To me, “Do not mix truth with falsehood” includes do not lie about your enemies.
Do not ascribe to them falsehoods that mislead people. Let the truth alone speak. That is more just.
I must confess that I find socialising with all my wife’s relatives utterly exhausting. So many aunts, cousins, elderlies, and in-laws demanding my company. There’s only so much a recluse can take.
The kids are our harshest critics, unceasing in their commentary on everything that’s wrong with us.
I shall miss my wife and this house on my return home for work.
But to escape the insensitive invective of every waking moment: that sounds rather like the perfect holiday to me.
Let them have their long summer holiday without me. I shall do the same.
In truth, we all need a good break from each other.
Is Britain a colony? Why does our government act as though subservient to foreign powers?
Why do we zealously support a nineteenth-century ethno-nationalism elsewhere that we don’t want for ourselves?
Can we not just say no to these racist ideologies that demand our total obedience? Are we not an independent state?
You ain’t got to have a lot to have it all.
When we bought a plot of land in this valley fifteen years ago, it was a poor neighbourhood. Now? Let’s say things have changed a bit.
Driving home just now, we passed an Aston Martin Vantage parked up at the end of our lane. Not quite the car I’d expect to see in these parts, but there we are.
So it seems we’re now surrounded by the mega rich. Dare we admit that I’m just a lowly civil servant in real life, collecting a public sector salary?
Luckily for us, I don’t have to. Our original neighbours remain down to earth, still grounded in a life of toil. We need not pretend to be what we’re not.
It is by God’s immense mercy and generosity alone that we find ourselves here at all. Çok şukr. Alhamdulilah.
I married aged 24, twenty-four years ago. For half my life, I have found myself tied to this far-off land and its people.
So unexpected — unbelievable even — but I wouldn’t change any of it. A strange reward for a quiet man from Hull.
“Are you a believer or not?”
Well, I think I am.
I believe in the Oneness of God, in prophets and messengers, and holy books.
I perform my daily prayers, fast in the month of Ramadan, give sadaqa and zakat freely, and generally try to live a good life.
Of course, only God knows whether this is sufficient to counteract the ill within or if I am just too flawed an individual to deserve redemption.
In this regard, I hope and pray for the ceaseless Mercy of the One who constructed the vast universe and everything in it, a mere speck as I am.
What I do not believe in: sectarianism, tribalism, corruption, injustice, righteous stupidity, personality worship, bullying, forced marriage, indiscriminate violence, total war, racism, slavery, subjugation, utilitarianism, and similar social ills often imbibed by religious communities.
It may be due to my critique of many of these that others question my beliefs. But here, my heart is at rest, for I believe all of this is perfectly aligned with my faith.
Our Book severely censures sectarianism. It demands we stand firm for justice even against ourselves. It does not describe us as a saved or chosen people who can do as they please. Freeing slaves is described as an act of righteousness. Limits are placed on warfare. Believers are called to be fair, kind, and just.
In short, I am a believer in the One, and in what the prophets and messengers brought — but that’s not necessarily the same as what is practised by all Muslims everywhere.
If I decline to follow part of what is taught by some Muslims, that is my business. I believe we are each given minds and hearts to differentiate between right and wrong.
I value community, but I do not equate faith with communitarianism: the idea that one must conform for the sake of unity, even when conscience demands otherwise.
“Stand up for the truth,” we are commanded.
I rarely rest or relax. My mind is abuzz.
Every nighttime dream (or nightmare) this holiday has featured work.
One of them, me arguing at length with our CEO. Another, me stuck on a support call all night long.
And even now, lounging on my sofa in a holiday home halfway up a mountain, I’m bouncing around ideas to address the problems I left behind at work.
Is it that I’m a workaholic or just that I take my responsibilities too seriously?
Or is this purely just my anxious personality on full display for all to see? Forever restless, always on edge.
How very astute. The kids note aloud that their dad has cyclical periods of low mood, lasting weeks at a time, when he is apparently blue and angry all the time.
There’s some truth in that, no doubt, but their timing is off. My present gripe has nothing to do with that.
These were the simple lamentations of parents out of step with the adolescent desire to laugh at everything and everyone constantly.
Maybe I’m just particularly sensitive to this habit, but it grows wearisome. There’s a time for humour and a time for seriousness, but alas empathy is rarely the adolescents’ gift.
When I’m here, I feel like quitting my job to live a simpler life in this valley.
No more sitting at a computer all day long. Let me serve tea to passers-by instead.
One day, perhaps, if the Most Merciful wills.
