The Blessed Land

Alhamdulillah, touched down KL at about 8.30pm after a long flight from Jeddah via Doha. The pain of returning from Umrah is overwhelming.

Needless to say, I miss Home, my Home, the Home of Rasulullah SAW, Ibrahim AS and Ismail AS. The pain of separation when I lifted my head from the last Sujud in the Blessed Mosque was so much so that I wished my soul was ripped from my body that very moment itself. Like a mature baby being cut off from the umbilical cord of it's mother as it enters this world, I cried wondering how could this be possible.

Subhanallah, the lessons that Allah taught me are way too much for my soul to even comprehend. Lessons after lesssons, realization of the subtle things in life poured down as I stood receiving it in awe, my mouth wide open in amazement.

My words can by no means do justice to what my heart wants to scream out loud. Feelings and
emotions I've never even known that existed was introduced into my life. Love, fear, hope, contentment, gratitude, guilt, shame, humility, mercy, kindness was thought in a way that it manifested itself in the depths of my heart, illuminating this little miskeen soul.

Old, weak, disabled, poor people staying and sleeping in Masjidil Haraam and worshipping Allah in pain and hunger made me feel so small. A sharp question stabbed me over and over again asking
me what is my worth compared to them in the Sight of Allah SWT?

Roads busy with people walking to the Harem at 2.00am in the morning, the cool breeze as dawn breaks over the valley, the chilly morning walks back to the hotel, the crimson sky with pearly clouds seeded on it, the rush of new pilgrims into the hotels, the melancholy of those who have to return and so much more sights that emancipates and pinches the heart repeatedly.

An incident comes to mind.There was this old woman from Pakistan if I'm not mistaken. She was struggling with her leg ache and I saw no one nearby to help massage her leg. I asked if I could help her and she handed me the oil and cream bottle. Whilst I massaged her leg, we both communicated in sign language since my urdu was limited. Yes, two people with no relationship and don't even have a mutual language were engaged in a soul-lifting, ego-breaking quality time. She told me her life story and Wallahi I was moved to tears right then and there. Her eyes could express the pain she went through. After the salah, I went to see my mum and my legs couldn't bear the weight of my heart. I stumbled and fell in front of my mom. I cried and cried and cried. I didn't know why the old woman's story mattered to me so much. Maybe, just maybe, because she gave me a new sense of hope that was too big and extremely sweet for me to bear. *bittersweet*

This journey gave me a lot of gifts - happiness, a sense of belonging in a "foreign" country, humility and friendship. I made dua so that He TEACHES me and indeed He is the Best of those who Teach and Guide.

O the one who is reading this! Go. Go for the Sake of Allah to visit His House as His Guest. Trust me, He will never disappoint His Slaves..

Here I am. Trying hard to console myself that life has to move on. But in a different way. In a way that will bring me much closer to Him.

After all, the newborn baby's life has not ended as the umbilical cord was cut off. Rather, Life has just Begun.

I may not be there yet. But I am closer to it than I was yesterday.