Lightness of Being…

Her arrival to the land of the free, meant that Reem never had to pretend anymore. For the first time in her life, she didn’t have thousands of critical eyes following her everywhere and breathing down her neck. She could decide to go out at night, kiss someone in the middle of a street, run around the neighborhood with skimpy shorts on and no one would gasp the eternal question “What will people say?”. As far as Reem was concerned “the people” were dead and she was quite happy not mourning their loss.

Her household had also thankfully shrunk from twenty plus people to only four. It also meant for the first time ever everyone had their own room. She never had to share a mattress on the floor again and never had to worry about someone stealing her pillow in the middle of the night (they always seemed to have a shortage of pillows and towels in their former household). Her oldest brother Salah slept in the basement, while her younger brother (Rashid) slept in the room next to her. Her mother decorated the master suite with heavy expensive furniture to befit the queen that she was.

Reem only lived in the house for another 9 months, before heading off to college on early admission and she was ecstatic to trade the comfort of her home for an institutional dorm room.

If Salah had any qualms about Reem’s move, he never raised them. He understood his mom’s philosophy had always been one of granting choices and letting her children learn how to make their own decisions and live with the consequences. Samira quietly started working to become a Certified Public Accountant, while Salah took some community college classes which allowed him to live home and help his mom with Rashid.

{-}

In the beginning Reem had tried to hold on to the strands of religious obligation simply because a deep part of her could not completely disavow her beliefs. She kept her prayers, fasting; she volunteered her time, and even joined her school’s MSA.

Within the narrow confines of the MSA she found herself back in the same hypocritical posturing that she despised. It seemed like everyone was content to see each other as two-dimensional ideal models of the Islamic character. Brothers would walk past the sisters with due humble reverence, avoiding their tempestuous eyes and stoic in their refusal of greeting them (although they had no problem interacting with non Muslims women). The sisters would cheerfully hug and give Salaam to (only other Hijab wearing) sisters, and in their cozy halaqas (learning circles) they would discuss legalistic rituals and reminisce of the past generations that were so much better than them.

The MSA in her school never took on real causes, or pioneered any social movement, they were content to assemble for Ramadhan dinners, Friday prayers, and meet for a weekly discussion on an obscure Fiqh (legal) topic that was far removed from their lives as students. Once in a while, they would invite a really charismatic Imam who would chastise them for not being better Muslims and leave them shaking their heads feeling really sad at the state of the Ummah (for it is obviously linked to their sorry Iman (faith) levels).

Reem slowly wandered away from the MSA, her hijab dropped somewhere along the path (sealing the MSA’s wrath and sister’s censure of her flirtation with Kaffir ways).

She dabbled in a couple of other causes and soon found her way into the arms of her first American born and bred love. He took her far away from the banality of her stifling community (why is it, she wondered, do Muslims insist on replicating their flaws everywhere they go? She did not, of course, ask herself the same question).

Her American hero, took her to the mountains to show her the grandeur of God’s landscape, they explored the beaches, parks, zoos, and neighboring rivers and lakes. He introduced her to his culture’s nuances and the mores of social interaction. He taught her how to appreciate Jazz, underground hip hop, spoken word, and adopt a healthy disdain of “pop” culture.

She made up her mind then that she would never marry a “back home” guy or even “born Muslim” with all their hypocritical baggage. The last string holding her hymen together was cut off, and Reem readily offered what was left of her virginity sinking herself into the rhythm of her knight’s heart beat.

{-}

A couple of dead-end relationships later opened Reem’s eyes to the futility of her actions. She hated who she was fast morphing into; internally her soul was completely eclipsed by the freakish creature within.

Every new guy became the potential “one”; Reem reveled in the newness of each relationship. In the witty flirtatiousness she adopted, the way she languidly moved her limbs, glazed her wide eyes, and threw her long hair onto one side of her head.

Each one fell successively in love with her dizzy mixture of everything exotic, different, and yet so familiar. After the initial fireworks fizzled out into the droning monotony of long term relationships, Reem felt suffocated, she became jealous, petty and temperamental. Soon, she would be engulfed in the torrential storm of fighting, making up, and finally breaking up for good. Guys were left stupefied by her extremes and few ever really got over her.

Reem fell into spells of deep depression. She loathed the slimy creature she had come to associate with her soul.

She felt ugly despite the many compliments she received at the lips of potential suitors. The moment someone remarked on her rare beauty, the monster within would swell; breathing Karrisa’s stench through her pores and making her feel hideous and disgusting.

“What do guys see in me?” She wondered more than once. She made her successive lovers prove their undying adoration of her in a thousand and one ways and she still remained insecure.

By and by, she let go of her prayers for what God would listen to such a rotten being? She also stopped fasting, for she had lost the concept of self discipline a long time ago. It came to a point when someone asked her “Are you Muslim?” she would hesitate in responding; sometimes murmuring “I was raised Muslim”. She just couldn’t lie anymore.

With nothing to hold on to, she drifted from one aimless detour to another. She picked up weed and found some form of temporary escape from her meaningless existence. Her sexual exploits became wilder and more daring; and she hit rock bottom when she woke up one morning and couldn’t recognize the stranger sleeping next to her.

{-}

Ironically it was her attempts to get close to God that initiated Reem’s breakdown. After she left the clinic, the old overwhelming need to scrub her soul clean came rushing back. She could not see past the billowing darkness within; could feel not a single thing.

She took a good look at her last of the string of loves, and was horrified. Who was this long haired, unkempt loser in-dire-need-of-a-shower? What am I doing with him? She broke up with him on the spot and headed back to her apartment.

She called in to work, and asked for a whole week off. She fired a couple of emails to professors to let them know of her absence (the emails didn’t make much of a difference; her record was already dismal in school).

Back in her recently acquired apartment, she scrubbed and scrubbed all the accumulated dirt off her floors, walls, kitchen and bathroom. She changed the linen; throwing away the soiled sheets. She took a long hot shower, and immediately let out a cold rush of water to freeze her pores. She dried herself, applied some old musky Yemeni fragrance called “oud”; she wore a long gorgeous traditional dress and got ready for prayer. She took wudhu (ritual purification); lit some incense and candles; laid out her prayer rug and finally began to pray.

She couldn’t get past the first Rakaah (cycle). When her head bowed down in prostration she felt the weight of her accumulated dead years, saw past the filthy murky dark shadows she harbored inside, touched the bitterness searing within the density of her tears. She couldn’t pronounce the ritual Glorification that had long been drilled into her; she just sat there steeped in the silence that stretched interminably between her heart and her God. She couldn’t even ask for forgiveness, she had no words, no excuses, and no facades. She just sat there in horror, grief, and pure wretchedness.

Reem’s soul hesitantly made its way back; breathing a tentative glow within her. Tears came slow at first burning her throat; then gathering momentum with the words that slowly seeped into her conversation with Her Creator. Wordless words made their way into her soul, dragged from the ancient lips of Adam, from the pure feet of Eve, from generations of voiceless, faceless, masses searching, entreating, weeping their way back into the folds of His Mercy; back into the depths of their humanity; back into the healing expanses of sweet surrender and absolution from their own illusory fetters.

{-}

She didn’t know how long she stayed in that position. When she finally lifted herself, willing her body to finish at least one more Rakaah she laid down in a crumpled heap, exhausted.

Later she awoke with a feeling of vigor and excitement. She had finally figured it out. Everything was illusory; even so called freedom. She was home. After searching in all the wrong places, she had found her self. Her soul was free, intact, and whole. Reem felt like sharing her awesome news with the whole world. She didn’t care what time it was.

She got up stretched and stretched her limbs, feeling tall, her chest expanded, and her heart full of song. She wore a long sleeved summer dress that stopped just below her knees. Normally the length wouldn’t have bothered her, but this time it was different. She put on some long pants, and dusted out one of her old matching scarves.

She really didn’t know where she was going, and what she was about to do. She just headed out to DC, her regular hang out spots, feeling an invisible hand guiding her, a presence that was never there before.

The first person she saw was a man wearing a thowb (Arabic white dress desert men wear). A thowb in the middle of DC! She thought that must be a divine sign. She stopped to talk to him, the first Muslim she had talked to in forever (not counting her family whom she never really saw).

He looked at her with ancient eyes full of recognition “I have been waiting for you; you are late Reem”

She felt a tremor in her soul; it didn’t quite make sense, how did he know her name? But who would dare question the Divine plan? He led her to the artist; who took her to an old decrepit woman with a voice full of honey and eyes of fire. The old woman opened her cloak to show Reem a little baby crying and beating the air with his tiny fists. When Reem bent down to carry him, she couldn’t. Her hands went through him, a cold mist enveloping her. In terror Reem ran until she collided into the Ethiopian Devil.

“You!” He cried. “Where are you going? Don’t you know the danger of being on the streets. Come with me” He commanded. Well, an African brother was much safer than a Jinn baby, so Reem followed. She now remembers running out of his house, screaming into the night, she remembers seeing more faces, hearing more voices, but everything seemed to move into fast motion from there on.

Such were some of the memories of that fateful night that was to pull the world from Reem’s feet and turn her imagination upside down.

{-}

“Ummi! I just got out. I can’t deal with this yet!”

“Sweetie, you didn’t just get out. It has been six months. This is the perfect time. To have a companion to help you in your journey is exactly what you need. Just give him a chance.”

“NO!”

“Reem, he is a nice man. They don’t come along so easily. Just try. Talk to him, no pressure on you at all.”

{-}

He was warm, sensitive and witty.

He was born and raised in the states, although his parents were from Mombasa too. He had spent many summers relishing the same tropical fruits, treading the same ancient pathways, and playing against her brothers in neighborhood matches.

He cracked jokes about the women, gave scathing critiques against the culture, and admitted that he harbored a special fondness for the very mess their island nurtured and thrived on.

Reem was resolute in not giving him a chance. She asked him questions designed to trap him, bring out the hypocrite she expected was hiding somewhere within. He surprised her with his straight forward answers, disarmed her with his humor.

She found herself laughing for the first time despite everything. Her laugh was cautious nonetheless, answers guarded, and impressions reserved.

Tariq sensed her deliberate distance; endured her skeptic questions and was puzzled by her general ambivalence. He was good looking, charming, educated, prayed-5-times-a-day, and was generally a good guy. What more did Reem want?

Tariq became very in tune with her moods, treating her like a fragile princess, and despite his better senses found himself falling for this beautiful, eccentric enigma.

When Reem opened up to him once “I have a dark side Tariq, I don’t think you really should mess with me.”

“First I am not messing with you Reem. I want to marry you” he corrected earnestly “and don’t worry I will bake chocolate cup cakes for your dark side”

Even as she brushed him off, Reem felt a secret glow warming forgotten crevices of her soul.

{-}

 “What are you doing in my room?”Reem asked them terror paralyzing her soul.

They were too many to count, too quiet to wake any one else. They stood there silently only their eyes speaking.

“What do you want?” Reem couldn’t scream. She thought she must be dying and they were here to take her soul.

The old woman stepped forward, her eyes a flame. She held out the baby crying disconsolately without a sound; he was kicking, furious, little fists clutching at nothing, little body gleaming in the moonlit shadows. Reem’s heart gave way; her baby. Of course, they brought her baby back because no one else could soothe him. Here was her baby weeping for his ummi, weeping for her! Reem felt heat accumulating in her breasts; the veins swelled as maternal milk gushed into her nipples.

She held out her hands; but she couldn’t hold the baby. “Why wouldn’t the baby come to me?” She cried.

She tried to lay her hands on the fighting body, but again she slipped through the dewy mist in frustration. She knew something was really wrong, but couldn’t articulate it. She looked around for help but the faces just stared and stared.

Out of their eyes stories cascaded; ancient people climbed their way out; oceans gushed forth; islands swelled; exploding out hidden traumas, skeletal mysteries, and furtively buried secrets. Soundless voices clamored to be heard, confiding in her, entreating her empathy and understanding; reaching out, burying her with more and more stories.

“STOP IT! LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME ALONE I DON’T WANT ANY OF THIS. PLEASE, JUST LET ME BE! PLEASE” Reem shrieked all the way back to the hospital with her brothers looking petrified and her mother biting back her overwhelming grief.

{-}

“Reem, I thought I explained to you the importance of staying on medication?” Dr. Gupta couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice.

“I just wanted to feel again….” Her reasons felt stupid in front of common sense.

“Reem, there’s no short cut out. You have to keep at it. You have force yourself to stay the treatment course. You will only make yourself worse. And end up imprisoned in hospital wards. Is that what you want?” In spite of his normal professional distance, Dr. Gupta couldn’t help feeling a sort of paternal compassion for this particular patient.

“I know. I am sorry. I just thought I could do it without the medications. I had started working out, going to the mosque volunteering again. I felt so good. And I met…well someone. I just wanted to start on a clean slate, and the medications you know… they make me so lethargic, numb, and…fat.” She had gained 40 pounds; a known side effect for the pills she was taking.

She continued “I just wish I knew how much longer. Will I be taking these forever?”

“Not if you get off them the proper way. I personally don’t know many people that completely healed from Bipolar Disorder…”

“But there are some that did?” Reem just needed the hope.

“They got off the medication, and lived for years without any recurring episodes. But that doesn’t mean they completely healed. Sometimes life events strike and they end up in the hospital again.”

“But some never came back?”

“A small percentage; but yes, they never did. The point is you can’t simply decide to get off your medication on one go. You are having serious hallucinations and we have to control those.”

“They are Jinns…”

“Yes, Jinns, but normal people don’t see Jinns do they?”

“Define normal? So I am in touch with the paranormal. Who said normal has to be a non-feeling zombie?” She challenged yet again.

Dr. Gupta sighed.

“I don’t believe I have Bipolar Disorder. I think this is just a spiritual malady that I can fix. I will stay on the medication, but I will pray my heart out, and fix my lifestyle, and fortify my soul. I will control this thing and get over it.” Reem was ablaze with conviction.

“You promise to follow my schedule on getting off the medication?”

“Yes.”

{-}

The resident Jinn-Expert Imam was no help.

He read some Quranic verses into Zamzam water, and had her drink it.

He asked her a couple of perfunctory questions and continued reciting some verses, watching her the whole time.

Reem apparently did not act the way a jinn-possessed person was supposed to.

He asked her more questions and got a gist of her background.

“Sister, I think your problem is more psychological probably sin-induced rather than Jinn. You have to pray alot, and Inshaallah God will forgive you.”

Reem left disconsolate. She had hoped the Imam would exorcise her monster pet, and expel her terrorizing visitors. But no help was forthcoming there.

{-}

“Why are we going to London Mama?”

“To see a doctor”

“All the way in England?”

“He is the only one that has the expertise and willingness to perform hymen reconstruction.”

 “What?! I will not do that. NEVER!”

“Yes you will.” Her mother spoke with quiet determination.

“Why should I? I will not lie to him mama. What do guys do to prove their virginity? It’s stupid.”

“Reem this is called “Stara”. Allah is giving you a second chance, why say no?” The concept of “stara” is hard to describe, the closest is that it is a gentle covering of sins.

“It’s not fair!”

“This is the world as it is Reem. You made some mistakes; and everyone does. You repented. You are well on your way to healing, and picking the pieces of your life. This is the only way to seal your past, to ensure you don’t have a man who will remind you forever of what God already forgave.”

Reem was quiet. Would Tariq understand if she were to tell him the whole truth and nothing but the truth? Would he want to marry her when he realized what she termed innocuously as “rebellion” was actually wilder than what his imagination ever visualized? And if he did embrace her with her mountain of past sins, would they remain like a specter in their relationship forever haunting them? Would he bring it up every time they had a fight?

In her silence, Reem saw her mom’s logic and resigned to it with muted bitterness. She was going to have to play yet another cultural charade.

{-}

If it was up to her mom, Tariq would never find out of her “illness” either.

“Mama, you want me to go see the doctor and take medications behind his back?” Reem had to draw the line somewhere.

She met Tariq at a neighborhood mall, and they walked having an intense conversation amidst the palpable excitement of Sales and frenzied consumers.

“Tariq are you sure you can deal with this?”

“Reem, of course I am sure. I want to do it even more! There is a depth to you, that I have never seen before. You are the perfect combination of everything I had wanted, you got that ‘back home flavor’ with the American attitude, you are into the deen, pretty, down to earth…I just don’t know what else I could ask for?”

“But I am sick…”

“So? I could get sick the day after our wedding…would you leave me then? It doesn’t matter to me. We’ll work it out. I will help you work through your treatment plan…you will get past it…trust me. I know…”

“How do you know? What if I never get better? What if I am forever oscillating between reality and fantasy, seeing things, getting depressed one minute and happy the next?”

“Then at least you can hold on to me as you ride that roller coaster.”

“Look Reem” Tariq plunged on “I sense that you have been through a lot. And those experiences have seeped through you; a certain quiet strength and depth that I can’t begin to fathom. I don’t know if I am man enough to handle everything in your past…tell me what you are comfortable with and the rest, is really between you and God…all i know is I want to know you more…to walk this path with you….I want to be with you Reem.”

The next day Reem received a thousand roses, on each one a note was pinned stating one more reason why Tariq wanted to marry her. He also bought two sets of books on Bipolar Disorder, its root causes, conventional/alternative treatment, long term studies and cutting edge research; kept one for himself and sent the other to Reem.

{-}

Their wedding was small and gorgeous. A couple of her new friends were in attendance from the neighborhood mosque community, some family members flew in from nearby Canada and London and their immediate families.

Tariq looked so handsome in his spotless white Thowb, a qutra (head dress for men), and an elegant embroidered overcoat. She wore an intricate gold and green sequined dress with a glittering head scarf, flawless make up, and a serene smile.

The Imam opened with a prayer, said a few words of praise for the bride who had been a dedicated member of the Mosque since she moved there only a year before. He proceeded with the simple ceremony and soon the crowd parted them showering them with congratulations and prayers of eternal love, mercy and a righteous off spring.

After the reception, Reem climbed into the car with Tariq, and they were alone at long last. He placed his warm protective hand over hers, and she felt a different kind of emotion stir from deep within her. It wasn’t the electric jolt of excitement she felt with her flings, this was deeper, warmer, more sensuous.

She felt strangely free and light.

“You look too radiant for words” Tariq murmured his eyes whispering “ever after” promises.

Reem blushed; her soul encased in a warm familiar glow that she had come to associate with Tariq.

It wasn’t till much later that she was able to pin point that exact moment as the death of the slimy freakish creature that she had lugged around within her for so long.

Her soul breathed anew and she felt truly beautiful for the first time in her life…

 … like a thousand butterflies unfurling their wings in the mists of dawn; like  a hundred eagles learning how to soar over cascading cliffs…like millions of new born stars startled by their own twinkling lights…

Out of the warm cocoon of love, Reem emerged  more gorgeous than ever….and took her first tentative steps towards healing and living and finally hoping to rise to her true potential…

{the end}