Less Than Perfect

{6} What He Once Was

Tanwir Sarker

Allahu Akbar Allahu Akbar.

The call to prayer became my alarm, alerting me of a new day, a new start, and another chance for me to make things right, for me to ask Allah for forgiveness and guidance before my end. Many people took their lives for granted, expecting their plans to follow the same path they chose without any inclination towards the unexpected. towards the unknown.

Truth was, no one could guarantee the future. I know I couldn't, and if I had a chance to do it all over again, I'd drill that into my head. I wasn't invincible to worldly pleasures nor was I safe from calamity. I lived in the present, where I could only remember the past in fragments of memories, short, choppy stories that told underlying lessons.

My eyes opened, blinking into the darkness as my sight adjusted to the shadows that surrounded my room. Although I had barely gotten any sleep last night, the call to prayer rang in my head, a silent warning that time was slipping.

My covers felt heavy on my body like a stone resting on my chest, a burden and a tiresome obstacle in my path. Shaytan (Satan) always tried to persuade the believers into missing prayers, especially Fajr (dawn prayer). Sleep was a drug to many, and Shaytan used it to keep the believers from praying.

It was a trick, a scheme, and I vowed I would never fall for it again.

Pushing the covers off my body, I sat up on the bed, blinking the sleep from my eyes. Kanza's conversation echoed into my mind, the remembrance of a bittersweet sadness I held in my heart, the pain I felt whenever I looked into my parents' eyes.

I caused my parents so much suffering.

Yet I knew I had to make things right again, had to take the initiative.

Ya Allah, help me.

Without another thought, I went to make wudu (ablution), preparing to ask my Lord for His guidance, His blessings, and His forgiveness. My prayers renewed my soul, and right at that moment, I needed the renewal more than ever.

* * * *

After prayer, I decided to get a head start on the day before anyone woke up, finding myself making a cup of coffee in the kitchen. What I didn't realize was that my father was already waiting for me with his own cup.

He sat on the couch, staring out the window as the horizon began to color the night sky in hues of orange and red, birds chirping their little tune as the grogginess left my father's eyes. The air around him was sanguine, a sweet taste of life lingering with bitterness hanging on a thread, hope being the shield against such negativity.

Hope was a lot like the sun. Every new day was another chance to do something different, to live life to the fullest, another opportunity that Allah gave. With every new sunrise came another set of difficulties and through them came another set of strength.

"Come sit next to me, Tanwir."

I silently obeyed. It had been a while since I'd talked to my father after all.

Sitting beside him, I slowly sipped at my hot mug of coffee, blowing the steam every now and then as I tried to wrap my head around what my father found so interesting outside. His gaze never left the window, and then he closed his eyes to whisper duaas (small prayers) under his breath.

For a moment, I caught what stress had done to him over the years, what time did to humans. Wrinkles circled his eyes and the corner of his lips, yet his hair was not completely gray yet; it was a salt and pepper look on his head of full hair, no receding hairline, no indication that he was now a grandparent.