Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim

I thought I succeeded. But it turns out that it was a loss on my part. I kept pushing them out, the memories. Thinking that maybe they are the cause of that bleak feeling of helplessness. I wanted to appear new- not to the world-, but to me. A fresh start. I would always hold them dear to my heart, but I felt that they held me back. Too often, the memories of our journey together managed to slowly encroach into my mind, but the accursed habits that cling on to my very being easily chased the thoughts away. They devoured them, my memories…my source of strength. Yes, that’s what they are in actuality. Not a weakness, but a blessing from Allah.
Those were the days that I felt my heart beat the shahadah. This is why companions are called the bricks of this Ummah. It was our unity. Even as I go through the images of old times, time and again as it pains my heart and marvel at how far our Qadr took us from one another and how indifferent we have become of the distance, I still long for those days. The long phone conversations and the AIM chat rooms. How I long for mornings where I’m greeted with hugs and afternoons spent in each others’ company and nights with the possibility of seeing one another in the morning once again. (I’m sounding like a heartbroken lover from a Bollywood flick.) Under all the laughter and amusement, we made each other firm. When I felt that I was drifting from my deen, Allah had blessed me with the aid of all of you. I cannot believe how the Shaitan triumphed in making one of you pronounce enmity against us. He must have celebrated after breaking our bond. We said we loved one another for His Sake and my heart cries out and pleads to its Maker to unite us once more in this world…and ultimately in Jannah. Despite my negative attitude toward the friends-forever promise, I confess that I was naïve to believe that perhaps, just maybe it would be like the movies, like The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants…a childish dream. C’est la vie.
There’s a feeling of being left behind, of defeat. Sometimes even feelings of betrayal. Despite my dire attempts to be unlike the average, whining teenage blogger who writes of nothing but displeasure and sadness, I seem to be standing exactly where I’m running from. The solution turns out to be the problem itself. Cherishing those moments and thinking about how my deen was then gives me hope. Insha’Allah, I’ll gain my emaan back and Allah will send me companions once again who will help me hold on to the rope of Allah.

I love you guys.
Insha’Allah, till Jannah.

She sat near the window and glanced up repeatedly at her reflection across the bed. The glow of the laptop illuminated only parts of her face, giving her an almost ghastly appearance. She smiled at her choice of words. She's been thinking about ghosts too much. Allah is the Protector, she tells herself. Have faith and just leave it all to Allah the Most High.
Why is she here? Writing lets her mind roam free, keeping her from focusing on her worries. What better way to dodge unbecoming thoughts other than typing in the third person, making no real sense at all?