Another day to be a writer


I will write about kindness.

I will write about love

I will write about death

I will write about the sun

And the moon

I might write about every individual star

I will write about pain

I will drag knives over your lungs just hard enough to scrape them.

I will take the air from you

I will take your tear- streaked cheeks and tell you

Absolute truths

The ones that have been kept from you

I will write about failure

And what it means to try again. Selfishly.

I will write about the things you forgot

Things that brought you joy

Do you remember joy?

The real kind

I will write about cold fingers

Yours and his

I will write about silk and satin and

how your skin

wasn’t placed on your body

to please anyone on this earth.

I will write about regret

How bitter it tastes at the back of your throat

I will write about the lies you told

The excuses you made

The promises you broke without blinking

I will write about nature

And how we’re are being lied to:

nature is unnatural

I will write about lips

The kinds of kisses you should be receiving

I will write about anger

Steel wool on the ends of your lashes

Scratchy eyes

Red vision

Burning skin

I will write about calamity

And how we know nothing of it at all.

I will write about consistency

I will write about persistency

I will write about specificity

I will make you uncomfortable

Sweaty

Guilty

I will write about tranquility

And how to achieve it

I will write about being enough being happy being secure

being unapologetic in those things

 

 

 

 

 

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Making Memories and Actually Remembering them.


Thoughts align themselves along nerve endings. I can feel them underneath the surface of my skin. They bubble up beneath my eyes, fingers, my feet. They carry me and my words – even the ones I don’t say. They stream through my pores into every hair on my body. 


13:00pm, 12 November 2016 

(thank god for the Whatsapp search function, it’s so satisfying to give real time stamps instead of estimations)

I am a wreck. Jittery. Snappy. Shake-y.

There is a bundle of knots in my tummy that’s been there for two Wednesday’s in a row.

A few days after our second meeting, I made Istikhaara ( a specific salaah {prayer}that one makes when making important decisions). Not because I wasn’t sure, and not because it’s compulsory. (Because it’s not) I did it because I wanted my Creator’s input- so to speak. The act of asking Allah before you make a decision places baraka (blessings) in that decision.  I had one teacher, who taught me to ask Allah to help me make all my decisions. He said to say, “Oh الله, choose for me” whether you’re choosing between potential spouses or ice cream flavours. It’s something I want to make a habit eventually, Insha’Allah.

The next morning I woke with a feeling of clarity. Everyone asks me how I knew he was “the one” and I never what to say except, “It felt right” I could not see my whole future with him in minds eye. I could not imagine what our children might look like. I did not visualise our lives together like I did in high school when I had a crush on someone. What I did see was a journey filled with surprises, I didn’t know much about him, still. But I felt like I knew enough. Enough to build a life together, a life that lead to Jannah, Insha’Allah.


Now I was in one of Amazon.com’s many call centres, struggling to wing my eyeliner in the bathroom since there wouldn’t be enough time when I got home. Razeen and his father were coming over at 3, with a Moulana (A  religious scholar in Islam) to facilitate our engagement.

I got home that day to find my mother rearranging furniture and faffing over cushion placement.

It was more formal than I expected, the whole thing.

“The Hassim family would like to ask the guardian of Fatima-Zahra, for her hand in marriage”

and my father looked at me and said, “Looks like the kids want to get married”

A question was directed me next, “Would you like to marry Razeen?”

and me. Being me, I said, “Is it not obvious?”

the formality crumbled and the mood in the room shifted when I cleared my throat and said, “Yes”


We were officially engaged and Razeen gifted me a ring that he wasn’t allowed to put on my finger himself. My fiance had a smile glued to his face. I felt my cheeks mirror that expression until my wedding day when I obviously had a heart attack. {but more on that in the next post}

I love the look on people’s faces when I let on that he didn’t touch me or even see my hair until after we were wed.


A few people have asked me why I’m writing this whole series, and I think a lot of you think that I’m merely diarising my experiences, but it’s much more than that. 

I’m writing this, documenting and sharing this, to share the beauty of the sunnah with all of you. In hopes that we begin to value the teachings of the prophet SAW more than the things we’re force fed through every single media platform. 


2 May 2017 

At first being a student at UCT as well as a wife wasn’t that taxing. The reading wasn’t drowning  me until I was a month in and just

skim read through everything before tuts. I do everything I need to do and not an iota more – although I am planning on putting a lot more effort in

from tomorrow.


someone at campus asked me if campus seems unimportant because I’m married. And it’s not that it seems unimportant, it just seems

less important.

My priorities are different from those that I’m studying with, which is not a bad thing. It just makes me more focused I think. Like I’m just there to get my degree and go. There are no other distractions (aside from my series) at campus for me. I’m not there to build a sorority or find a boyfriend. I’m not there to skip lectures to for lunch.

A girl I went to high school with (and is a UCT student now) asked me if it’s a good idea to get married while she’s studying.

I told her,

“you get two kinds of students: one who is distracted by the thought of a relationship and can’t focus on their studies, because there’s a human need/ desire/ want that isn’t being fulfilled, and it lessens the importance you place on your work.  and the other student is so distracted by their relationship that they can’t give enough attention to their studies.”

 

I usually get sick on long drives. I usually don’t last 40 minutes before nausea settles in my system like an old, unwelcome friend. Naturally when it was suggested that we take a SIX AND A HALF HOUR drive to Plettenberg Bay and then a FIVE HOUR drive to Hermanus??? I was BEYOND skeptical.

six hours in a moving vehicle?

me?

But it was glorious.
There are so many stars alive on an endless stretch on black roads.

Xo effzed 

 

 

 

Torn T-shirts & Long Skirts

Some things change, some things stay the same.


PACKING CUPBOARDS: 

I haven’t been married long enough to write about how hard it is. It seems effortless and exciting and brilliant and he’s crazy and I’m crazy about him.  I’m sure I could have worded  that with a touch more eloquence. #soz  (dear future self when you see that hashtag, forgive me.)

Something I have noticed though, is that, I’ve changed. I’ve seen it in my eyes. In my reflection, in photos. I can hear it in my laugh.

I

can

feel

it

in my interaction with people- my friends and family. It’s a subtle underlying ting beneath my conversation.  A week ago my aunt leaned in to me – in the way that old people do when they want to impart wisdom – and whispered that I look much more mature now. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. It’s one thing for me to feel different and a wholly other thing for people close to me to tell me I look, talk and act differently.  At first I wasn’t sure if I was comfortable with it. Did I change in a bad way or in a good way?

The epiphany I had: I had changed in an inevitable way. Everyone told me before I got married that things would change. They laughed and smiled that secret adult smile when they said

“Your husband becomes your best friend”

“You won’t be able to shit in the first week”

“Your whole life changes”

It seemed ludicrous at the time. It seemed a gross hyperbole. I mean my parents seemed pretty normal. Granted  I didn’t know them before as separate entities BUT STILL.

Now I can see it.

I’m growing, and changing. And that’s not a bad thing. It merely takes an adjustment period, I’m still trying to find a balance between being a wife, a sister, a daughter and a friend. I have to actively try to be a good person in all those aspects of my life now. I’ll never stop trying.

You know it would be easy to achieve self-actualisation in a month if I could eradicate laziness from my life?


TO LOVE – Verb:

After you say things aloud, you begin to feel those things harder than you did before.  I kissed his arm, and tried to explain to him the extent of my love. I tried to verbalise the way I could feel my heart expanding to contain all of it. I’m still not sure I could show him how much I appreciate him and care for him. He’s like this

this miracle.

TO SLEEP: 

one very good reason to get married is for the cuddles.

TO SET GOALS AND ACHIEVE THEM: 

I absolutely have to include in this post that I am starting with Rushtush this month in order to get my rushtush tush. Here’s to the beginning of my fitness journey

*chews pasta*

*swallows coke*

*looks for dessert*

xo Effzed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scintilla 

10:30am

In my mother’s house, my room is half full of things I left behind. There’s no space in my  new cupboards for all the jeans I was keeping for when I one day was a size 0. There’s no room for sentimental paraphernalia from 2000 and late. It smells musty and un-lived in. I grew up in this place, so why does it feel so

so

far away? like another lifetime I can barely recall. Even with standing in my room, it felt as if I was looking at it through a tunnel.

My bathroom however, feels exactly the same. That might be due to the fact that I’ve hardly gone to the bathroom since I got married. I had never experienced constipation before. Now I’m constipated all the time. My body would only find its way to the bathroom if my husband was nowhere near the vicinity and wouldn’t be for a few hours. I hope that goes away soon. I can’t live like this: Driving to my mom’s house every time I need to go.

23:45pm


One of the first questions I asked my husband before we got married was “Are you an affectionate person?” He said yes, he thinks so. Anyone who knows me, knows that a negative answer to that question would have been a total deal breaker for me. I can’t have my husband telling me not to hug him or touch him. I had already learned that not only was I generally an affectionate person, Physical Touch is my love language. It’s how I show people that I care for them. Similarly, simple gestures (like kissing my forehead) makes me feel loved.

He holds my hand while he drives. He opens the windows because he knows I get carsick. We drive around aimlessly at night. It’s my favourite pastime. We enter the house quietly, leaving all the lights off. I turned to kiss him-

you know sometimes when you touch a balloon and you touch someone else you feel a sort of spark? or when you touch the handle of a trolley and you get a shock? –

Sparks ignited when our lips met. literally. There was a beat of silence before I started whooping, laughing, jumping.

He thought it was hilarious. I thought it was magical. I am endlessly, hopelessly romantic. He asseverates all his love for me with his actions. I try and memorise the way he says my name. The way his tongue caresses the vowels in a way that makes my heart tremble.

I keep waiting for married life to “settle” to come into a routine. I find that each day with is different and filled with more.

more.

That night was actually hysterical. It was 3 and a half weeks into being a wife. I really hope you guys are enjoying this as much as I am. 

xo Effzed

 

 

Foreign Furniture & Old Slippers

Things that I am most grateful for:

  1. the obvious things that everyone puts on these lists, specifically my health.
  2. my in-laws. 

When people tell you that you’re not just marrying the person, you’re marrying the whole family, they’re not kidding. You’re acquiring a WHOLE set of people and they’re suddenly your family.

24 days. I knew him for 24 days before we got engaged. If you want to get technical – that is, count the hours I spent in his physical presence before we got married – I knew him for 9 hours before he was My Husband.
There’s this universal truth: you only get to know someone when you

  1. live,
  2. travel,
  3.  and do business them.


Our home is a beautiful vista, bedaubed with rose gold colored ornaments. I marvel at all the tiny details put into making this place my new home. My eyes feast on everything I’ve been liking on Pinterest. 


Here, I try to convince myself that this couch is mine, that this cupboard full of crockery is mine. I’ve never owned crockery before. And Tupperwares? Should I be returning these to my mother? And what do I with all these pots? 

The furniture feels alien. Foreign. Even after I had lived here for a few days, it felt more like a weekend trip away. My clothing fit strangely. My belongings have acquired a different scent. I smell like my husband and this house. Every square inch speaks to me with soft, coaxing murmurs. But it can’t be rushed: the Feeling-At-Home process. 

My husband begins to feel like the only familiar thing. I’ve known him longer than I’ve known the curtains and scatter cushions.

I walk around barefoot, my toes learning the pattern on the tiles, and the creak of my wooden floors. 

I feel comfortable, yet uncomfortable. I soon realized that the discomfort was just me being homesick. Missing people, although an emotion, affects you physically. (Like most powerful abstract nouns, it could bring you to your knees. Funny how it’s the intangible things that have the tightest grip) we learn to enjoy companionable silences, and stay up all night talking. We swim at 2am and have snacks in the dark. 

It feels like home. 

This post depicts my first week living away from home. 

xo Effzed  

 

 

character sketches

 

download

I love how, when you meet someone, they’re just an outline.

a stick-man sketch of a person.

a vacant space to be filled with details.

I love how, when you’re getting to know someone, they’re just an acquaintance.

a vague piece of person that you know by name and face.

unidentifiable except by their recognition of you and how you met.

I love how those holes fill themselves to the brim with characteristics specific to that person. I love the plain, unbidden human reaction to simple information. The days sew themselves together until the days are counted in stitches and the hours are stretched but they don’t last long enough and the only way you kept track of time is by how many times they made you laugh.

I love how you start noticing other, intimate things, like the small smile they give-to you and only you- like the way their hair curls when they’re sweating.

I love how you fall in love with the way they say your name, and the sound of their laugh. and you don’t know why but you need to hear it again or the earth might shatter into a million tiny pieces.