This was warm and beautiful ✨️ The bit where you mentioned being emotional because of your father's recitation is so realtable to me. Alhamdulillah, my father also leads taraweeh in our living room every Ramadan. Men from our street pray behind him and we can hear the recitation from a speaker we've set up in the lounge. Ramadan doesn't feel like Ramadan without it. Sometimes I feel sentimental, thinking one day, my father will leave this world, as we all will, and I won't be able to hear his recitation again. Just yesterday, I recorded part of the taraweeh, to remember it. I also remember one night, when I was really little, I couldn't sleep. I don't know how it happened but my father started reciting to help me sleep and also held me with him. I fell asleep. I even asked him to do it again another night, but didn't sleep then 😁
My father is the one who started my Arabic/Quran journey, by telling me bits and pieces of ayaat and teaching me some Arabic grammar. Subhan Allah, he knows the translation when he recites and many times, he starts crying uncontrollably in taraweeh. Then he has to compose himself.
Writing this comment made me so sentimental and emotional about him 🥲
Aima, that's so beautiful about your father, masha Allah! I'm glad you recorded his recitation because that is a gift to have and you're making me think I should record my dad's recitation too. I can hear it in my mind even when I'm not praying with him.
What a blessing, what a gift (I'm thinking about our dads again)...
“Oh Allah, bless my parents for the beautiful memories they gave me. Oh Allah make me the kind of parent whose children look back on their childhood the way I look back on mine, with so much love, I grieve it every day.” I feel this acutely, especially around the holy places. It is such a gift to give children sacred, quiet, communal, spiritual places--even if religion is somewhat politicized; somewhat unfashionable. What grandiosity to expect that--as parents without spaces of worship and the traditions they hold--we could provide the depth and resonance of the greatest mysteries. Every kid deserves a dusty, red carpet, forged into her memory. Mine is the smell of the thurible-remnant and the little loft in the small chapel at the Benedictine monastery, where the kids could climb up and watch the mass and where I once plotted the theft of my first communion. I was six. The priest paused. My father stood behind me--he knew I was bypassing the class and the ceremony, and he let me. He trusted I'd been moved by the Holy Spirit. I will never forget his confidence, or the smell of that little chapel and the dining area where we had cake after, and my father treated my rebellion like the spiritual claiming it was. The smells, the cake, the adrenaline, my father. Once again, Noha, you've brought back something long forgotten but purely mythological. What a start to Tuesday.
"What grandiosity to expect that--as parents without spaces of worship and the traditions they hold--we could provide the depth and resonance of the greatest mysteries." Yes to this a million percent.
I love how we can just keep having conversations where something you say sparks me and something I say sparks you.
I love hearing your stories about your father, and about his faith and about how he let you grow in the ways you needed.
The reason can be that bad memories evoke bad emotions in us and these bad emotions remain with us for a long time. Yes, it was very hard, because my childish mind decided that assimilation is better than being a rebel, without taking into account whether i could do so or not. The worst part was that i wasn't aware of this subconscious process AT ALL until years later (Like Elsa in "Frozen", i'd tell myself: "Be the good girl you always have to be ... Don't let them know ...).
I am there with you as you skitter up those basement stairs! So many places fill me with nostalgia these days, spawned, I think, not just my age but also the sense that our very foundations are crumbling. Like you, I've been where I am for a long time, and before that where I was as a child. The attachments to place are strong. We think of nostalgia as longing for things we miss about our past, and most of us don't miss the bad experiences. But maybe? Because of how we've grown in the intervening years?
I was deeply rooted in my church as a child, forming many ideas about myself and the world there. The easy story, and true but lacking in nuance, is that I grew weary of the judgement. So I am now deeply spiritual but not in connection with a religion. I like to think my faith has expanded.
LOL the stairs, Elizabeth. I think my kids would laugh about this because of course now there's a switch at the bottom and at the top.
Nostalgia is fascinating, isn't it? I've always been filled with it, and I think that's a blessing, because like said, no one is nostalgic for the hard stuff.
The lack of nuance would definitely be a problem so I sympathize there.
Thank you dear Noha for bringing back the beautiful memories of Sunday's spent in Mass with my family. That was a very, very long time ago but the memories still bring me joy and a deep feeling of peace.
Made me well up, and I don't even have memories of childhood tarawih! We lived in a remote place without Muslim community, and this beautiful, tender piece evokes what that means so well, mashallah.
1. For me, usually places that i've visited with sb i love are the ones that fill me with nostalgia. Mostly they're shopping-related.
2. It's probable that we can have nostalgia for bad memories. However, in my case, i usually have nostalgia for good memories, not bad ones.
3. I don't have a strong relationship with religion because i believe religion is a weapon for taking away people's free will and cutting their connection to their immense potential, and putting a spell on their minds, making them unable to break free. During my childhood, i had to do my religious chores (Saying my daily prayers, fasting in Ramadan, ...) because i needed to assimilate into my community of classmates. During years, i started to believe i was a religious person. However, since nearly three years ago, i see myself as a rebel. A rebel who wants to break free from religion, some societal norms, ... .
The sense I'm getting is almost nobody has nostalgia for the bad memories.. I think it's definitely hard if you feel the need to assimilate and you don't feel the connection yourself.
This was warm and beautiful ✨️ The bit where you mentioned being emotional because of your father's recitation is so realtable to me. Alhamdulillah, my father also leads taraweeh in our living room every Ramadan. Men from our street pray behind him and we can hear the recitation from a speaker we've set up in the lounge. Ramadan doesn't feel like Ramadan without it. Sometimes I feel sentimental, thinking one day, my father will leave this world, as we all will, and I won't be able to hear his recitation again. Just yesterday, I recorded part of the taraweeh, to remember it. I also remember one night, when I was really little, I couldn't sleep. I don't know how it happened but my father started reciting to help me sleep and also held me with him. I fell asleep. I even asked him to do it again another night, but didn't sleep then 😁
My father is the one who started my Arabic/Quran journey, by telling me bits and pieces of ayaat and teaching me some Arabic grammar. Subhan Allah, he knows the translation when he recites and many times, he starts crying uncontrollably in taraweeh. Then he has to compose himself.
Writing this comment made me so sentimental and emotional about him 🥲
Lovely post as always ❤️ Jazakallah ✨️
Aima, that's so beautiful about your father, masha Allah! I'm glad you recorded his recitation because that is a gift to have and you're making me think I should record my dad's recitation too. I can hear it in my mind even when I'm not praying with him.
What a blessing, what a gift (I'm thinking about our dads again)...
“Oh Allah, bless my parents for the beautiful memories they gave me. Oh Allah make me the kind of parent whose children look back on their childhood the way I look back on mine, with so much love, I grieve it every day.” I feel this acutely, especially around the holy places. It is such a gift to give children sacred, quiet, communal, spiritual places--even if religion is somewhat politicized; somewhat unfashionable. What grandiosity to expect that--as parents without spaces of worship and the traditions they hold--we could provide the depth and resonance of the greatest mysteries. Every kid deserves a dusty, red carpet, forged into her memory. Mine is the smell of the thurible-remnant and the little loft in the small chapel at the Benedictine monastery, where the kids could climb up and watch the mass and where I once plotted the theft of my first communion. I was six. The priest paused. My father stood behind me--he knew I was bypassing the class and the ceremony, and he let me. He trusted I'd been moved by the Holy Spirit. I will never forget his confidence, or the smell of that little chapel and the dining area where we had cake after, and my father treated my rebellion like the spiritual claiming it was. The smells, the cake, the adrenaline, my father. Once again, Noha, you've brought back something long forgotten but purely mythological. What a start to Tuesday.
"What grandiosity to expect that--as parents without spaces of worship and the traditions they hold--we could provide the depth and resonance of the greatest mysteries." Yes to this a million percent.
I love how we can just keep having conversations where something you say sparks me and something I say sparks you.
I love hearing your stories about your father, and about his faith and about how he let you grow in the ways you needed.
Masyaa Allah Tabarakallah. A beautiful reminiscence! Thank you for sharing it. Allahumma baarik 🤲🫠
Ameen, aameen. Thank you so much, Wifa.
Whoa. Very interesting/sehr interessant. Thanks for saying this, Noha.
The reason can be that bad memories evoke bad emotions in us and these bad emotions remain with us for a long time. Yes, it was very hard, because my childish mind decided that assimilation is better than being a rebel, without taking into account whether i could do so or not. The worst part was that i wasn't aware of this subconscious process AT ALL until years later (Like Elsa in "Frozen", i'd tell myself: "Be the good girl you always have to be ... Don't let them know ...).
Oh that subconscious process you don’t even realize you’re doing!!! Hard relate to that.
🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼
Vivid and touching reflections, Noha. Thank you.
I am there with you as you skitter up those basement stairs! So many places fill me with nostalgia these days, spawned, I think, not just my age but also the sense that our very foundations are crumbling. Like you, I've been where I am for a long time, and before that where I was as a child. The attachments to place are strong. We think of nostalgia as longing for things we miss about our past, and most of us don't miss the bad experiences. But maybe? Because of how we've grown in the intervening years?
I was deeply rooted in my church as a child, forming many ideas about myself and the world there. The easy story, and true but lacking in nuance, is that I grew weary of the judgement. So I am now deeply spiritual but not in connection with a religion. I like to think my faith has expanded.
LOL the stairs, Elizabeth. I think my kids would laugh about this because of course now there's a switch at the bottom and at the top.
Nostalgia is fascinating, isn't it? I've always been filled with it, and I think that's a blessing, because like said, no one is nostalgic for the hard stuff.
The lack of nuance would definitely be a problem so I sympathize there.
Thank you dear Noha for bringing back the beautiful memories of Sunday's spent in Mass with my family. That was a very, very long time ago but the memories still bring me joy and a deep feeling of peace.
Made me well up, and I don't even have memories of childhood tarawih! We lived in a remote place without Muslim community, and this beautiful, tender piece evokes what that means so well, mashallah.
Thank you so much! I really do miss my childhood. So grateful to my parents alhamdulillah.
Thank you.
1. For me, usually places that i've visited with sb i love are the ones that fill me with nostalgia. Mostly they're shopping-related.
2. It's probable that we can have nostalgia for bad memories. However, in my case, i usually have nostalgia for good memories, not bad ones.
3. I don't have a strong relationship with religion because i believe religion is a weapon for taking away people's free will and cutting their connection to their immense potential, and putting a spell on their minds, making them unable to break free. During my childhood, i had to do my religious chores (Saying my daily prayers, fasting in Ramadan, ...) because i needed to assimilate into my community of classmates. During years, i started to believe i was a religious person. However, since nearly three years ago, i see myself as a rebel. A rebel who wants to break free from religion, some societal norms, ... .
The sense I'm getting is almost nobody has nostalgia for the bad memories.. I think it's definitely hard if you feel the need to assimilate and you don't feel the connection yourself.
I'm so glad you enjoyed it, Sheila. Thank you for reading.