Standing in my flat halfway across the world I stare at the photo. It's not sinking in and yet I have been looking at it on and off for a couple of days now. I have always taken comfort in knowing that me and mine are okay. That somehow inshaAllah we are on the right track. Yes we are not there yet but it is more in sight. I am Muslim. And for majority of my life I have practised my Islam and have felt the peace of knowing Allah is watching over me. And mine.
Who are mine? My parents, two sisters, our spouses and children. Such a small bubble I realise as I look at the photo again. There's a beautiful woman in her wedding dress while her husband holds her hands and a priest is doing the ceremony. And I find it hurts. Because this too is mine.
Now that I have burst my bubble I search more until I come across two young beautiful women in their stunning strapless dresses and champagne glasses behind them. Sisters of the groom. Oh how it hurts. Because they too are mine.
How could I have forgotten these people? We grew up together. Were so close. As the years went by we drifted apart. But when I look at them one thing is certain. It hurts because they are from me and mine. We may be literally and figuratively world's apart but there must be something I can do...
