bismillah.
It's been a while since I came back to my college. So, last week, I took the liberty to finally go there to volunteer for my juniors' conference. I had butterflies swarming in my stomach, and I had a hard time convincing myself to go.
Finally, at 12.15 pm, I got out of the house, into the car, and headed to the highway. In my mind, there was a lot of things going on, and I wasn't focusing on the road at all. I was supposed to spend the night there, cause I volunteered on the next day, too. But I didn't want to. I refused to. I couldn't.
These past 4 months, I've messed myself up. It was easier before, because people won't see me. But, now that I'm going back, I don't know how to confront them. I was scared.
I was scared to talk. Scared to reconnect. Scared to even do anything.
That 40 minute drive, I imagined all kinds of scenarios I will put up. I'm gonna arrive at the college, pray and then sleep. And at 3 pm, I'll wake up and drive them to the masjid where the conference is. After Asr, I will rush back home.
But what happened was, after I prayed Dhuhr, I couldn't sleep. My dear sister found me at the musolla, and invited me to her apartment. I was really scared. But I couldn't refuse. I laughed instead, and followed her.
After Asr, they played games. Right then, the food came. I helped them, and looked at my watch. It was already 6. I was late from my actual plan. And right at the moment I said goodbye to my sisters, heavy rain poured. I don't know what to do. I was scared that I might crash into something again like I did last year, but I was afraid to stay. So, I decided to go on anyways. I wasn't ready to stay.
That 5 and a half hour I spent there, all I felt was love. I know I love them, all of them. But to be there, on that day, knowing that they love me too, (or so I believe) was really what I needed.
I needed to know that I am vulnerable.
I needed to know that I, too, can be loved.
I needed to know that I wasn't the planner.
I needed to know that the strength I have wasn't mine.
I needed to know that I am imperfect.
I needed to know that I'm human.
When I said goodbye, and asked for a group hug, my sisters told me,
if you have problems, please tell us. we're here. we're sisters. you can tell us anything
The problem is, I know that. And the bigger problem yet is, I AM THE PROBLEM. Thing is, I haven't actually talked to anyone for a long time. Far longer than when I graduated. I don't know when it started. I guess since 2010, when I left my high school.
Since I got into tarbiyyah, it's harder to talk to people about how I really feel. I am speaking on merely, my behalf. I was supposed to be seen as someone who is strong, inside and out. And if I did talk about my problems, it creates a bigger and more complex problem. Like trying to integrate an equation to find the root of it, only to know that the root is longer and have more unknowns.
Being in tarbiyyah, we learn to accept what is, what was. I know that. I live up to that. I know that I can find comfort in talking to Him. In the Quran. I believe that. I've lived on that since I was a kid.
The first time I talked about my problem is in my fourth year in high school. I was accidentally caught crying when discussing about a particular topic in class. I was sent to the teachers' lounge to talk about it. I refused to, but at that age, I was ready to consult and be helped.
That remaining two years in high school was practically much better. I became better, though some may find it hard to believe. I was ready to let go of the problem.
But I couldn't.
Now, I find it hard to talk. Not that I don't appreciate my sisters, whom I know, are sincere in asking me about my problems.
But I find myself making it worse, and being selfish. That "problem" is who I am. If I lose that..
Enough about the older past.
I wrote a status on my facebook a few days before that weekend that I was gonna cry that weekend.
And I did.
Because I was surprised of having great friends, who also happens to be my dear sisters, pushing each other nearer to the gates of Jannah.
Because I was stunned, at how Allah loved me and wants to save me, that He gave me them.
Because on my way back, a few kilometers from the masjid, I saw a rainbow. (great way to explain the saying, "a rainbow behind every storm")
That day, I got hugs and smiles and laughter.
The next day, I was anticipating the same thing.
And I was wrong to do so. The evening ended badly, because I was acting like a baby and ran-off. And I couldn't thank my sisters enough for saving me that day. For being so patient with me. For still accepting me.
I was ashamed of myself. I grew sick of myself, and didn't know how to react to them anymore. I just wanna run away. But I know running away does NOT help.
What I need is to grow up, too.
I can't expect everyone to cater to my every need.
And grow up I shall. InshaAllah.
I don't know if what I'm writing these past few months are beneficial. But I wanna keep writing. Because I wanna feel that I do connect. Not living alone.
And yet again, I write as if I walk further away from Allah.
#i'm a mess.
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