slip-sliding away…..

Adapted from a journal entry – prompted by nostalgia.

It’s Thursday night, and I’m in the library on campus. It’s highly unusual – being here at this time of the day. But there’s a good reason: I’m waiting for my wife – who’s seeing to her students at a school maths competition here.

But my memories are drifting back to someone else. Someone from my past.

I’m sitting at the same set of desks where I had my last in-person interaction with her. 17 years ago – while I was still a student.

On that day, I remember seeing her here – working on something. I wrote my details on a small piece of paper, mustered up the courage to talk to her, and came over. I said my piece – asking her to meet me the next day because I had a lot I needed to tell her. Stuff I’d been holding in for months – about the impact she’d unknowingly had on me…or at least, the catalytic role her presence had played.

I’d said some of it in a mail months earlier – after my moment of courage in approaching her. After the initial rejection. And I really didn’t hold much hope of anything happening after that.

But I still needed to express myself. And I needed to know I’d been heard. But there’d been no response of any kind. No acknowledgement…which was the most difficult part of it all. I could handle negativity. But silence is worse.

The previous months were emotionally tortured for me. Nights staring at the stars from my window – wallowing in the loneliness. Nights sometimes crying over how much I wanted a deep relationship with her (not yet realising how wrong that would be)…and wanting her to know what she meant to me. Days letting love songs – some sad – loop in my head, imagining her as the subject.

I walked up to her at this very desk – right here – and spoke to her. For only the second time ever. It would be the last.

She sent a mail soon afterwards. I don’t even remember much of the contents, other than acknowledgement of the initial contact, and a closing greeting of “Go well”.

Once I got that, and after my final reply, I let go.

I let go of the dream of ever having a chance with her. It was over. Closure. I moved on. On to what would be more than 5 years of tremendous spiritual growth, coupled with self-inflicted emotional torture…waiting for ‘the one’.

Alhamdullilah. ‘The one’ is somewhere nearby at this very moment. And I’ll be taking her home soon. Back to our home. Back to our kids. Back to our life.

This campus – where our first contact was initiated – still plays a role in our joint life, as tonight illustrates. Back when I first worked here – one of my first jobs – she was in her final year of studying. Her blog – which intrigued me – was my first encounter with her.

That progressed as we exchanged mails around an online project I was starting – for which I’d recruited several blogger acquaintances.

The real life connection came a few months later – fittingly, through assisting with the planning for a marriage conference.

What happened next is a story for another time, perhaps.

But for now, I think back to that particular project. I was so motivated . So organised. I was a leader. I set out my ideas. Gave people assignments. Planned. Organised. Things which – I realise – I still do now. Campaigns and events at work, along with initiatives I’m driving in other spheres of life.

This is the kind of stuff I never thought I’d be doing – if you asked me 17 years ago.

Back then, I was in my final year of university. Life had such narrow focus: academic work, and pining for her. Then getting over the emotional heartbreak of this incredibly strong dream disintegrating.

A life-changing dream…because it brought me to my Creator. And it brought me to Islam – living, practicing Islam…beyond the mere cultural shell of soulless actions.

And here I sit: 17 years later. Married for close to 12 years. Hajj fulfilled. 2 kids. And a slew of Islamic writing which I hope has benefited others. But stuff I never imagined I’d produce.

I also feel so much more mature. More independent. More emotionally secure.

Happier. Fulfilled.

More sociable, too. Or at least, more able to be sociable. So much more experience in talking to others. In not being scared of the world – of people: What they would think. What they would say about me.

It’s been a huge ride – all these years.

But Alhamdullilah – I find myself here again. At this campus. In this library. At this very desk, where that life-changing dream started to die.

But I was reborn.

And I evolved.

Became more. Became better. Became me.

What comes next – in the next 17 years (if I live to see them), God only knows.

But again, I get this feeling that life has been so long…I feel the effect of that time. I feel like I’ve lived several lifetimes. Like I’ve been here for what other people would consider centuries…yet it’s only been 38.5 years.

And I wonder why I feel that way. Why is life…my life…so elongated?

And if this is worldly life, what about the Hereafter? Which literally has no end.

How much longer will my life here last? Will it feel like further centuries?

God alone knows.

<If you’re struggling to find the point of this post, you’re not alone. I also don’t get it just yet. But I needed to write. Maybe I’ll figure it out someday in the future.>

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An updated version of this piece appears in my book – Let it Flow – available via Amazon Kindle, Google Play Books, Apple Books, Kobo, and more.