Starting Over

For about a year, I have struggled to write a poem about my death, but I can never quite seem to finish it. The poem, called "Funeral Notes", is a sort of self-reflective eulogy. In it, I talk about the things I'll leave behind - my desires, mistakes, shortcomings in my character, and the ways that I will be remembered.

These thoughts, though, refuse to fit nicely in a rhyme scheme. So, instead, you get a rant.

In ten days, I depart for Hajj, the Islamic pilgrimage to Mecca.
In some ways, I consider this a rebirth of sorts - a funeral for the old me - the funeral I've been writing about. Prophet Muhammad said: "Whoever performs Hajj for Allah's pleasure [...] will return (free from all sins) as if he were born anew." In preparation for this trip, I signed my will - a sobering reminder that everything we experience in this life is temporary.

I've been looking forward to this symbolic rebirth for a while. Of course, we constantly seek to make changes and improve our character. That self-improvement doesn't need to wait for Hajj, and it will continue after I return. But this opportunity to visit the house of Allah - the mosque built by Abraham and Ismail - is a gift, an opportunity to reconnect spiritually.

As I prepare for Hajj, I have tried to learn about the history of Islam and its prophets - of Adam, Noah, Ibrahim, Moses, Jesus, Mohammad, and others. In doing so, I realize how lucky I am to be invited by Allah to Mecca, and also realized how lucky I have been to visit Masjid Al-Aqsa in Jerusalem. This retroactive realization led to guilt: At the time, I didn't appreciate the chance to visit Al-Aqsa, while the Palestinians entitled to that land are being slaughtered in front of our eyes and barred from entry.

When I see the images from massacres in Gaza, it feels silly to write about a symbolic funeral for myself while we are all witnessing very real deaths on our screens every day. I want to say that the massacres in Rafah have been especially harrowing, but honestly, every time that I think it can't get worse, it does. I remember how appalled I was at the news from Gaza's Al-Shifa Hospital. I thought it couldn't get worse, and then it did. As much as I tried to write a poem about those deaths rather than my own, no words felt adequate. The tragedy is overbearing and stifling.

Many of us (at least, those of us with morals, consciousness, and souls) share an overwhelming, isolating sense of helplessness when we witness these tragedies. I keep asking myself: Who - or what - we are waiting for? The politicians have proven their inadequacy. How long can we wait politely for them to respond to our demands for humanity? The world belongs to us, not them.

This is why I'm so grateful to perform Hajj this year. In the middle of all this isolating hopelessness, I am going to be surrounded by millions of other people in Mecca, united by the reminder of death and the temporary nature of everything we experience. While millions gather in Mecca, billions more around the world will recognize Eid. This ummah - this nation of Islam - is the relief that we seek from this isolation. This year has shown us that this life, this world, is not something to be trusted. The impermanence of everything around us in on full display.

For those struggling to cope with the world lately, I invite you to explore Islam. And I know, some people get uncomfortable about religion, but hey... I get uncomfortable about genocide. And I know how Islam is perceived. Even for well-intentioned people, Islam feels like something foreign. But Islam is not just for one type of person. It is for every race, every background. Walk into a mosque and you'll see the diversity of races, languages, and backgrounds. The thread of humanity that binds us over Gaza is the same thread that binds the Muslim ummah. I feel sorry for those who have nowhere to turn in the face of this genocide and feel only helplessness with no avenue for relief. It's a crippling, debilitating feeling. But this religion brings peace, so I invite you to it. The faith of the people in Gaza has shaken the world. On a wide scale, we see people reverting to Islam, seeking the same peaceful guidance demonstrated by those in Gaza.

The news and images from Palestine have been so heartbreaking. It's natural to seek an answer, or some source of hope. But more and more, we are reminded that the answer is not going to be found in people. It won't be found in our politicians. I believe that every problem has a solution. Allah tells us that "with every hardship comes ease". This problem - this genocide - is too big, so we need to think bigger for the solution. Where else do we put our hope when everything is inadequate? For me, I put my hope in the source of peace.

I'll be taking a short hiatus from social media for a few weeks as I focus on Hajj and strengthening my relationship with Allah. If you want to chat before that happens, I'm here for a few more days, and will be happy to chat after I return.

"Welcome to my funeral.
Thank you all for coming out.
Since my time is running out,
I decided to run my mouth
one final time,
a final rhyme,
a final dive into my mind,
so you might finally know me,
or at most... a ghost of the old me..."