Aleppo.. Ya Allah!

WE ARE THE MUTE DEVILS


Yes, this world is very depressing and everyone seems like they're in their own bubble in their own isolated world, viewing the world problems as if they were irrelevant or to no concern to them.

It's just sad.

How the most we can do now is just on social media. Yet we can't even do that.

Sometimes when scrolling down through our news feed, we don't even stop to read or listen, we just scroll past it. Sometimes if we are being benevolent we share their pain! sometimes we're too worry if we share that "disturbing video of people being killed, or children bleeding or starving in the cold" it might disturb our friends on FB and gives them a "nightmare".

We can't even spare them a minute to focus on their pain, to make a quick sincere Dua'a (prayer), to at least hit the "share " button so that maybe, just maybe someone else might see it, who can ACTUALLY do something about it.


When Somalia's civil war erupted, Syrian opened their arms for Somali refugees and never treated them like sub-humans. When Iraq war happened, Syrians opened their doors again to their Iraqi brothers and sisters and welcomed them with open hearts, never complaining of the price hike that happened as the result. When the fight between Hizbullah and Israel happened in Lebanon, Syrians, jumped to rescue the Lebanese refugees with everything they could offer, sometimes even sharing the power with them.

But..We all know what Syrians faced and the treatment they received from the neighbouring countries when they were most in need.

But Karma! Karma never goes away.

But what to do??? seriously, what can we do???

How can we help a burning child, how can we warm the kids who are dying because of the cold? how can we feed them when families have nothing to eat but grass and flour? how can we sweep the cries of a bereaved mother? or a still living-dead inside- father/husband who just witnessed his wife and mother being raped in front of him?

A bit graphic description for your eyes?!

It's just sad! And you, my friend, is pathetic!

We live in an era where the internet is a powerful tool, where our voices collectively may-can- lead to some sort of change/action.

Yet we are "too lazy" to even do that.

It's just sad!

That we choose to numb our senses with stupid TV shows, dramas, Snapchat, Instagram and celebrity news that keeps on trending because people are interested in the perfume they wear?.


Lifeless! Aren't we?!

Meanwhile, Syrians are burning and dying.

Karma!

Let's live our lives, let's continue riding our buses and driving around like nothing is happening, let be selfish.. and superficial and ..cowards.

There is this Arabic saying that goes like this "الساكت عن الحق شيطان اخرس"

"The one who keeps silent from telling the truth is a mute devil"

Are you a mute devil? Are you a participant of killing Syrians by keeping silent and ignoring the issue?

I will leave you with this Hadith.

The messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said:

"The parable of the believers in their affection, mercy, and compassion for each other is that of a body. When any limb aches, the whole body reacts with sleeplessness and fever"

The least we can do is to feel their pain, to put ourselves in their shoes and empathise, what would we want the world to do if we were in their place?

Raise your voice to their support. Make effort and make a dua'a in the third part of the night when Allah descends to the seventh sky and ask his servants to request anything from him.

May Allah rescue and protect our brothers and sisters in Aleppo and all Syria,. Oh Allah, the Ummah and the world have failed them, and all they have is You. Please protect them, punish those who have slaughtered them, and make their suffering purification for them from their sins.

Amee Ya Rab.

*Asia Aboosy

I walk aimlessly , cluelessly..trying to pull my own weight. Every step feels like ascending the moon with one single large step ripping my two legs apart. I have my headphones plugged into my ears yet I can't hear a sound.

I walllkkkkk..I walkkkkk, aimlessly, One STEP followed by ANOTHER..

Then I hear a very loud honking noise breaking into the buzz of my ears. A car almost hit me..some slurs..I stand still. I freeze..

I continue standing..I feel heavy..I think I cant reach my home..I walk again,aimlessly, trying to drag my weight ..and walk home. I check the street number, Ughhhh I am wayyyy passed home and curfew.

I should walk back, I should turn 360° around "you should turn aroundddd" I tell myself. But..but my body feels like a huge castle today, like a wheel stuck and sunk in a deep mud.

"Should I call a Taxi to take me home"..I turn my neck around to look for my bag..I don't see my bag or HAND..OHHH MYYYY GOOOD where is my RIGHT HAND..my right hand is MISSING. Someone stole my right hand with the BAG..How will I ever eat again..or..drink or..write.

I freeze again. My head turns and turns. I feel paralyzed and heavy and lost and without my right hand or a bag or a phone or some money....

"How will I ever find home???!". I wonder.

 Suddenly the waves in my mind calm. I hear myself. I hear my self clearly saying

"I will learn how to use my left hand, I will learn how to eat and drink and SURVIVE"

And if I successfully turned my neck around  I can also turn my body.

So I turned around.

And walked ..aiming my home.

My body still felt heavy, very heavy actually but its my body and I need to carry it anyway, I need to learn how to carry it and feel light.

I found home.

Guess what else I found..?

I found my RIGHT HAND grabbing and clutching onto my hand bag.

And ,so, I felt light and jumped towards my bag to grab my phone and check what I had missed.

I am sorry but at this moment I don’t care about the -SomaliaWeNeverSee.

At this moment there are soldiers /tribe men/militants, I don’t even know what to call them on standby in Galkacyo waiting for the first bullet to be fired. In fact two days ago there were fired bullets from one side that killed my uncle (my father’s first cousin) and another man who had hearing disabilities.

 His name was Ina Istur, I was very acquainted with him when I was working in our hotel back home. He was the security guard of the Galdogob Mayor. Although Somalia is tough on people with disabilities he had a free spirit and was full of jokes and laughter, he radiated with positivity and managed to always shine the place he was in. I was horrified when I was told he was dead and was killed by a flying bullet, he left three girls behind. My uncle too was killed; a bullet entered his left kidney and came out from the other (may Allah have mercy on his soul).

I know I am being graphic but I don’t know why the state of Galkacyo is so pathetic like that, I don’t know if its sheer tribalism or power struggle or lack of accountability and Deen.

Somalis pride themselves in being Muslims and very conservative yet they take the spilling of blood very lightly as if they’re not going into dark graves and won’t be held accountable before a just Lord where “I was taking revenge for my cousin/tribe or my perceived honour” won’t benefit them in anyway.

 من أجل ذلك كتبنا على بني إسرائيل أنه من قتل نفسا بغير نفس أو فساد في الأرض فكأنما قتل الناس جميعا ومن أحياها فكأنما أحيا الناس جميعا ولقد جاءتهم رسلنا بالبينات ثم إن كثيرا منهم بعد ذلك في الأرض لمسرفون

“Because of that, We decreed upon the Children of Israel that whoever kills a soul unless for a soul or for corruption [done] in the land – it is as if he had slain mankind entirely. And whoever saves one – it is as if he had saved mankind entirely. And our messengers had certainly come to them with clear proofs. Then indeed many of them, [even] after that, throughout the land, were transgressors.”

Unless we respect the blood and respect the doctrines of our Deen, our situation in Somalia won’t change. Unless we learn compassion and act like Prophet Muhammed (PBUH) we will never thrive.

Sometimes, I pride myself in being a descendant form the great city of Galkacyo, where people are resilient and tough, where people are humorous despite their circumstances, where people are hospitable and optimistic, where people are cultured and nice.

But sometimes -like today- I feel ashamed of being from a city that fights often, a city that kills with cold blood, a city that doesn’t read into beyond their immediate selfish interest or the consequences of their action, a city where families live in fear and horror, a city where if your child leaves to school you might never see him/her again.

When I hear the news coming from Galkacyo and other unstable cities in Somalia and simultaneously see the –SomaliaYouNeverSee – posts I become furious. "Why are you people being insensitive?" I think. Right now I care less about the SomaliaINeverSee, because honestly it isn’t there to be seen.

Maybe it’s an escape mechanism. Maybe it’s denial method. Maybe it’s having the strength of positivity amongst all the negativity. Maybe it’s a sign of hope. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

And it is wishful thinking unless we change it from a hastag
to reality. How do we do that?

You know how when we need answers to questions that we don’t know we go and open Google?. Our Google is our Qura’an. How about we open it for change and see what is says about changing ourselves before Allah changes our circumstances. How about we read the part where Allah (SWT) says 

“And not equal are the good deed and the bad. Repel [evil] by that [deed] which is better; and thereupon the one whom between you and him is enmity [will become] as though he was a devoted friend.”

By: Asia Aboosy 

Morning Thoughts and Marbels..

Morning thoughts..

I pick up my soul like marble balls scattered on the ground. It’s everywhere you turn into, almost encompassing and frightening all the same. I need to re-build my pieces, find my pieces and keep collected to feel peace. 

Peace? Is a foreign tongue to me, to us.

Peace is nowhere to be found in the land of turmoil, the land of the strong; where lions always win and rule.

Peace is nowhere in the near future when positions of power are seen as form of control instead of responsibility, instead of “All of you are guardians and are responsible for your wards. The ruler is a guardian and responsible for his subjects ...etc”

Peace is nowhere to be found when religion becomes a tool, a culture instead of character. Peace is nowhere to be found when boys are forced to be men and girls have no choice but to chase womanhood. Because being a girl isn’t cool enough, because make-up is cool, because your own skin should be painted sometimes sealed with tons of powder.

Peace is nowhere to be found when we are busy pinpointing other's flaws and neglecting our own. When we judge each other on how fleek our eyebrows are, really?! When we descend to that level of superficialness, you know the marble balls aren’t close to be found.

I am afraid that I will be searching much longer,maybe many more decades I am afraid that, by then I will no longer recognise my marble balls. Let alone find them and collect them.

Asia Aboosy 

A Letter to my Younger Self..

A Letter to My Younger Self

Asia, tomorrow marks your first day of college. Your 18 years old now. You will go to your first class in Computer Engineering and be surprised at how many male students are there. At first, you won’t see any Hijabi at the campus and you will feel extremely uncomfortable and foreigner, although, your still within the borders of the land where you spend your past eleven years. College will be full with Syrian and Iraqi students and you will be the only outstanding black, the only fully covered girl.


Don’t panic! Don’t blame yourself for being different. Don’t wish you looked like the rest. Just don’t. Years later you will come to know about your culture and country and realize that Somalia is more than a displaced nation, starved children and massive explosions. That black isn’t less beautiful then blue eyes and fair skin. 

Years later- six years to be exact- you will visit Somalia and you will finally fit. You will finally appease your longing for a place where you truly call home. Where you blend in. You will live with your first Somali- aside from your sisters-roommates. You will be exposed to Somali songs and you will learn how to dance to them, you won’t necessary learn dhanto but nonetheless, you will gain something way more crucial; how to chant your own rhythm.



That one year you will spend in Somalia will change YOU forever-and I mean FOREVER- of course to the better. That year will answer many of your pressing questions and wonders that kept knocking on your head for answers no matter how much you assimilated to the Syrian culture or knew about their history and politics and breathed their air. 

You always had that longing inside you to your blood home where grandma lived, where Ma and Pa met, where the mahmahs originated from. You had that thirst in you even when it wasn’t that evident, it manifested in the form of never-ending series of questions when your parents talked about home nostalgically.


Somalia will be very challenging and adventurous. You will have your first ever paying job there and you will learn how to alter your dreams, how to adjust your purpose. You will realize, among many things, how lucky you were all along. Your students will make you feel very important and informative, at times though; they might get fed up with your many examples and scenarios. Enjoy that experience.


One day, as your teaching general Psychology in one of your classes, one student will raise his hand and ask you “how can I study Psychology in Somalia?” you will be baffled and answer to your best judgement. Meanwhile, that will debunk your expectation about the state of Psychology and mental health in Somalia; what every Somali elder told you before about Psychology being a myth and having no future in Somalia. That incident will break that mantra in your head forever.


Another day, while you’re explaining a concept in Somali, you will notice your students staring at you blankly, then you will realize that they didn’t understand some of your words because your Somali slang is different from theirs. You will still find your way to them. You won’t feel like a foreigner. The whole scene will be so cute, them realizing that a street for you is “lamii” and to them is “zani”.


Sometimes, Somalia will be harsh, Somalis will act ignorant. Don’t be harsh. Don’t blame them. Don’t complain. Don’t be part of the problem. Don’t act like your better because you’re not. And most importantly, don’t judge. Don’t judge.

Interact with people. Learn about your culture. Ask questions, many question-a thread of questions if you want they will be please to answer. Listen to the elders. Be patient with them and even when you disagree with them, keep quite, don’t try to explain your own views, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.


A year later, people will think your very fluent in your mother tongue “Somali”. People will refer to you as “reermudug”, a sign that you display the characteristic of that region. Occasionally, you will refer to yourself as “Reer Mudug” too with a smirk in your face secretly happy that you finally have a HOME that you finally identify with.

At the end, you will know more about your dhaqan (culture). You will learn about the concept of “Calaf”. And all those changes that you went through will lead you to meet your “calaf” in a land that’s far from home, yet you will recognize home in him.


I am in Canada now. I am a Family Worker. I work with my people. And I still have plans to do my graduate school. And Somalia? Till we meet again Inshallah. :)

Asia Aboosy from the future XoXo

Some days…
I want to feel powerful.
 Like thunder storms.
 like tisunami waves.
So confident, I can kill you with a smile.
My energy so hype You’d think i swallowed the candy store.
Somedays, I just want to feel lazy
curl on my sofa like a mellow cat
Like a sleeping baby.
turn off my tv, log out of facebook
worry free.
I want to be
Insignificant. sealed. From outside world.
Somedays,
Just Somedays
I believe I’m a hero.
I embrace others pain
I’m an empath
 Somedays it gets a little too much
just too much hate
Too much anger.
Too much killing.
Too much blood.
Too much segregation.
Too much cries.
Too much misery.
And I just wonder when it will all end
When will it stop
Somedays,
I plug my ears with my fears of tomorrow
How are we supposed to bring kids to this world ?
And raise them on the principals<br>
 of peace
Love
Tolerance
And Compassion
When there is ..
No peace
 love
 tolerance
Or compassion
I will be a hypocrite mother
A liar
An irrelavant teacher
If I dont lay the truth before their eyes
like it is
Naked
Bare truth with
no colors
Or filters
Or photoshop..
Somedays, i dream of a world
Where children arent the extension of adults egos
Or fears.
somedays..I dream, what if we had a separate planet for people who dont choose to hate. .

By: Asia Aboosy 

Keep That Purple Hijab

Location: Stadium Transit Centre

Time: 2:10pm

Bus number: # 125

I come out from Stadium LRT Station headed to one of my work meetings. I follow the arrow signs directing to the bus stops area. I start looking for #125 bus stop. From afar I see a habaryar (an aunt) seated, hiding in the shelter of the bus stop from the sun heat. I come closer. She sees me. I smile

“Asalamu Alikum habaryar” I greeted her.

She is wearing a purple long hijab. Round face. when she smiled the wrinkles around her eyes deepened as if they’re about to fall off, except they didn’t. They were kind wrinkles that added a beautiful mystery into her face almost like a soft glow but more of a distinct Noor. Subhanallah!

“Walikum salam” she replied.

I stood next to her. Anxious. I check the time on my phone. “Oh its 2:20pm, the bus isn’t here yet. Bus ride will be almost 16 minutes-Thanks to ETS trip planner- I’ll be at the hospital by hmmmm, lemme go to my calculator-nowadays my math  skills are on life support- okay. So  I’ll be there by 2:36 pm plus 2 minutes walking to my location. I’ll make it before 2:45” I assert to myself.

Bus #125 arrives. We queue. Habaryar signals to me to go before her. She says she wanna ask the driver a question. I get in. I hesitate, “what if she needs my assistant to talk to the driver? What if she doesn’t need it and I end up embarrassing myself?” I walk slowly to my seat, alerted to scoop in if she needs me.

I choose a seat. She came sat next me, we started sheeko sheeko like Somali people do.

She told me that she originally came out of her home at around 12:30pm but she missed the first bus, so she waited for the next one. Then it became 1:00pm, while waiting. There were only 40minutes left till Salat-Al Dhuhur time so she went back in to wait and pray.

She said she was going to check a place downtown she was told were hiring. That her actual work shift was starting at 4:30 pm.

I asked her “ Habaryar, are you sure you have enough time to go check that work and still be back on time for your shift riding all those buses that are time consuming?”

“I need to go there and check the job opportunity, it’s okay” she said “if I’m late for like 30 minutes. They wouldn’t mind I was never late before. I couldn’t delay my Salaat while running here and there and end up praying us at 5pm”

I heard the woman operator announcing my street. I buzzed the bell. I greeted habryar and I got down.

My thoughts during the 2 minutes’ walk from the bus stop to my location:

1-If I was running late and had 40 minutes left to Salaat would I wait for Salaat? Or just jump into the bus and postpone my Salaat until its convenient to pray?

2-When did we lose our life compass? Are we created to worship Allah or to run after Dunya? Yes we are instructed to do Tawakkul; putting our trust in Allah while also implementing the means that have been permitted to us, on the other hand we can’t, we shouldn’t prioritize the affairs of Dunya before our Islamic duties such as Salaat.  When Allah sees us putting him before anything else, communicating with him and resisting the Sahytaan’s(devil) waswas (insinuating whispers) into our heart telling us to catch the bus, to sleep, to rush to school because we have no time for Salaat, because we can always pray it with the next one, because “the deen is ease and not hardship”, because Allah will forgive us., because Allah will understand. Then we indeed responded to the waswas of the shaytaan over the call of prayer. We end up getting used to delaying Al-Salaat. We end up weighing in favor of Dunya on the expense of our Deen and that’s when we become astray and lost.

3-There are things in life that should never be compromised and Salaat is one of them.

4-Many Somali mothers are on the go. Always, tirelessly, looking for new doors of income to single handedly support their family here, send money back home and still save some to sponsor other family members. They embody the true definition of Tawakkul , rocking their purple hijab they still manage to get hired! Whoever said -immigrants need to assimilate to get jobs- was justifying his/her weak sense of identity and his lack of believe in himself. And we as Somali girls should take the torch, sustain our identity and lead the way for our younger sisters.

5-People need to stop painting the whole Somali community with the same brush. There are always many challenges that arise in the first generation of immigrants, Somalis are no different.  ie: broken families due to the new environment, shift of typical gender roles and much more. However, we will come together as a community and strive. Inshallah.

6-I just l LOVE how spontaneously our people can bond. If someone saw us seated there, just talking and talking, they would have assumed we knew each other for so long. Let’s not lose that beautiful trait in us and let’s not wash it away with cadaan coldness. We are naturally warm and welcoming. May Allah bless us always.

Then I entered the hospital and looked for the pediatric wing.

Our Unsung Heroes 

“Did you hear about the man who was killed last night in Galkacyo” her mother asked.

“Right after the athan , as he was returning to his home from the Maqrib prayer. Streets were empty. He knocked the door of his house. His son opened the door, very young around 5 years old. Two men approach him; one extended his hand to say Hi the other one gunned him down on his dead. He died immediately. Before he broke his fast. Right in front of his 5 years old son”

“It’s starting to get unsafe in here, it’s too scary. Innocent People die every other day while the murderers feast and walk around, like nothing happened” her mother continued.

“It’s unsafe here too Ma, ” she said. Thinking of how scared she feels when she walks alone with her hijab after dusk.  

She lived in Syria her whole life. Now Syria is on fire. Fate of her friends is unknown. All that’s left is ashes and memories lived with happiness, joy, and gratitude.

She wasn’t Syrian.Syria was her temporary home. She curses the men-monsters-who started war, who spilt blood. Once blood is spilt, it keeps on spilling. War lords emerge. Chaos starts. Once blood spills rage will never end.

She wasn’t Canadian either; she just holds their birth certificate. A small rectangular paper that stated the date and place she was born, but does the place she was born in dictates her identity, her personality or who she is?

Can she possibly belong to a place she doesn’t feel safe in? Or call it home?

She is Somali, or that’s what she claimes. At least she resembles them when she isn’t talking or walking.

She is a Somali even when her country is unstable and two men shot a fasting man, who was standing before his little boy, in his head. Even when she knows that once blood is spilt it’s impossible for the spilling to stop. And these shootings, these qarxs (explosions) will go on at least in the near future. 

People inside home wanted to run away desperately from all the chaos to the seemingly “Paradise” land behind the seas, only to come here, try too hard to resemble, try too hard to fit in, only to be called “bloody immigrants” to feel “less then-” like “others” and to realize that the only place that you can remotely call home is a place that isn’t very pretty or safe but at least no one has the right to kick you out, no one will tell you to go home.  

You run back to your "home". Very enthusiastic, very hopeful, longing for positive change in your home land, aspiring for reconciliation and repeating constantly, tirelessly  “Ghandi and Mandela never gave up on their nations, we shouldn’t either, change is around the corner, we should see the hope at the end of this long tunnel”

   

Every one discourages you. Tells you how stupid you are. How naive you are to the dirty politics. “Don’t go to xamar it’s too dangerous, too risky” they tell you. 

“But should we leave xamar to the criminals? To the blood spillers ? ” you say, thinking you’re the unsung hero of Somalia. Or maybe just looking for opportunities to invest in, to create an identity, to have that feeling you longed for, of just blending and not standing out of the crowd or be point at. 

You check into the hotel, where adeero told you the meeting with some Xilbanyaloo- Parliament members-old xilibanyalo of course- will take place.You notice that the security is very tight. you are scrutinized to the teeth.Yet minutes later a big Qarax happens. Even before you climbed the stairs. 

 Your crime? Too much hope in Somalia.

Indeed, you are the unsung hero.
She is the unsung hero.
We are the unsung heroes.
Because we will conquer our fear.

By: Asia Aboosy 

                                          

A Somali Hoyoo Just Like You




It’s not just her fiery features that awes me
it’s her courage so raw without a flaw
like a stream, it flaws unbroken non-stop
you can’t break her soul

it’s her toughness, her resiliency that sewed up our torn nation
it’s her patience that resembles prophet Ayuub’s
it’s her Iman that” Verily after hardship comes ease”
it’s her ability to send kids to school from selling tea
murmuring a dua’a while drying her sweat, her hijab is wet though the sun is hot
I tell ya, you can’t break her soul

because she has rebellious strength that refuses to be labelled just “dumaar”
she isn’t just “Dumaar”..
she her highness is a lioness!
the taste of heaven, the mercy of rain in Sahara dessert

In the evening,
she carries her skirt with elegance, you won’t recognise she sold tea the whole day
under the burning sun of Galkacyo
you my lady is something else
so pour me some of that fierceness in you, mold me into something that resembles your edges so I won’t lose myself
lend me your claws so I’d carry on your legacy

to become a Somali hoyoo..just like you

A glance into myself, and others.. 

I struggle. I am struggling with my deen, with my life choices, with my goals, with my pleasing personality that strives to make others happy as if I’m responsible for everyone’s misery, world wars, famine, inequality, racism, and all the innocent children who were robbed from their innocence. I struggle with me being first born “my curadnimo” all that this role entails, all that burden and setting example for your siblings kinda thing. How many times did I hear “Ratiga dambe ratiga hore bu racaa” Although this role entitles me to many privileges like being the minster of advisory and the private consultant of  my parents.

I won’t lie sometimes I wish I can liberate myself from all of that, to be just like those who rebelled who broke all the constrains attached to them by their parents or society even for just a day, to have a clear free conscious that wont bash me down till I’m exhausted. I dream of a day I can make a decision without worrying about what my parents or my siblings would say, just to weight my personal account on that decision. Why is it so hard for me to do that though? (the Shaytan in me wonders)

It annoys me, that I can’t say NO when I mean to say NO, why is it hard? Why do I feel guilty for all the problems in the world, why do I need to be a fixer/rescuer? (am a social worker!) I envy those who just worry about themselves (Cadaanka camal). But I sometimes worry though, am I directing my energy outwards because I’m too scared to look inwards? Am I distracting myself from myself? Why do I always give people the benefit of the doubt when all the screaming signs are there? Why am I so generous with second chances? Why am I too forgiving?

Why do I have the need to make everyone happy even when my decision is 100% halal, right and in accordance with our deen. Wait did I just say, is it really a NEED?

I think it grew up to be a need, the seed of pleasing our parents and consulting with them in every matter even in our simplest choices was implanted inside us through all those years of Cashars and strict upbringing, we were reminded and scolded everyday to not be friends with this girl/Boy or that without any proper explanation, We were scold, (hit occasionally lol) because of a stupid thing because it was ”inappropriate!” without a sufficient substantiating, and you’re expected to understand just like that.  Somali parenting style camal.

I can’t pinpoint where my passivity in deciding for myself started because as far as I can remember I was all about being the perfect “Curaad” thriving to please my parents to the maximum, not Allah!, in every way possible! (I'm ashamed to say that) To live up to the expectations of my family is not the ultimate goal in life but rather to please Allah and grow as a person. Inshallah.

This world had turned into a hard on its own, and I think it’s really important to look inward and learn about ourselves instead of judging others when we don’t really know what’s going inside us, when we’re really blinded to what they went or going through, when we’re not even aware of our demons how can we see the ugliness in others?

 I am struggling to understand myself and others, aren’t we all?  in fact life is a struggle between right and wrong, between right and left, between sadness and madness, between the past and future, between passivity and taking control and our choices

are the only machinery that can determine the trajectory of our lives. Yes choices are shaped by many factors ie: your past experiences, but remember that knowledge is power, the more we learn about our deen , our backgrounds, our selves the better decisions that more grounded we are and the healthier decision we can make. Inshallah.

Allah (SWT) said in the holy Qura’an:

   

      "وقل ربي زدني علما"
Say, lord increase my knolwedge

*The holy Qura'an  

Allah’s Messenger (Blessings and peace of Allah be upon him) said “seeking knowledge is a duty for each and every Muslim” Ibnu-Majah

So look within yourself, glance at it , learn about yourselve and only there will we find our faith, our answers, and our prayers.

 What we see in this sad world  we see is just a physical manfiestation of our inside ugliness.

Our inside is naturally beautiful and yes we will struggle to find our innate self again, to let our inner brauty prevail and blosom like a dead tree breathing spring sun and transforimg into something stunning

"......مَا مِنْ مَوْلُودٍ إِلاَّ يُولَدُ عَلَى الْفِطْرة "

“No child is born except on the Fitrah..."

*Hadith sahih.

فِطْرَ‌تَ اللَّـهِ الَّتِي فَطَرَ‌ النَّاسَ عَلَيْهَا ۚ لَا تَبْدِيلَ لِخَلْقِ اللَّـهِ

“The fitrah of Allah upon which He has created [all] people. No change should there be in the creation of Allah.” [30:30]

* The holy Qura'an. 

May Allah guide us to his path. Ameen.

I don’t breathe
I wheeze relentlessly
From ages of run
Of shot gun
barbaric ghosts made of broken sun

I don’t know
Where all went wrong
Now..
Its stuck in my head like a horrible song
Melody so strong it’s written in my forehead
Wrinkles crawling deep around my red eyes
I’m aging

I don’t breathe
I wheeze fearlessly
I carry my broken sun around
Like a heavy crown
Pushing me towards the end

But NO
I am a tree that grows tall
Refuses to be small
Or pushed around
I am not a burden
I refuse to be a show
For your lazy white eyes

I ran here and met
shot gun
barbaric ghosts
who hate
the colour of my skin
the shape of my proud chin
the pin on my hijab
they wished the flavour of my tongue had changed
thin..and turn into a thing that's opposite to my skin
they thought I was weak easy to prey on

But hey!
This
Isn't your show for you to Netflix and chill
I am not clowning for you to grill
I am a poem
Made of a volcano fluid
Don’t get too close,
or else you’ll lose your toes
I am a mango tree that grows tall
Refuses to fall

And I am telling you
I am telling you
I will sew back my broken sun
Re-write my glory with a golden pen
Re-breath fresh poetry into my broken song

one day
I will stop running
Breath slowly
while drawing stars under mango trees

Oh..you hissing cockroach

Deep in the night

When everyone is asleep

you're scared by the tiniest whisp

Yet possess that endless spunk?

that adventurous soul 

You Scurry in Hurry

Chasing that far rainbow,

No, don’t you worry

 Don’t you believe what they claim

When they say ‘you’re nasty and unclean’

When they say ‘you’re blind and unkind’

Oh you poor cockroach...

Don’t be wary to follow the rain

Or to spread those wings that were drained

Even when its so bleak
swimming in the deepest drain

lost in an endless pain

That’s when you need them most

When you need my voice

'Don’t you ever listen to humans

For their cruel, even on one another'

                                           My Cup of Tea

Hours on phone...

Laughter, giggles, and rejoice  

All of sudden..

the sky is bluer

weather aint  that cold

and...

I don't need much sugar in my tea

Daydreaming, my eyes are sparkling

I think you're a diamond in the rough

my kinda cup of tea

:) 

My New Pep Talk

Every morning I have a dramatic fight with myself in order to pull myself out of the blankets it doesn’t matter how early I slept the night before. I think to myself ‘you’d get used to it or your body would condition itself ‘but, no, it never really does.

“I am shallow” “I am a very lazy person” “Asia you will never reach your dreams if you continue in this route” I tell myself as I rush off late from my door.

My father is a workaholic. I always admired his hard work and respect for time. How he manages and disciplines himself. I remember one night while I was wide awake at night watching some addictive Tv show. I heard an alarm sound going off, and then the next thing I know was my dad opening the door and entering the wash room to pray Salatul Qiyam . I can swear that the course of the alarm didn’t even finish.

I asked my dad the next morning how he manages to wake up instantaneously like that, he said “In the presence of Allah’s messenger, peace and blessings be upon him, a man who slept at night until morning was mentioned. Allah’s messenger (PBUH) said that is such a man whose ear the Satan urinated. I want to piss off Iblis that’s why I jump off from bed”

On other occasion my dad said he tell himself this, when he finds it very challenging to wake up “Hurdooy wan ku so dhimanaya” meaning “sleep, I will find you when I die” that’s how my dad maximizes and stretches his abilities to do his eibada (worship) and work.

I think one has to have specific short-term goals that keeps him grinding, that pulls him off bed in the morning. You need to wake up earlier than others if you want to reach higher peaks, if you want to cross wider seas, to attain more ajar you need sujuud before Allah while everyone else is asleep.

I lack that focus now. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do have big goals in the grand scheme of my life. I want to be closer to my Creator (Allah) Inshallah. I want to be somewhere big with my Psychology career in my mid-thirties.I want to become a writer and a motivational speaker on the side. But how can I ever reach anything when all the books I'm reading are half completed. When I do my work half-heartedly and don’t go that extra mile. When I don’t give my writing the daily doses it requires. When my sleeping takes 1/3 of my time? And most importantly when my Qura’an is picked up only on Fridays?.

The only real journey in life is our journey towards our creator, discovering what our ultimate purpose is in this life. Re-connecting with what is natural and innate in us and ultimately connecting with our Creator and worshipping him the way he only deserves.

Some of us were blessed more than other and were taught that divine truth early one. Some of us were taught but still took the U turn to return back. Some are still searching (May Allah make it easy for them and guide them to the right path). We don’t all start the race from the same point but we all struggle with our own limitations and urges. And we all sin differently.

However, we tend to be so consumed with our earthly goals that we forget our here-after goals. We tend to care about looking good and enhancing our external appearances (make-up, Botox) and forget to purify our souls from inside, to pray our 5 prayers each day, to read Quraan on daily basis. Forgetting that the further we get from Allah the more miserable we will become. 

There is one thing that Omar Binu Alkhatab said that is echoing in my head right now  “account for yourself before your held accountable” So he used to make this his ritual every night were he count the good deeds he has done that day and the not so good ones.

I think I need that in my life right now. Where I hold myself accountable every night and put my Salat, my Quraan reading, my sleeping hours, my goals for that day on check. There is this idea in Psychology where a habit formation takes 21 days to get used to. I’ll give that a try?

Its past 1 am now and I have work early morning tomorrow, how will I manage to wake up ? I dont know.

I will tell this to myself tomorrow morning as I struggle to open my eyes “Lets piss off Iblis and the  haters"  then i'll roll my eyes up to heaven and stand up asking myself "what benefit did writing that piece add to me??" lol

But , I won’t call myself ‘lazy, shallow or not very ambitious’ I will just work on my Pep talk.  

Good Night Folks :) 

Asia 

A Dialogue Between Two Xalimoos...

Xalimo 1: heyyyy Xalimo 2,, OMG your eyebrows are on fleeek. You look GORGEOUS!

Xalimo2: Xalimo 1 STOP. You know am gaining weight those days. My skirts are getting tighter and tighter like everrrryday!

Xalimo 1: someone got up on the wrong side of the bed today. Whatsup girlfriend? Did HE not text you back last night? *giggles*

Xalimo2:: He didn’t. L He texted this morning saying he was busy all night and didn’t see my text.

Xalimo 1: Girl he is a F****ng liar. Nowadays people be taking their phones with 'em to the washroom, What do you mean he didn’t SEE your text. I told you he is playing you. Those Faraxs with sugary words making xalimoos fall into their jars like a moth drawn to a flame. Drop him like a hot potato before he dumps you. I tell you lady.

Xalimo2: But I love him, aad ban u jeclahay nooh. I mean how can you explain all those compliments he gave me, all those rosy poetic words that captured my heart from the first day. Are you sure you read all the messages I screenshot and send you? *she says with a gasp*

Xalimo 1: It doesn’t matter. WAKE UP nayaa. What is wrong with you? He is OBVIOUSLY a player. Decent men can’t even verbalize their emotions yareey. Iska iloow.

Xalimo2: Maybe you’re right. But he ticked all my right boxes from day 1. Do you know how rare it is to find a decent Farax at our age?

 Xalimo 1: heeeey wa nagtaa.  You’re crazy I swear. What boxes exactly??? He aint loyal. He aint decent. He aint considerate. Girl He aint even a good liar ‘claiming he didn’t see your text’ what a lame excuse ?? what happened to keeping our standards high huh??  

 You, Naya, is educated. You is semi-wadad. *LAUGHS* You is fine. You is articulate. You is from a good family. What is happening to you abayoo?? 

Xalimo2: I don’t know. I just feel pressured by habaryaroyin and the rest of the girls getting married and shit.

Xalimo 1: Abayoo, just because everyone is doing it, settling down for less, doesn’t mean we should do it too. Your right Farax is around the corner Inshallah. Dont rush into being a Garoob (Divorcee)

Like that Saying goes  “The devil takes a hand in what is done in haste”. We will wait our Calaf, and in the mean time, we will keep our heads, heels and standards high.  On another note, what  exactly have you been doing with, you know?

Xalimo2: I don't know what your talking about *giggles*. Pass me the donut PLEASE. *roll eyes*

Xalimo 1: Hahahah I won’t let you. Yalla, we are late from class. 

That Night, Small talk with the Beardy Man...

.

She rubbed her hands with her teary eyes. She looked away from the computer monitor she has been staring at for the past three hours. She stood up to the window bar. The stars were scattered around the dark sky surrounding the half white shiny moon. The city looked sleeping and quite from her fifth floor small apartment.

The clock was ticking past midnight. Tomorrow was Monday.  She hated Mondays because they were the epiphany of her resentments towards the system ‘who invented this Monday to Friday work thing’ she always cursed that man who structured human life and doomed their creativity forever or ‘till after retirement’ as if there were enough brain cells left to fire at that age. who are they kidding!'

Creativity needed efforts, breathed consistency and most importantly took time and courage. She didn’t have time nor energy for it.

She recently craved for something; or someone and she didn’t know what medicine to take.

Suddenly, she walked to her coat stand, grabbed her blue jacket and Hijab, put on her boots and shut the front door behind her. Ops ‘I hope I didn’t wake anybody’ she thought

She walked to the park beside their condominium, which  was just about  five minutes away, aside from her morning jogs she never visited this park at this time or seen it’s light, or seen the homeless people sleeping on the benches all alone in this weather.

One of them was awake staring at her through his smoke circles  , she did not feel scared or frightened as usual, like when she passes through the train subways when coming late from work, fearing to be killed for a laptop or pushed over because of the cloth wrapped around her head. ‘Some people feared that cloth smh’

“It’s very cold Ma’am, what are you doing out here, this hour” he said with a high pitch voice, she almost feared he woke up the whole neighborhood “nothing sir, I couldn’t sleep so I was just having a walk around here” she said coming close to his bench, surprised with her newly found bravery at 1 am.

“You couldn’t sleep in your warm bed?” he threw a discontinuous laugh that sounded struggling on its way up “lets switch tonight, yeh?” he suggested, followed by a short giggle again and put the cigarette back to his beardy mouth.

She felt grateful to her warm bed.
“Do you mind telling me since when this bench is your home?”

“Since the police chased me from CityLab neighborhood” “I wasn’t always homeless, you know, I used to have a life like you and worry about other stuffs, now all I worry about is my next bite and where to put my head....I have a daughter about your age, who lives in another state, she is married with four kids, I never told her because I don’t want to add into her worries. She is a good girl”

Hasna suddenly said “have you had dinner tonight sir? “

 “No, I had 4 cigarettes so far, it’s enough to make my stomach warm till tomorrow” he giggled with his discontinues laugh . “Wait a minute sir” said Hasna her eyes lightening up. “I’m not going anywhere young girl“

She ran back to her apartment ignoring the growing cold in her feet. Sneaked into the door, tip toed around, opened the full fridge. There were plenty of leftovers from her mother’s feast yesterday. Her mother had a habit of inviting community mothers over to their place at Saturday evenings and cooking her best recipes. She never hid her agenda of looking a decent husband for her daughter of 28.  Who was gradually exhibiting the typical attitude of (Gumees) spinsters, not even projecting the audacity of helping her hoyoo in front of their guests,who were usually keen observants and loved to exercise their tongues often .

She packed the leftovers in what she could find of plastic containers in the kitchen. She thought it was 2 days worthy of food for the bench man. She tip toed again. And shut the door behind her.

That night she slept on her warm bed. Not hating on the system or on Mondays .Not thinking she was jailed living. Aware of all of her blessings, including her bed and hoyoo. ‘

She decided that tomorrow will be a new day, that Face book  or negative emotions will not eat 3 hours of her precious time. There is nothing wrong with being single and 28? Her Mom should stop making her feel bad or calling her gumees or saying “nayaa asaga wala qaba” whenever she complains of something. ‘calaf was calf’ what meant to you is meant to you and its not going anywhere.

Her medicine was in her head.

Who's Gonna Clean ?! 

I am not mean I am just trynna be keen to your origina-lity 

I see the whole world crumbling around me with bruta-lity

Wars, diseases, dirty politics and infidelity

Lies, broken hearts and rivers of tears filled with icy fatality

Sick minded people burning with filthy desires, fu**ing disgusting

What?? They want to legalize bestiality? And chill around free, like its freaking normality?

See, I am not mean I’m just keen to all that’s around me, this world has become craaa-zy 

Rivers of blood flowing everywhere and all we like is a selfie posted by the Karadshian fam-ily

Screams of dread..groans for a piece of bread. Shot..Dead...before the groan was even heard, before 

his tear touched the shore of his lip

The whole world is deaf by the latest justin song, or a viral stupid skit

See, no one wants to think deep or weep, everyone want to fit and sit, squeeze themselves into something they will never be

I feel sorry for the dead humanity, where are the religious leaders when they’re needed in the scene?

The whole world needs to be cleaned, but who’s clean to clean?

I wish I can see hope in the eyes of the 5 years old boy, But all I see is a generation enslaved by technology with no apology

I see neighbors who feed in each other’s misery

I see blind hate fluctuating in places where love used to call his residency 

I see division and hatred growing everyday more than the babies in the Philippines

Where is resiliency ? Chivalry ? Dignity ? were they intimated by the brutality ?

But I’m still faithful, a strong believer in my God above the seven heavens
And what he wills will always be


Peace;

Asia Aboosy

                                                                                                                                                                

I

I will bring a Farax to my Aabo

After I hit 18, my dad started telling this to me "Aabo ciida rabtiid gurso lakin make sure inu Somali ahaado,  balwadna wa inu laheyn' translation: Bring me a Somali man with no drug addictions when you want to marry. 

I never argued with Aabo (dad) but I always wondered and thought to myself 'why?' 'why did aabo constrain me into our Somali ethnicity? to Somali men only? ' Yes I was a Somali, I still am. And will always be. But my dad started giving me those talks even before I went to Somalia. Even before my Somali identity matured.

As a girl who was born in Canada, lived her whole life in the diaspora, I  never fully understood why. I felt it was fairly normal to marry from any race long as that person was Muslim and feared Allah. I didn't get it. Growing up, I thought I had the right to marry whomever despite their race and culture.

Ever since I was a child I was raised by the Islamic teachings and prophetic examples. I lived in a family that upheld Islamic morals and my parents taught me the difference between HALAL and HARAM at an early age. Alhamdulilah.  So I always knew which lines to not cross, which rules to be followed, what roads should be avoided, and what pools to not swim in. In short, I knew what was permissible.

There is a common notion going around though. Rumours has it that many Somali diaspora girls think that they are better than their Farax counterparts. I, too, was infected by that bug.

I used to always think I will never get a decent Somali brother, who treated me well. A guy who didn't treat me like a second-class person just because I wasn't a man. I was always on the defence; on the lookout for myself and my Somali sisters. Interpreting every single word a Farax spits to fit my own misconceptions. My own fallacies. As if Farax is my enemy. As if Farax wouldn't be happy if I succeeded. As if ALL Faraxs were inherently bad. and more importantly, as if all Faraxs were THE SAME!. As if OTHER men were free from this patriarchy, or this egocentrism, which is only more overt, or apparent, with our brothers because of PROXIMITY.

We hear horror stories about Faraxs because of A)proximity: we live in our own communities and so we hear more stories about our own. We know more about their shortcomings and their failures. We are more aware because we grew up with them. And more importantly, B) Somali people have this tendency to focus on the negative rather than focusing on the positive. It's sooo ingrained in us we do not even know when we are doing it. It's the same culture that perpetuates shame. We dismiss the good quality of the person and just keep ranting about their shortcomings and GENERALIZE it. Like get over it. 

I hate fake feminism. That's what many Somali women are guilty of. Warriors of the internet and Twitter who only excel in degrading Somali men and exposing their flaws. 

 Even though I don't care about being politically correct all the time. It's good to admit that it's not black and white especially with those issues. In fact, there are many factors that contribute to the ever widening-gap between Somali men and women, to the mistrust and cynicism that is so ingrained now with every Somali sister I know. especially in the diasporas. And there are reasons for it. but this post is for those who like to generalize and hate on Somali men. 

Don't get me wrong though! I am not defending the wrong practices of Faraxs. I am not submitting those bad ideologies or habits. I am not defending irresponsible Qaat chewing Faraxs who neglected themselves before their families. I am not defending Faraxs who think they know better  JUST because of their birth lottery.

All am saying is ENOUGH. Enough with the hasty generalizing and verbal attacks that lead to dead ends. Enough, with the self-fulfilling prophecy that many of us are guilty of. Enough, with the SELF-HATE. Yes, I said it. I am calling it what it is. To hate Faraxs is to self-hate. (if you can come up with another name please let me know!).

Of course, our families know better, our Aabos know better. Our Hoyoos 'mothers' know better. There is an undeniable wisdom that breeds with age and experience.  Even if we don't realize it at the time.

Statistics tell us that interracial marriages are doomed to fail. More so than marriages within one's own ethnicity. (and I didn't say they never succeed).

Because marriage is a hectic business on its own, without it facing additional hardships that unveil and challenges your sanity as soon as the honeymoon is over. Don't believe the hype on Instagram. JUST DO'NT.

How many Somali girls do you know that married an Ajnabi and are divorced now? On the other hand, how many other divorcees from Faraxs do you know? OF COURSE, the answer is many. (refer to A & B lol) But guess what, we can work on those issues and the challenges can hopefully be resolved. I can't say the same thing about the inter-racial ones! 

So let's not run from our issues and meet them on Twitter. let's not pretend that all fault is on Faraxs. That all Xalimos are perfect.

We can find a good romance in our community. It is possible. I tell you.

Yes, Faraxs who are romantic and emotionally available exist (for those of you who doubt). Faraxs that defy all odds. Faraxs that are like no other with their Aklaaq 'character' and good dabaceed. Faraxs that treat you right according to the prophetic teachings. Faraxs who will make you happy with his HALAL pocket that runs deep (even though you shouldn't be relying on anyone when it comes to your happiness). However, there's a strong correlation between one's relationship status and their level of happiness. Your romantic relationship, good or bad, will definitely affect your mental health. 

I now follow my Aabo's advice to the heart. I know my aabo has my best interest in mind. So, I will bring him a Farax with good Akhlaq and no Qaat issues. A farax that is addicted to Canjeero and Shaah. One that wears macaawis and is comfortable with dacas. lol. Inshallah!

I no longer think ALL faraxs are bad or misogynistic, and for the ones who think so, I think you should reevaluate.

In Fact, I am passing this advice to my future children Inshallah. Jazakallhu Kheyran Aabo!

Salaam!

#Faraxs #SomaliMarraige #Interracialmarriages #Parentsadvice #Somalinimo #Somaliculture #Positivethinking #Selflove

I will never be 'BOXED' or 'MEASURED' 

There is always pressure on girls almost in every culture. Pressure to look good but not too pretty. To feel confident; but not too bossy. To be educated; but not too educated of course. To be opinionated just the right amount so you won't offend others (mostly men). To be ambitious; but not threatening.

 It's even more funny when that pressure is imposed by other girls, who judge you based on your eyebrows or mispronunciation, or worse, by your hand bag!! Girls who would gossip about you for weeks if you don't choose to buy the latest Diraac in town to the wedding of a distant friend! (naaa noooo am wiser than that)

That pressure comes in different forms and colors. It comes from different people as well. From family to friends and YES sometimes from strangers, no matter how absurd that sounds.

In our Somali culture which is both family oriented and very vocal. We often find ourselves on the spot all the time. They won't even hide their opinions about you; they will throw it on your face even if it hurts. ‘When will she get married?’ , they will start asking as soon as you reach 20! and will treat you like a gumees (spinster) When will she stop talking back (they doubt you will ever keep a husband that's if you ever succeed in haunting one from the first place!). Why is she so fat "what do you feed her? (alla maxaa siisa) why do you allow her to eat!!", they will ask your hoyoo right in front of your face while your bowing down in front of them serving them shah (tea). Just roll your eyes until you can’t see her, block your ear holes with your lost pubils and walk away.

You can apply the same technique with whoever bothers you or make fun of you. You don’t have to see them. You don’t have to listen to them. Block them from your life.

This constant pressure and nagging criticism could haunt down even the one with the strongest personality among us, the one that seem to not care or give an eff about it. And damned are you if you’re cursed with a perfectionist or pleasing personality like I do! 

Because the fact that matter is, people will always talk, especially the lifeless ones who deliberately stay on food stamps and welfare when they have the ability to work, and definitely the time! 

So don’t ever accept to be boxed or measured by a friend or anyone. Don’t get scared away from following your dreams and trying them out just because ‘people will laugh at you’. Don’t be afraid of 'going out and about' with your natural unmasked face even if your eyebrows weren’t 'on fleek'. 

Be yourself no matter what!.Celebrate yourself no matter who disagrees. Get comfortable with your skin and surround yourself with people who encourage you. People with positive attitude and if you feel like someone is bothering you roll your eyes back and block them right away. Un-follow their bull**t. 

Yes.Be selfish with your energy. Otherwise cheap people will continue talking and draining your energy and creativity. Until you turn into a zombie, a corpse that looks alive when it actually stopped living long time ago; when it first started listening to’ the others’ and muted its inner voice. 

So say it out loud to yourself and to others, Say it out loud with me  ' I WILL NEVER BE BOXED OR MEASURED' ' I WILL NEVER LISTEN TO HATERS or NAYSAYERS'. 'I AM ME'.

By: Asia Aboosy