Thoughts from the heart

I went into the orchestra room when the bell rang to end the school day. I got my violin out of locker like I do everyday and slowly walked out. My head was about to burst and the heat outside was killing me. I love summer. Or atleast I used to love summer, until I became a hijabi and started to cover up more. It's not that I was hot, it just really bothered me seeing all the girl with their mini-skirts and skimpy little shorts all sitting, swarmed with boys. Supposedly it's still winter though. So the sentence about me loving or hating summer is pointless. But still. Anyways as I walked out of the orchestra room hanging on to my violin, I was met with a rush of hot air. I sighed and kept on walking. Then I heard someone calling my name behind me. I turn around and see that it's Bryan. I greet him with a hey and walk along asking where he's going. Apparently he's gotten a referral for walking out of a classroom. And so now he's suspended.

"No way Bryan why would you do that?!"
Bryan looks at me and shrugs, and has that stubborn look on his face that he always has when he's skipped a class.
Let me tell you a little bit about Bryan so you're not completely shocked.
Bryan skips almost every class of school, except orchestra, which is the only class I have with him. But before all the mothers out there start to gasp, I want to say one thing. Bryan has potential. He's an amazing person, he's not even bad and isn't like those boys that skip just for the attention and being "cool". Bryan isn't like that. He's a really good person, he's the kind of person who I can imagine reverting to Islam when he's older. If only he had the chance.

Anyways, he doesn't talk much about getting that referral, and I didn't expect him to but I said bye and went my way, walking home from school. And that walk took forever, but I was thinking so much about everything.
I thought about Bryan and his suspension. I thought about the skinny little models of girls that went to our school. I thought about the heat. Only because I couldn't avoid it. I thought about words, and things people have said. I thought about gym class.
Stupid, stupid gym class. This unit, and every day of the week we would be putting on blaring music and creating a dance to preform in front of maybe 60 students. Dancing. Blaring music. Everyone in the gym having fun, creating their dance. I was supposed to do it too. But I didn't. Why would I? I felt like collapsing right there on the floor, and crying, crying, crying. Not because of the dancing or music, because that was something I could get out of if i tried, but because of everything. Tiered of the boys swarming around the girls like candy. I was tiered of it all, tired of this stupid public school. They say that in a public school, difference is tolerated, but is it really? To me, it didn't matter what the school conduct rules said, it mattered how people felt. It was my first year as a hijabi. A decision I don't think I'll regret. But still. I found no connection in school. The people that had always been my friends,seemed far far away, in their land of makeup, clothes, skininess and of course the ultimate question of who would be their next date? It drove me crazy. Why date a boy if you had already planned out every detail of the day you would dump them?! And besides what was the point anyways? Long ago, 12 and 13 year olds were considered naiive children and yet now, most of the girls and boys in our school had gotten their first kisses since they were 10. What would you call that?! It was the same cycle over and over. Date a guy. Kiss them. Dump them. Date another guy. Kiss them. Dump them. Over and over and over. And this cycle usually took no more than a week to get over with. A friend dated a boy for a total of 3.5 hours and then got dumped for another "cuter" girl. Umm.? I was sick of all that flirting going on. Sick to death of it. The girl with her perfect, superstar shiny black hair that flipped around. Perfect body. Green eyes. Dressed in tight cutoff jeans and a fitting shirt. Everyone loved her. Of coure. I was sick of it.

"Cinderella's on her bedroom floor
She's got a crush on the guy at the liquor store
Cuz Mr.Charming don't come home no more and
She forgets why she came here"


That verse of the song 'Fairytale' has been stuck in my head forever. because to me, it all made sense. It was perfect. Especially that last line "She forgets why she came here".
Anyways on my walk home, I thought about Gaza and wondered why everyone had forgotten about the Palestinians. Or maybe it was just me? I don't know. I felt so bad that i was going on with my life and not doing anything that would really help. I was angry with myself and my feet ached. And my head hurt from thinking so much. But thoughts are inevitable. They are necessary and unavoidable. Finally I get home. But I am still thinking. Thinking about Lisa from A journey Westward from Tartary.
I think it just creeped in my mind. I've been replaying and replaying the conversation we had over the phone in my head like a memory I will never tier from remembering. The least thing I could do was remember. remember her story. Try to understand.

"Cinderella's on her bedroom floor
She's got a crush on the guy at the liquor store
Cuz Mr.Charming don't come home no more and
She forgets why she came here"

That song, I can't get it out of my head. It's stuck there. like glue. Finally I open the door to go into the house. I am greeted with a rush of cool air. Again I sigh and smile, well at least I tried to. I was so tiered, but I rushed to my room and prayed Dhuhr prayer and Asr since I don't have the oppurtunity or the place to pray it at school. After I am done prayingDhuhr, I sit down and recite Ayat Al-Kursi. And I start to cry. I don't know why. But I felt overwhelmed. Stuffed. Tiered of being blamed for everything. Sad. Like a flash back, I remember the conversation I had with my mom yesterday about what kind of classes and major I'd like to take in college. I had planned it all out. And college was far far away.In the future. With a sharp pang of guilt, I realized how stupid I had been to plan it all out. Allah(s.w.t) does what he pleases, and my plans were useless. I didn't even know if tommorow would come, let alone 5 more years in which I would even go into college. I didn't even know if I would be alive in5 years, or if I even wanted to be. I mentally scolded myself for my carelessness. I do that alot. I mentally scold myself too much. But...Anyways I get up and wipe the tears of my face and continue to pray Asr. Suddenly I felt like I didn't even want to. Like my prayers weren't coming from my heart anyways. Again like a flash back, I remember a part in a story called "If I should Speak" by Umm Zakiyyah where a college student who'd been a a very great muslim when she was youger suddenly let go of her religion, her hijab and prayers and started modeling, singing and staying in the company of men. Then one day she tried to pray and realized she'd forgotten all the words, because she'd gone so long without prayers. And then she stopped. On the day of her singing concert, after she had finished and was going back home, she gets in a car accident and dies. And she was 19 years old. Had she died muslim? Obviously not. She'd wasted all those days of where her iman was very high. She'd wasted all those days of fasting and praying just to sing and model. And then she died. Killed. There's a part in this book, where it's describing death from the Quran:

"As for the disbelieving (or corrup) man, when he leaves this world and eters the Hereafter, stern and harsh angels come down to him from heaven. Their faces are black, and they bring with them sack-cloth from Hell. They sit around him, as far as the eye can see. The Angel of Death comes and sits at his head and says, 'O evil soul, come out to the anger and wrath of God!'...The soul will be dragged out of his body with as much difficulty as a many-pronged skewer being pulled through wet wool (the veins and nerves will be destroyed by it). He will be cursed by every angel between heaven and earth, and by every angel in heaven. The gates of heaven will be locked and the people of every angel will pray to God not to allow his soul to ascend through their domain. He will take it and immediatley put it into the sack-cloth. IT will sting like the foulest stench of dead flesh ever witnessed on earth. They will take the soul up, and whenever they take it past a grup of angels they will say 'Who is this evil soul?' They say, 'It is so- and- so the son of so-and-so,' using the worst names in wchich he was addressed in the world (They will go on) until they reach the first heaven. They will ask for it to be opened to them, and it will not be opened. '...No opening will there be of the gates of heaven, nor will hey enter the Garden, until the camel can pass through the eye of the needle..." (Al-A'raaf, 7:40)

Astagfurallah, May Allah save us from this horrendous ending.