Author’s Notes:

Alhamdulillah – means Praise be to Allah (God)

In sha Allah – means if Allah wills or God willing

“This is what the Beloved Messenger of Allah (peace and blessings be upon him and his folk) was referring to when said, “How strange are the affairs of the believer, because all their affairs are good for them. If pleasing things happen to them, they are grateful, and that is good for them. And if displeasing things happen to them, they are patient, and that too is good for them.” [Muslim]”

Source:https://seekersguidance.org/articles/general-artices/believers-strange-rejoicing-exclusive-eid-gift/ 

… 

She booked one plane ticket and another. She would go to the airport with only a carry-on, while her brother would go with three suitcases.

She asked her brother what he was most excited about, and he said he’d be most excited to receive her phone call, In sha Allah. “In sha Allah,” she said, with a smile.

When she left the plane she walked with her brother past customs, to baggage claim, to the shops, and then she hugged him goodbye near the chocolates. He had another flight to catch. 

Now on the plane, he popped in one, two, of his favorite chocolates. He laughed remembering his sister, who didn’t share his sweet tooth. Before he closed his eyes for a nap, he said “Alhamdulillah.”

Four years passed. He was all done with university. One day he received a letter from a strange address. It read: 

“Journal day 353

Alhamdulillah, today was such a good day! I was so nervous, but he was soo nice! Even though ten years passed since we saw each other, he was so caring! When I looked at his face I saw your eyes. You guys have the same smiling eyes. We ate nearly as soon as I got to the house because he insisted I must be hungry. And then we took a walk near the beach only because I told him I love the ocean. Before I went to bed, we talked and I cried, we cried.

The doctors said his memory loss was so severe that he still can’t remember some basic details from his life. Miraculously though after ten years, he was able to remember the people he was last with, their names, their ages, and how they looked. 

In the few days after the worst part of the war had diffused, they found him wandering the streets in a close-by city. Blood stained his shirt, and one of his hands was disfigured. He only had a few dollars in his pockets and a box of chocolates that he managed to buy from a shop. When they tried to take the box from him and get him to the hospital, he refused, and when they asked him who it was for, he wept because he could not remember. 

I told him the story the orphanage told us, that we were found as a boy and a girl who miraculously survived a collapsed building, due to the rock hard table that was placed over our heads. We were blessed that the rebels didn’t find us afterward.

“Alhamdulillah,” he said, we were kept safe. He was the one who had taught me this word “Alhamdulillah,” which was one of the only words I could manage to say in the time that we were found.

See brother, we were never truly abandoned. There was always someone else who cared for you. I hope you’ll be able to use whatever you learn to care for others, since it’s your dream.

Anyway, I’ll have to call you and tell you about all this tomorrow, In sha Allah. Can’t wait to see you though.”

The phone call from his sister never came, and he never saw his father’s smiling eyes, could never go back in time and choose to stay with his sister for that first week in their homeland, instead of planning to visit once orientation week was over. He never could have known that a sudden earthquake would come to the city that had once known war, the day after he departed from it to begin his journey as a psychologist. He could only live on. He had to.

He picked up the little chocolate left inside the envelope, along with a note that read “The chocolate I never got to give to my baby boy. For you.”

He wept, mouthing the words “Alhamdulillah.” It was all he could do after wondering for years what his sister might have wanted to say, and if his father had ever cared for him at all.

We were all sitting in the living room waiting for dinner, on a normal night. Suddenly, my mom asked if we could smell something burning.

I was sitting at the end of the couch nearest the hallway when I saw my mom leave the kitchen to go and open the door. There were firemen at the other end.

I don’t know what they must have told my mom, but she came back running towards the living room and in a matter of seconds she was ushering us towards the big room with the fire escapes.

I don’t remember putting on shoes or what was said. The words “fire” and “smoke”, and the panicked expression on my mother’s face float around in my memory, however.

We walked down the hard black metal stairs of the old fire escape until we left the fourth-floor level and reached our neighbor’s window on the third floor. This is a window I had looked out of many times, because my neighbor’s house was like a second home to me, being that she was a babysitter to my siblings and me as we grew up.

We went through our neighbor’s window which someone must have opened, and remained in her living room for a short while.

I felt safe in her living room, being used to the warm lamp light and the TV being on. We must have put on some shoes if we hadn’t already, and then we were out into the hallway of the building.

I glanced at the scene of the crime — the apartment across from my neighbor’s and could imagine all of the walls being charred black, burnt to a crisp.

We ended up waiting outside of the building with everyone else in the atmosphere of the night, looking on at the firemen doing their job.

Once it was safe to go back into the building, I packed the book bag I used for school with a few things, and we headed to my aunt’s. The building was fire free after that, but my mom didn’t want to take any chances. My dad kept watch over our apartment.

The eggs they made the next morning tasted good, and it was nice to see my mom together with my aunt.

I remember telling the kids in my class about what had happened the next day at school, but I don’t think they understood just how crazy my night had been. Maybe I didn’t understand at the time either, but here I live to tell the story.

I once took an international relations class and ended up doing research for an assignment on social injustice. After reading several articles on people from the Uighur ethnic group in China being kept in concentration camps, I realized that government oppression is a prevalent issue in today’s society, across many countries in the world. When I first found out about the injustice the Uighurs faced, I also realized that not many world leaders or people, in general, were speaking up about this issue, but I thought it was my duty to speak up about it if I could. I was so compelled that I made a blog post different from the normal content I posted, to address this issue.

The Uighurs were treated as prisoners of conscience (people imprisoned for holding political or religious views that are not tolerated by their own government) for being Muslim, and faced atrocities such as imprisonment and being separated from their families, forced organ harvesting, and different types of abuse. I backed up my blog post with facts, citing sources, and checked it more than once for accuracy. As a person who writes poetry to help myself and others understand the world, I recognized that words have power once again. My research enlightened me so much that I wanted to address the issue myself apart from getting my assignment done. Since then, I can’t help but look closely at how the different governments that make up our world may impede on the rights of the people existing.

When I can, I continue to read up on current events. I recently found out about the death of yet another innocent black man due to police brutality. His name was Tyre Nichols, and he was a young man with a family who cared for him. The people meant to protect him failed to do so. While being disappointed, I was reminded when reading news articles about this tragedy, that police brutality continues to be an issue in the US. It helps to know about what’s going on around you no matter what.

Learning about different issues faced around the globe and in our own communities may seem like an inconvenience when we’re busy with our day to day lives, and even in instances where you might feel like a certain issue doesn’t affect you, but if every person on the planet says “Why should I care?,” then who will be there to help pick up the pieces. Even having knowledge about an issue and being able to tell your family and friends about it is power. Knowledge is power.