar, too, to witnessing death.

Back to life

As much as I’d like to live in my memories, I can’t. It’s on my Jannah list (if I get there)…but for my current reality, there just isn’t the time to bask in nostalgia. It’s rare to even have time to put thoughts like this into writing.

After our return, I tried to be an ambassador for Hajj. I did a fair bit of Hajj-related writing: the in-depth account of the journey; practical advice for current (and future) Hujjaaj; annual reflections as this season dawns upon us each year; and even recommendations for former Hujjaaj whose spiritual flames are re-ignited by each subsequent Hajj (here and here).

I think of the ambitions of this year’s Hujjaaj – particularly the first-timers. How hopeful they must be that this journey will change their lives. Beyond the complete and utter forgiveness they’ll achieve on Arafah, the desires they’ll have to ‘live’ their Hajj for the rest of their earthly days. The spiritual reserves they’ve built up over the past weeks, and the even-greater piety they’ll still attain – particularly once they live through the immeasurably-precious first days of Hajj.

I hope they’ll maintain that as long as they can. That, once they’ve completed the rigours of the first three days, they won’t ease up too much. It’s easy to do when everyone else is so relaxed in the camps – as they wait out the last couple of days of Hajj.

But I know they’ll be shocked when they leave this bubble. Makkah and Madinah are fairly insulated from the moral corruption of the rest of the world. And because they’ve been in these relatively pure environments for so long, it’s going to hit them hard when they go back to the outside world.

For me, that impact came as soon as we got into the airport in Cairo: a Muslim majority nation, yet the commercialism and desire-driven traps were barely distinguishable from airports in London or New York.

I hope these tips will help slow down the erosion of spirituality they’ll face….but it’ll only slow down the process. It can’t be stopped completely. Unless they live in a remote, morally-sound corner of their country, chances are the forces of temptation and evil are going to bring them down from their high. It’s inescapable.

I heard a lecture once where a wise teacher had explained how critical it is to make Umrah often – because our souls need to regularly go back to those blessed lands to be purified and refreshed from all the spiritual impurities that accumulate when we’re back in our normal environments.

Many who made the journey with us six years ago have since made that return. But for us, it’s nowhere in sight. And I expected that, to be honest. When we were booking our Hajj, I deliberately chose the longest package because I knew that we may never get the chance to go again – even for just Umrah.

I still yearn to go back. For Umrah, yes….but more particularly for Hajj. It’s a completely different path – even though most of the locations are the same.

Repeat Hajj seems highly unlikely because of the quota system and the ever-growing backlog. But anything is possible. I’d even go as a volunteer to assist one of the Hajj agencies. But my lack of social skills and impracticality are probably insurmountable obstacles in that path.

Living the Hajj

I think of how my own life has changed in these six years.

When we got back, the desire to “live my Hajj” meant staying highly spiritual: worshipping a lot; being beautiful in character; and just living a good, clean life.

Six years later, my feeling is that that’s not what it means to live our Hajj. At least not for me. Maybe because I’ve failed miserably by my own initial definition.

But what I believe is that we go there to be purified of our sins (i.e. get a totally clean slate), build up some goodness so that we can be better than we were before the journey, and then concentrate on using the good qualities we’ve been blessed with to benefit the world.

We won’t remain on that spiritual high, although we’ll maybe get flashes of it from time to time. But that doesn’t matter, because we don’t worship feelings. Our purpose is to do good to – and for – others. To help others. To help make this world a better place – in whatever small (or big) way we can.

We don’t need to perform grand gestures that are plastered all over people’s Facebook and Twitter feeds. Our actions don’t need any media attention, or even recognition from those who are receiving the assistance.

All that’s needed is for you to be sincere in your heart, and to be striving to do for others – rather than living solely for yourself and your own selfish interests.

And we may never see the results of those efforts in this life…but that’s actually better for us, because it keeps us humble. It stops us from thinking we’ve achieved something.

What matters is that those deeds build weight to our scale of goodness, and on that Day when we need it most, we’ll appreciate how Allah hid the results from us – because one ‘small’ act of kindness may be the thing that saves us from torment in the Hereafter.

I’m still failing – by this new definition. But that’s probably because I come from a very insulated, self-centred background. Maybe it’s because I was allowed to be that way growing up. Or maybe it’s Asperger’s Syndrome (which I suspect I’ve had all my life – but was never really aware of the condition until recent years). Or maybe I’m just a self-centred idiot.

But I do believe that, in these six years, I’ve made some progress towards coming out of that shell. That in some ways, I am a bit better, and I do more for others than I ever did in the past.

I still struggle to show people how I feel inside – and nobody truly gets me in that regard…not even my wife.

But it doesn’t matter. What matters is I know what’s inside. I know what I feel, my intentions, and my wishes for others….even though I can’t express it to them in person. (Writing is a lot easier, as you’ll gather if you’ve read my stuff for a while and you know me in person.)

And so as I head towards that allegedly magical age of maturity (40), I hope that the internal changes are far greater than what I can recognise right now. And I hope that the impact that I have on others – and have had on others – is truly significant in their lives.

And this blog plays a huge part in that legacy. My writing – particularly on this blog – has been my safe haven for many years now. And though I don’t think any of my original readers are still with me, I know that there are quite a few newer ones who at least see my work (though I don’t know how much they read…the stats aren’t that advanced or qualitative).

But I don’t need to know whether you read everything or not. And I don’t need to know whether it impacts you at all.

Just like when I started writing on this platform, my writing is for me…not for an audience. But I hope that it’s been of some kind of benefit to you. That it’s been something meaningful…deeper…than the barrage of hyperactive news and social media-driven fluff that you’re bombarded with each day.

If I can at least inspire one positive feeling…or one positive action or habit…it’d be cool.

But if not, that’s fine too.

Thanks for reading. And thanks for caring.