dear Allah, today i'm 22 but not to You

a letter of love

dear Allah,

i wrote a letter to you once, many years ago when i was a child. i wrote it and stood up on my bed as i reached up to place it on top of my wardrobe. the days passed and i kept looking up at the letter, wondering why you hadn’t reached down and taken it yet. i expected the letter to disappear as you took it into your hands and read the words i poured out to you. words you remember but long forgotten in my head. i always believed in your magic, your power. it wouldn’t have phased me if you did.

i’m twenty-two today. but i’m not really. not to you. for you wrote me into your book billions of years ago. you thought about what i’d look like, what would happen in my life, how i’d reach you. you thought of a girl like me and decided to write about her. now here i am, writing to you. i’m a writer because you were one first.

were you waiting? waiting for the time you could finally manifest me into human form? to paint the subtle, tiny freckles underneath my eyes that no one can really see, except up close? to gently slide the brush against my eyelids in a pattern you chose to show my green veins, or to use a black paintbrush and dab a small freckle on the side of my bottom lip that’s never been noticed before except by you? were you waiting to slowly twirl your finger to create the intricate curls that fall down my shoulders? for your sunlight to show my two different shades of brown in each eye?

were you waiting for when you could turn the plans you had for me into action? for the pages to come to life about how all the sad things will eventually make me run into your arms?

i’ve been words in a book for billions of years until your perfect time finally came. not a second early, not a second too late. twenty-two years later, here i am. with knowledge you gave me, through experiences i thought broke me. but they didn’t really break me did they, if i found you? or should i say, realised you? you, my creator. the one who thought of me before i could even think for myself.

are you proud of me? do you like the way i do my tasbih after my salah? the way i think about you first thing in the morning when i wake up? do you like the way i sometimes dance in the kitchen while my food is in the microwave? do you laugh and think to yourself, ‘what did i create?’ or do you smile, knowing you wrote ‘a little bit weird and crazy’ on the page and love how it’s coming to life?

do you get angry at me when i get upset if you didn’t give me what i wanted? or do you like the way i’m spoilt and think, ‘oh dear, this is all because of me’ since you always answer my prayers and usually give me what i want?

do you still laugh when i tell the same joke to my family about how i’m going to name the cat from Jamaica ‘bob meowley,’ while they stare at me, annoyed?

i’m starting to realise i am who i am because of you. i’m funny because you are. i think that’s a common thing with writers, because of you. when i write, some of my characters are like me as well.

remember that time all the milk spilt on my bed? seriously, why did you do that? with all the power you have, you really could’ve let the glass stay upright while i just quickly put it on my bed for one second. but no, it spilt and all my sheets got wet and i couldn’t use the washing machine or dryer and didn’t have another duvet. remember when i was talking to you about that a few weeks ago when i placed my cereal on my bed and was laughing about it, practically telling you ‘don’t you dare?’

the next second, milk splashed on my hand. so you’re playful, i see!

were you excited when i was finally born, when your pages started to come to life? when i look at old videos of me as a baby, i smile at myself with gentleness and wonder ‘how is that me?’ - is that also how you looked down at me? do you look down at me with love and admiration now? maybe you’re happy that the chapter titled ‘she writes to me on her birthday’ is coming to life. i’ve always wanted to have novels that turn into movies someday. how special that yours already are—and just how you wanted them to be as well. no annoying character changes, no irritating that’s not what happened in the book! moments. or perhaps there are—with the free will you’ve given me.

i’m sorry for the disappointing moments.

they say that people don’t really disbelieve in a God deep down because of the fitrah, and that’s why people who disbelieve always believe in something, however false it may be. maybe that’s why i spent a lifetime searching for you in other people. in men. as a result, there have been many instances where you had to sow me back together again, where you had to stitch me up. i place my hand on the scars with love, knowing i was touched by you.

it’s nice to know that in a greater wisdom, i’m actually billions of years old. carefully thought about and curated. no one’s ever thought about me like that before.

i’ve had many instances where people didn’t want me but every time, you did. and do. i’ve been let down far too many times for me to count but because of you, i still see life in pink.

when i didn’t have any friends, i didn’t realise i had you. now i have lovely ones and they remind me of you. when people hurt me, i try to respond back in kindness because of you. and when i hurt people, i fear the day i’ll return back to you.

i love you. you’re my true love. i am who i am because of you. thank you for creating me. thank you for thinking about me before the earth was even made. before the stars had their shine, before the sun had its blaze.

now i’m waiting for you.

i wait for the day i can finally see you, you who made me. you who love me. i wonder what you look like—if you have any fine details you can only see up close too, details only a beloved can spot. let me spot them. please let me look at your face. maybe i’ll faint like musa (as). i don’t care. let me die for you.

give me a cake and some candles, my wish is to be close to you. i’ll blow out the candles, longing to feel your embrace when i’m sad, your hands wiping my tears. longing to feel your support when i’m happy, your presence when i’m grateful. even more than i already do, on a physical level.

and if there’s ever a page in your billions-year-old book where i stray away from you, hand me the book for i will rip out the pages and destroy them for fear of ever going away from you.

my Lord, i enter this new chapter with full consciousness of you. and i know i might be twenty-two but not to you. it’s kind of scary becoming this old. i’m really moving away from childhood now and entering young adulthood. i can really call myself a young lady now. life will probably get scarier. the pressure will become stronger. i’m not quite sure i’m ready but i know i’m going to be okay with you holding my hand.

don’t ever leave me. i’m still the little girl who wrote that letter to you long ago. i know now that you don’t need to take the letter and make it disappear from the world to read it. i know now that you’re reading every word as my fingers brush over the letters on my keyboard, taking in every word with love. but, you know, it’s kind of rude to look over people’s shoulders and read what they’re writing! just kidding.

thank you for letting me experience the beauty of life, the beauty of being a human. i really do love being created. i’d rather feel everything than nothing. all the happiness and pain and laughter and tears. the grief and love and anxiety and peace. all to be close to you. i love you.

sincerely yours,

— SabrBirthdayGirl ♡.

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grab a blessing

• Rabbana atina fid dunya hasanatan wa fil Aakhirati hasanatan waqina ‘adhaban-nar
  (Our Lord, give us good in this world and in the Hereafter, and protect us from the torment of the Fire)

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i wanted to share this so it can be on my blog forever :)

jazakallah for being here, and for your presence and time. i made this newsletter in january last year, when i was twenty. i’ve loved sharing my life with you over the past year. thank you for being on this journey with me, for reading, for your time and for sharing how you’ve related and resonated with my words along the way. thank you for making me feel safer and safer as i’ve poured out my heart, and for allowing me to become a little bit more vulnerable each time. i truly appreciate you all more than you know. i say this all the time but you’re always in my gratitude list that i write in my journal before bed.

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sending lots of love,

—SabrBirthdayGirl ♡.