Tales From Agrabah

• 10. The Corniche, With Perseverance

• T e n •

The Corniche, With Perseverance

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If there was one inanimate thing you'd want a written letter from, what would it be?

The Corniche for me, please. Ask anyone whose hometown is far from the real borders of land, they'll tell you we love learning from the waters. 11 years ago, I was ecstatic that I could see the ocean from my window. It was calm, shimmery and bluer than the sky in the hot, afternoon desert-gaze of the sun.

When we were at the shore, the never-ending horizon was the perfect teacher who outlined the illusion behind this life's so-called permanency. The waves showed us that uphill battles are coupled with victorious downhill strides. It reminded us to take the shape of where you're placed, and let Qadr design your path.

Each one of us is an ocean, of varying depths and colours, housing souls that strive to be returned to the Lord, unscathed. Yet there are those who wish to bear the scars; the martyrs, for they say "death to me is sweeter than honey". The truth is, not one of us except the Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ), is free of sins. We live in regret of each day that passes, for we worry to meet our end without having repented enough.

But somewhere along the way, there's always a voice telling you you'd rather be out of this world than in it. Of the atrocities, hatred and heartache we've sown into each other's hearts, there isn't one ounce of it worth the treasures of this soil. Why must I? One may think, why must I live to take part in giving pain? Or receiving it? Yet, when someone dies, only good is spoken. Perhaps it's because our hearts crack like the Earth under drought, and all that emerges is green plants whose seeds were their good deeds.

I beg of you, my soul; please don't wait for death to nurture a garden. Your chance may never come. Next time you wear something, it might be the clothes in which death recognises you. Even if your loved ones say they're tired of being called strong and patient, don't hold back. They wish you could see the corners of their wound, or touch the ends of their pain, or visit their lake of tears. But where you can't go, your words will. Hardest battles for the strongest soldiers, remember? Not just good words though, hurtful words go too. And I ask of you, my mind; pay heed to my warning and abolish those words.

Another thing it taught me is, when you love another soul... Not the fairy-tale kind, not the one you build on conditions or equations, no. But the kind you can't exhaust, the promise we take before Him, which runs deeper than artificial insecurities. The kind where even if you use the sea water as ink to write your story, and it evaporates, it leaves a trail of salt to remind you of how it shifts with time. The one where broken things get fixed instead of thrown in a corner. That love.

When you find that love, the Corniche says, you can't believe for a second that this world is all you get. You won't be able to, for two souls to live for each other and their Lord; death is just a test of separation. But that too, look how Merciful our Lord is, not for long. Like how there was an end to Ferdinand Magellan's voyage around the world, like how every time the clouds clear after rain, like how every book here has a finishing line, so will life. You're bound to meet them across the barrier, and finally empty your soul of sorrow in Jannah.

That's where true love begins.

Not saying I've found that soul or anything...

These thoughts rise and fall like the waters that crash into the corniche, sometimes overwhelming enough to reach the heights of a dangerous tide. But sabr, ya hayati, you have to convince your mind that the One who orders the moon to pull it's strings for the tide is also the One who listens to your every whispered Du'a. And so, know that we don't go through things without reason. With belief in Him, find peace in His remembrance. With perseverance, walk into His Plans for you.

And all else will fall into place.

Whilst writing about the voyages of so many hearts in that novel of mine, I didn't even realise how much I miss looking at the ocean. I'd definitely cherish a letter from the corniche, and if it were a person, they'd be one of my oldest friends.

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-Jasmin A.