Alone.

Went to a walima yesterday. Bride is four years younger than me. Groom, three. They looked happy, masha Allah. Terribly, terribly young and happy.

Can’t shake the feeling that I’m going to die alone.

A Conversation

I went to an Islamic conference yesterday. An old friend who I hadn’t seen in a few months sat down next to me during a break.

We exchanged salaams.

“How are you?” I asked. I expected a pat answer.

“Hanging in there,” she replied wearily. I nodded, picking up the undercurrent of feelin’ like crap. Then, in an unexpected burst of frankness, “I was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder.”

“Oh,” I said. Emboldened by her honesty, I continued. “I have that.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You do? Subhan Allah.”

“Yeah. It’s okay. What are you taking?”

Our exchanged continued. The conversation dwindled. We bid salaams when the program was about to resume and she went back to her seat.

It was the most honest exchange I had all evening.