Life isn’t just happening. The way life is happening for us is because of us.
That can be a hard pill to swallow for those who believe they always draw the short straw; that the world is against them and that life is just so damn hard.
But it doesn’t have to be that way. Not once you understand that there are laws at play in the universe that are always working with us — we just need to first become fully aware of them, so we know how to work in harmony with them, too.
Let me explain.
My elder sister shared her annual Facebook post today, heartfelt and sympathy-seeking, commemorating the death of our father. It’s 18 years today since he passed on, aged just 43.
Once upon a time, those posts would bring me to tears, the saltwater seeping from my eyes a reminder that the pain of losing him was always there just under the surface, ready to spill over at the slightest reminder. Nowadays, I’m bordering on feeling nothing.
For 16 years I lived with this giant hole in my life where I know my father should have been. It was a long road…
I always write the word ‘influencer’ with inverted commas. Because more often than not, when I see people describing themselves as such, yet not really using their ‘influence’ to do much more than promote the same toxic messages that have been aiding the destruction of humanity for years and years, I wonder, sometimes out loud, “what are you actually influencing?”. But that’s a whole other blog post in itself.
Anyway, I digress.
I was six years old when I first heard the word ‘paki’ being thrown around the playground. It wasn’t used in a derogatory way — at least that’s what I thought — rather, it was just a couple of little white boys repeating words they must have heard at home, without really understanding what they meant. But still, it made me feel uncomfortable, even though I didn’t know why.
I never really understood that my family was different. I mean, we spoke a different language at home, I wore traditional clothes at the weekends and I wasn’t allowed to eat…
There I was, in a cemetery, with my ass on the floor, my back against a tree and my legs in the air. Just metres away, my grandmother was being laid to rest, her time in this life over. And here I was, completely oblivious to the new life that was beginning inside of me; the very reason why I had suddenly blacked out, fallen and why my doctor cousin was now raising my legs above my head in the middle of a graveyard.
Sex was bad. Sex was wrong. Muslim girls sure as hell didn’t have any of it…
I pulled on my fluorescent orange running shoes. Zipped up the workout hoody I’d bought almost 18 months ago, but was only wearing now, for the very first time. It fit a little more snugly than when I first bought it: after all, there was a whole pregnancy and birthing of a baby, never mind a global pandemic, that had happened in the time that had passed. I downloaded a podcast, shoved my regular old earphones in my ears and took a deep breath.
It was happening. It was really happening.
I took my first steps onto the pavement outside…
People like me are a different type of human being.
People like me live on so many intersections of society, that we don’t really belong anywhere.
People like me are treated like foreigners in the home countries of our parents, and people like me are still treated like foreigners in our own home countries.
People like me — people of colour whose parents immigrated to foreign lands, in my case, England, UK — will never really fit in. And I’m okay with that — I wasn’t really born to fit in, to be honest.
But what I am tired of…
You would think that once you have some kind of awakening experience, life would become so much easier and clearer, right? Well to be completely honest with you: not really, no.
You see, for many of us, an awakening, or in my own case, a spiritual awakening, is actually just the very beginning of a long, winding, tumultuous yet beautiful journey into our own Being. It is a remembrance, a rebirth, a reintroduction to life — but to the life you were really here to live, rather than the one you were conditioned to believe in. …
Once upon a time, my best friend in the entire world stabbed me in the back and completely broke my heart. Once upon a time, my first love upped and left me out of the blue to marry a stranger who shared the same religion as him, because us being together as followers of different religions was just too complicated. Once upon a time, I told my family “me, too” and nobody seemed to really hear me.
The point is that life has hurt all of us. Everyone has a story. We’ve all experienced heartbreak in one form or another…
Speak to God. Speak only to God.
Open out your heart and lay it bare before Him.
Tell Him of every struggle, of every single pain.
Tell Him what hurts you, what has hurt you and the hurt that you struggle to let go of.
Speak to Him of your aching loneliness despite never being alone.
Ask only Him for the answers to all of the questions that plague your heart and your mind every single day.
Tell Him your regrets, share your burdens, lift the world off of your own shoulders and hand it over to Him.