Friday, August 24, 2012

38 years and 41 days later (5 Syawal 1433)

I am 38 years and 41 days today, and until this second, I have yet thanked anyone for their kind gesture of showering me with their birthday wishes.  It’s a lie if I blamed it on time, for I had the leisure of time to scan through all the wishes in my phone and on FB.  I just didn’t make any effort – this is the absolute truth, and incomprehensively, the simplicity of this fact hurts my ego most, above all.  WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? 

I heard once that this ‘mid-life crisis’ doesn’t only happen when one is mid-way through their life-span.  In fact, it’s a wonder why 40 is chosen as the middle point, and it’s been exactly that for as long as I could remember; amidst science having reviewed and reduced our life-expectancy every now and then - it’s definitely not 80 anymore (40 x 2 =80, placing 40 as mid-life).  Perhaps I must have missed something – could there be a non-mathematical projection on how we use the adage ‘Life begins at 40’; ie. that it originates from a more social scientific point of view instead.  Note to self : “Read up on ‘Life begins at 40’”.

I think I am experiencing crisis – no, correction : I KNOW I am starring crisis right in the face.    And as mentioned above, it doesn’t hit us at that just one mid-point, but this uncomfortable combat with oneself will revisit us as we approach the end of every decade of our lives.  40 marks the peak of maturity, a point where the many years of life seems to hold density – an intertwine of life’s countless episodes – an ingredient which could fairly cause the extent of crisis to pick up mass.  It is potentially the most historical moment of one’s life – both good and bad – witnessing our bravest next step, if not our most uncalculated risk.  It is the busiest crossroad, yet.  And women seem to arrive at this destination way earlier than men, by 2 to 5 years.  Hence, I guess, the phrase ‘Been there, done that’ was created originally for the female gender. ;)

Now, let’s focus on my crisis.  The recent holy month of Ramadhan has helped me shape my thoughts.  I found myself constantly starring into space, often entertaining questions which I try to answer, but only managing it half way, before finding myself being tossed at yet another set of self-inquiries.  I found myself deluged by half-answers by the end of Ramadhan, and instead of feeling tranquil as what the month promises, I felt a desperate need to escape from my own self.  At one point, instead of gently running water on myself during ablution (wudu’), I found myself scouring hard at my face and hand, as if trying to skin my woes so that the running water would take it away.  That incident was the moment of calling – it is time for me to admit that I needed therapy – it is time to fine-tune my sincerity faculty.  I mustn’t continue to pretend that my time submitting to HIM is pure – it has been stained by so much impurities of which purification has long been delayed.  I have forgotten that time waits for no man.  Who am I to be playing dice.  Astaghfirullahal’azim...

  I’m sorry,
  Truly am, sincerely,
  For not thanking your well wishes, on that day when I turned 38,
  I shall make it up to you....every single one of you.

Picking myself up is a constant battle.  Istiqamah is still at duel with my demons on a daily basis.  I shall win this war.  You just wait.  My conscience will defend me.

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