Pens of Fate

Real talk from Inaya

"Bayyinah is doing Surah Baqarah this Ramadan," Inaya says. "We have got to watch that. Surah Baqarah is the Surah I am going to focus on this Ramadan!"

"Sure," I say, turning the page of my book as Inaya continues to talk about this Ramadan program and that Ramadan series. Finally, Inaya pauses and says, "Earth to Leena! You're lost."

"Yeah," I say, turning another page.

"What was I just saying?" Inaya demands.

"Something about Ramadan," I say without looking up at her.

Inaya finally gets the point. "What's that you're reading?" she asks.

"Born Again," I reply. "And no, you can't see it."

Inaya immediately pops up from her seat and peers closely at the book in my hands. "Is it a quote book?"

"Kind of." I explain that it has Quran and Hadith quoted in it. Inaya keeps nodding, then she says, "Can I read it?"

"You sure?" I ask.

"Yes!"

"Give it back then, I want to finish it," I say, handing the book to her.

"Read it for the thousandth time, more like," Inaya says, turning the book over to the back to read the description. I smile. She knows how I read.

"I was reading this quote on Facebook," Inaya says as she flips through the book. "It was something like, if you haven't welcomed Ramadan properly, then at least give it a good farewell."

"Makes sense," I say.

"Especially the way you've been spending this Ramadan," Inaya says.

"You're getting personal." I raise my eyebrows at her.

"Alright, I won't judge," Inaya says, "but you've been really passive. Instead of leading, you're just passing the time."

I remain quiet.

"Be that way," Inaya says, getting up and handing the book back to me. She leaves me alone with my thoughts. I turn in the direction of my diary, but the words don't come. Instead, feelings well up inside me. And no, I don't need to be plugged into a super-sophisticated supplication teaching program in order to really speak what's in my heart. I just need to unplug from the mind-numbing routine tasks that consume my emotional energy.

I put the pen and diary aside and instead, raise my hands in prayer. A thought hits me. My pen is only a little instrument in my hand. What I write isn't going to last. But what I'm dictating to my record angels is going to last. Every one of us holds the pen of our own fate in our hands, and we write what we will. It's easy to think about writing well, but actually writing well is another story.